Over and Over

Latent

ABUJA,
NIGERIA.

LAYLA'S POV

As i stepped back into the familiar embrace of my home, i found Tata Zarah waiting for me in the foyer, her keen eyes already assessing my outfit.

"Come, my dear," Tata Zarah beckoned, her hands deftly adjusting the delicate lace of my attire.

“We must make you perfect before you leave.”

With the final touches complete, I joined Goggo Safina, Goggo Nana, and Dada in the sitting room.

The air was thick with unspoken words and the weight of tradition.

Goggo Safina called softly, "Layla am," drawing my gaze upward.

The elder began her well-rehearsed lecture on marriage, imparting wisdom as old as the mountains, making sure I absorbed every word.

The gravity of the moment seeped into the room, affecting even Ilham, my fiercely loyal sibling, whose eyes glistened with unshed tears, mirrored by my brothers Aadil and Farhan.

I was then escorted to the backyard, where Baba was seated with my uncles, sharing tea.

I approached him slowly, each step feeling like a farewell.

Seeing me, Baba discreetly wiped his eyes, but his tears were a testament to the bittersweetness of the occasion.

"Baba," I whispered, bending down before him.

He took my hand, pulling me into a warm embrace that spoke volumes of his love and unspoken fears.

My uncles, standing by, offered gifts and blessings as tokens of goodwill, but my heart was heavy with resentment towards Hakeem.

The memory of his indifference stung, even as i prepared to leave the home that had shaped me.

NARRATOR'S POV

Outside, in the lush, flower-laden compound, a convoy of luxurious vehicles awaited.

Layla's luggage was swiftly loaded into one, while Tata Zarah and Tata Faiza settled into another.

Hakeem arrived, resplendent in a white kaftan and a finely embroidered brown cap.

His wrist was adorned with a gleaming F.P. Journe watch, and his feet with deluxe Mulo slippers.

His presence was commanding, his Moroccan hairstyle adding to his allure as he approached Layla’s father.

Hakeem approached his father-in-law, who stood outside with Layla's delicate hand resting gently in his.

The setting sun cast a golden glow over the scene, illuminating Layla's beauty and the solemnity of the moment.

"Assalamu alaikum," Hakeem greeted as he drew near, his smile warm and prominent.

Baba took a deep breath, his eyes moist with emotion.

"Hakeem, here is my daughter. I've given her to you with my hands, so if you ever feel like you don't like her anymore, then please return her back to me like I gave her to you."

He placed Layla's hand into Hakeem's, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

"Inshallah, Baba," Hakeem responded, his voice steady yet tinged with a Moroccan accent. "I will try my very best to take care of Layla and perform all my duties."

Beside them, Aadil, Layla's twelve-year-old brother who resembled her strikingly, clung to her other hand, his face streaked with tears.

Hakeem signaled gently for him to release her hand, which he did, his tears flowing even more freely now.