Over and Over

JAALO

El-BAAZ MANSOR,
KANO,
NIGERIAN.

LAYLA'S POV

Hakeem's gaze followed me, burning with unspoken questions.

I could feel the weight of his curiosity lingering in the space between us after Sarah's careless remark.

My cheeks flushed, and my fingers fidgeted nervously with the hem of my lafaya, seeking refuge in its familiar texture.

The elders exchanged knowing glances before quietly dispersing, their departure leaving a charged silence behind.

Without a word, I retreated to the seat meant for Hakeem and me, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Layla," his voice called softly, yet it carried a firm undercurrent.

I stiffened, sensing the determination in his tone. He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"What was Sarah talking about?"

I pretended not to hear him, my attention fixed on the pleats of my lafaya as if their perfection was the most critical task in the world.

But Hakeem wasn't one to let things go. His persistence was as steady as his gaze.

"Did you read my message?" he pressed, his words a soft whisper meant only for me.

My breath hitched, and I risked a fleeting glance at him, only to quickly look away.

His dark eyes, filled with a blend of vulnerability and resolve, threatened to unravel my carefully composed exterior.

"I didn't," I murmured, my voice barely audible. "Sarah read it aloud. I didn't mean for her to see it."

A flicker of amusement softened his expression, but there was no mistaking the frustration beneath it.

"I see," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "And what did you think?"

I hesitated, my mind racing for the safest response. "I think this isn't the time or place to talk about it."

His low chuckle sent a ripple through me, the sound warm and disarming.

"Fair enough," he said, leaning in ever so slightly, his voice soft but resolute. "But we will talk, Layla. Soon."

Before I could gather my thoughts or respond, Ummu called for him, and he straightened, throwing me a small, knowing smile before walking away.

I remained frozen, his words replaying in my mind like a melody I couldn't escape.

The hours blurred as family and well-wishers came to offer their goodbyes. But as the moments ticked by, the reality of what lay ahead began to sink in. My chest tightened with an ache I couldn't suppress.

"Layla, are you ready?" Goggo Nana asked, her voice kind yet firm.

I wasn't ready. Not even close. I stole a glance at Hakeem, who was standing across the room in quiet conversation with Malik.

His composed demeanor unsettled me. How could he be so calm when my world felt as though it was spiraling out of control?

Dada approached and sat beside me, her warm presence a balm to my trembling heart.

I felt tears welling up and spilling over before I could stop them. "Don't cry, dear," she said, gently wiping my cheeks.

But her tenderness broke the dam inside me, and I clung to her, sobbing openly. The kohl from my eyes smeared against her as she stroked my back, whispering words of reassurance while trying to mask her own tears.

"I don't want to leave," I choked out, my voice barely above a whisper.

She cupped my face, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Layla, Hakeem is a good man. Inshallah, you'll see. He won't even give you the chance to miss home." Her words carried the weight of both hope and certainty.

Maymun handed her tissues, and Dada carefully wiped away the kohl smudging my face.

With a soft smile, she covered my tear-streaked features with my lafaya. "Allah ya miki albarka," she said, embracing me one last time.

The sound of trumpets outside signaled it was time to leave. Farhan and Aadil flanked me, while Goggo Safina and Goggo Nana held my hands, guiding me to the car.

I bowed my head, letting a tear fall as I climbed in.

Inside, the faint scent of jasmine filled the air. Just as I adjusted my veil, the car door opened, revealing Nenne my maternal grandmother.

I gasped. "I thought you weren't coming," I said, my voice tinged with both relief and surprise.

She chuckled softly, kissing my hand. "Why wouldn't I come to my favorite granddaughter's wedding? Don't tell the others," she added with a wink.

From the front seat, Zee's voice chimed in, "I heard that loud and clear!"

Nenne laughed, brushing her off. "You're my second favorite, dear," she teased, drawing another laugh from me despite the heaviness in my heart.

The convoy of cars finally arrived at the estate. The grandeur of the house took my breath away—a sprawling property shaded by towering mango trees that formed a natural canopy.

The house itself, with its pristine white walls and elegant balconies, exuded old-world charm and understated wealth.

As we stepped out, Nenne held my hand firmly, guiding me to the entrance. Together, we whispered a quiet prayer before stepping inside.

The first room was a circular hall with mirrored walls that reflected every movement.

At its center stood an ornate table adorned with a grand tulip vase. I barely had time to admire the space before we moved deeper into the house.

The living room opened up like a dream—a spacious area bathed in natural light, with wide windows offering views of lush greenery and a sparkling pool.

In the privacy of an upstairs room, the house grew lively with the chatter of guests exploring their surroundings.

Nenne and a few of the older women surrounded me, their voices soft but firm as they spoke of my duties as Hakeem's wife.

Some of their words felt daunting, and I couldn't help but wonder if I could live up to their expectations or his.