MINE (EDITED)

chapter 23

Ramadan Mubarak beautiful people💕

Henna party

❤️

It was 1 p.m., and the house was buzzing with activity. Guests were moving around, laughter and chatter echoed from the living room, and the occasional clatter of pots came from the kitchen. But in Layla's room, it was a different world. She and Ibty had retreated there for some peace, eating a late brunch of croissants, scrambled eggs, and freshly squeezed orange juice.

Layla had just finished her gyaran jiki, her body still tingling slightly from the exfoliation and scented oils. She stretched out on her bed, savoring the calm before the chaos of the evening began.

"Leyloş," someone called from outside her door. Layla groaned inwardly, choosing to ignore the voice. For God's sake, why can't they let me rest in this house? she thought.

Not even a minute later, the door creaked open. Layla looked up, ready to snap at whoever dared disturb her peace, but stopped when she saw Ruqayya standing there, smiling mischievously.

"Ruqayya!" Layla exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement as she jumped off the bed and hugged her cousin tightly. Ruqayya laughed and squeezed her back, then turned to hug Ibty.

"I missed you both so much!" Ruqayya said, grinning ear to ear. "Oh, and Aunty Zainab said you should start getting ready—the women doing the henna are here."

Layla let out a dramatic groan, placing her palm over her face. "Allah Allah, I literally just finished my gyaran jiki! Can't a bride get a moment of peace?"

The room burst into laughter at Layla's exaggerated exasperation. Today marked her lalle—henna day—and she was already feeling the weight of the wedding preparations. Tomorrow would be the kamu, and then the big day itself.

As if on cue, Ya Meena walked in, holding a neatly folded purple Ankara outfit. "Here," she said, placing it on the edge of Layla's bed. "Get dressed and come downstairs. As you can hear, the masu kidan kwarya are already here, and everyone's waiting." Her voice carried its usual calm authority, and with that, she turned and walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Layla sighed, her head tilting back dramatically. "So, they're going all out with the traditional vibes, huh?"

Ibty nodded enthusiastically. "Of course! It's to honor your Hausa side. And honestly, the masu kidan kwarya sounds amazing—I heard them warming up earlier."

Layla glanced at Ruqayya and Ibty, a small smile creeping onto her face despite her mock complaints. "Fine, fine. Let's get this over with."

The trio got to work, Ruqayya helping Layla pick out accessories while Ibty adjusted the folds of the Ankara fabric. The sound of drums and singing from the masu kidan kwarya drifted up from downstairs, mixing with the chatter and laughter of guests. Layla couldn't help but feel a little thrill of excitement as the realization set in—this was her lalle, a cherished tradition that was uniquely hers to experience.

Leyla stepped into the bathroom, the lingering scent of rose and sandalwood from her gyaran jiki oils still faintly clinging to her skin. She picked up the scented soap Bintu had given her, its fragrance filling the air as she lathered up. The warm water cascaded over her, washing away her exhaustion. By the time she stepped out and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel, she felt refreshed and ready for the evening ahead.

Drying herself off, Leyla slipped into the carefully tailored purple Ankara skirt and blouse, admiring how the fabric shimmered faintly under the light. She adjusted the blouse's intricate lacework at the neckline and tied the matching headscarf neatly.