Over and Over

Mnnui

KANO,
NIGERIAN.

LAYLA'S POV

Later that evening, after all the guests had left, leaving me alone with the girls, we decided to move into the living room.

I sank into the plush white sofa, letting my friends chatter and laugh around me, their voices bouncing off the high ceilings. But my mind wasn't on their stories, it kept drifting back to that night... the night he kissed me.

Across the room, Hakeem stood with his friends, commanding attention effortlessly. His deep voice carried a charming authority, and even as he laughed, the sharp lines of his jaw softened.

I forced myself to look away, pretending not to notice him, but my pulse betrayed me.

As the night wore on, our friends slowly dispersed, leaving the room quiet. Hakeem returned, his steps deliberate, each one echoing softly against the polished floor.

"I thought you went upstairs already," he said, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.

My gaze flicked to the massive windows, reflecting the darkness outside. I could feel his eyes on me, steady and unyielding, and the memory of that morning flooded back, how he had waited, expectant, and I had left him standing there, longing for me.

I shifted, trying to steady my breath, offering a half-hearted excuse while avoiding his piercing gaze.

He tilted his head slightly, a faint, knowing smile tugging at his lips, as if he remembered exactly where our night had ended, and that morning, when I had failed to appear. He didn't push, but the tension in the room was thick, heavy, charged with unsaid words and unfulfilled longing.

"Let's go," he said, extending a hand.

I ignored it, rising abruptly and leading the way toward the stairs.

"You're walking like you're climbing Mount Everest," he teased softly from behind, his voice laced with amusement.

I stiffened, my fingers brushing the cool railing for support, every step a battle to keep my composure. Behind me, his presence was steady, unyielding, like a storm restrained only by willpower, but I could feel the heat radiating from him, that same heat that had consumed me the night before.

When we reached the room, it was as imposing as the rest of the house, dark and light grey tones blending seamlessly, creating an atmosphere both luxurious and intimidating.

Hakeem gestured toward the adjoining bathroom. "You should freshen up," he said casually, though the faint curve of his lips suggested more than mere casual concern.

"I'm fine," I replied curtly, avoiding his gaze, my thoughts still tangled in the memory of his lips and that morning's waiting.

He shrugged, disappearing into the bathroom, and the sound of running water filled the silence. I wandered into the library, fingers tracing the spines of neatly arranged books, yet unable to shake the image of him, the way he had kissed me, how he had waited, how he had looked at me that morning... like he needed me more than he could bear.

NARRATORS POV

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear his footsteps when he emerged, damp hair clinging to his forehead, a towel slung loosely around his waist.

When she finally sensed a presence behind her, she turned abruptly, her heart leaping into her throat.

Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of him, shirtless and far too close.

"Are you okay? What is this?" she demanded, her voice sharp, though it betrayed her flustered state.

Hakeem raised his hands in mock surrender, his lips twitching with amusement.