Over and Over

Copa

EL-BAAZ MANSOR,
KANO,
NIGERIA.

NARRATORS POV

Hakeem sat stiffly in the hospital bed, scowling as the nurse adjusted the IV in his hand.

His wheelchair was parked nearby, abandoned for now, but the lingering frustration of being stuck in a hospital room made his patience thin.

Across the room, Nora had been buzzing around him all morning, pretending to be the perfect caretaker—adjusting his pillows, offering him water, making sure everyone knew she was the one looking after him.

Layla sat in the corner, watching quietly, her fingers gripping her phone a little too tightly.

Every time Nora touched him, it sent an irritating heat through her veins.

She had no right to be jealous. But she was.

Then, it happened.

A pair of nurses walked in, chatting in excited whispers.

"Did you hear? Rihanna is in London for a surprise concert tonight!" one of them gushed.

Nora's head snapped up so fast, Layla thought she might get whiplash. "Rihanna?"

The nurse nodded enthusiastically. "VIP passes are being sold for a private after-party too!"

That was all it took.

Within seconds, Nora had completely forgotten about Hakeem.

She grabbed her purse, smoothed her hair, and—without a single glance back—bolted out of the room.

Hakeem stared after her, disbelief flickering across his face. "Did she just—"

Layla snorted. "Oh, she did."

He let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

But his amusement was short-lived.

Because now he had a problem.

The nurse had left a neatly folded hospital shirt and trousers on the chair next to the bed, expecting someone to help him change.

Normally un-normal, that would've been Nora. But now...

Layla raised an eyebrow when she noticed his hesitation. "What?"

Hakeem exhaled, rubbing his forehead. "Nothing."

She glanced at the clothes, then back at him, realization dawning. "Wait... you need help changing, don't you?"

His jaw clenched. "No."

Her lips twitched. "Really? So, you're going to do it yourself? With one working hand? And... what, magically stand up?"

He glared at her. "I'll manage."

Layla folded her arms. "Fine. Go ahead."

He didn't move.

Seconds passed.

Then a full minute.

Layla smirked. "Want me to call the nurse?"

His glare darkened. "No."

Her smirk grew. "Hakeem, just admit you need help."

He muttered something under his breath, staring at the wall as if it personally offended him.

Layla sighed and stood up. "Alright, I'll do it."

He snapped his gaze to her. "No, you won't."

"Do you have another option?"

Silence.

He hated this. Hated feeling vulnerable. Hated that she was seeing him like this.

But he also knew—deep down—that she was the only person he wanted to help him.

His voice was low when he finally spoke. "Turn around."

Layla blinked. "What?"

"Just—turn around while I try."

She rolled her eyes but obeyed, facing the window while he struggled to shrug off the hospital gown.

A minute later, he muttered a curse. "Layla."

She turned back, biting back a laugh. The gown was halfway off, tangled around his arm and IV line.

He looked at her, frustration evident. "Just get this over with."

Layla moved closer, her fingers brushing his bare shoulder as she carefully untangled the fabric.

His skin was warm beneath her touch, the muscles in his arm flexing slightly as he tensed.

Her heart pounded.

She had never been this close to him before—not like this. Not with the air so thick between them.

Hakeem inhaled sharply as she slid the hospital shirt over his head, her fingers grazing the curve of his neck.

She tried to ignore the heat creeping up her spine, but it was impossible when she could feel him watching her.

When she reached for the trousers, she hesitated.

He must have sensed it because his voice dropped to a husky murmur. "You don't have to."

Layla met his gaze, her throat dry. "I want to."

His eyes darkened slightly, but he said nothing as she crouched to help him.

As she fastened the drawstring, her fingers brushed against the bare skin of his abdomen.

His muscles tensed, and he let out the faintest, barely-there exhale.

Layla's breath hitched.

This wasn't just helping him dress. This was something else.

Something dangerous.

She forced herself to stand quickly, stepping back as heat flushed her cheeks. "There. Done."

Hakeem's gaze flickered to her lips before he looked away, his jaw tight. "Thanks."

Layla nodded, turning away, but before she could escape, his voice stopped her.

"Layla."

She turned.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned into hers. "You don't have to do all this."

Her chest tightened. "I want to."

And this time, he didn't argue.

Because even if she wasn't saying the words he needed to hear yet, he felt them.

And for now, that was enough.