MINE

chapter 4

Few weeks later.

"Leyla, kalk kızım!" I heard Mammy's voice, sharp and urgent. What does she want now? It's barely dawn.

"It's already 7:30, and you know we're expecting guests. Hadi, hurry up!" She added before storming out of the room.

Innalillahi, the gaisuwa!

I could barely process the words. Why does Mammy always wait until the last minute to remind me of these things? With a sigh, I threw the blankets off me and quickly scrambled out of bed. I had completely forgotten about the visitors coming today.

I rushed to the bathroom, scrubbed myself with raspberry-scented shower gel, and stepped out, wrapping myself in a towel. My mind raced as I dried off, desperately trying to figure out what to wear.

Why does this always happen to me? I can never find the right outfit when I'm under pressure.

I called Ibty in a panic, my voice shaky. "Ibty, I have nothing to wear. Please help."

To my surprise, she answered almost immediately. "I'm already at your place," she said, sounding way too calm for my liking.

I heard her footsteps in the corridor before she pushed open the door to my room. "Hafsatu," she called, her voice sharp but teasing.

She marched right over to my closet, pulling out a simple yet elegant atamfa skirt and blouse. She tossed them onto my bed and smiled. "Here, wear these. Trust me, you'll look great."

I hesitated, but after a quick glance at the clock, I knew I didn't have time to argue.

I dressed quickly and agreed to let her help with my makeup—just a little bit. "Iyı, just a little," I muttered, barely able to hide my annoyance.

💗

After a few minutes of touch-ups, I stared at myself in the mirror. It was minimal makeup—just enough to make me look polished without overdoing it. Foundation, a swipe of lip gloss, and some mascara.

"Okay, it's time to go, yallah," I told myself as I sprayed a bit of Jimmy Choo perfume. I grabbed a matching veil and hurried downstairs.

When I reached the living room, I hesitated, took a deep breath, and entered, trying to push past the nerves clawing at my stomach.

"Assalamu Alaikum," I greeted as I stepped into the room, my voice steady despite the swirling anxiety.

"Ina wunin ku, ya hanya?" I asked, squatting to greet the guests respectfully.

"Lafiya lau, Alhamdulillah," they responded, their voices warm but distant.

I tried to mask my discomfort as I made my way over to Mammy, who was sitting in her usual spot. I took a seat next to her on the carpet, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. I fiddled with my Swarovski bracelet—another birthday gift from my brother, Ya Muhammad.

The sound of prayer filled the room. "Salati goma ga annabi," a man intoned.

"Sallalahu Alaihiwasallam," the others echoed.

I was trying to focus on the prayer, but my mind kept wandering. Who were these people? I didn't even know half of them. And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off today.

After the prayer, the elders excused themselves. They exchanged polite pleasantries and formal introductions, but I didn't catch most of it. My thoughts were elsewhere.

Suddenly, the room felt emptier. I didn't notice that only one person was left sitting across from me—until I looked up and saw him. The guy from Cold Stone.