MINE (EDITED)

Chapter 35

The silence between them was unbearable. Days had passed, yet the tension in the house remained thick, suffocating. Layla had never gone this long without speaking properly to Muhammad, and it was eating her alive. She missed him—missed his warmth, his voice, his teasing smirks. But he had shut her out completely, his cold indifference cutting deeper than any words ever could.

Ibty, seeing the emotional wreck Layla had become, decided enough was enough. She showed up unannounced, arms crossed, eyes stern. "You need to apologize properly," she stated, leaving no room for argument.

Layla sighed, running a shaky hand through her hair. "But he won't even look at me, Ibty. He won't listen!" Her voice cracked, frustration and heartbreak colliding into a sob.

Ibty grabbed her hands and squeezed gently. "Make him listen," she whispered, her gaze unwavering. "You've been married for almost two years, Layla. You know how to reach him. He may be mad as hell, but that doesn't mean he loves you any less. You just need to break through his walls."

Tears welled in Layla's eyes as she pulled Ibty into a tight hug. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Ibty chuckled, standing up and smoothing her hijab. "You'd be lost, obviously." She winked, grabbing her bag. "Now, don't forget to wear something sexy. A little extra effort never killed anyone." She smirked and walked out, leaving Layla shaking her head with a small, amused smile.

As the evening approached, Layla knew it was now or never. She couldn't bear another night of this distance between them. So she took a deep breath and got to work.

She cooked his favorite meal, making sure everything was perfect. Then she sauntered upstairs, determined. After a long shower, she slipped into a burgundy off-shoulder crop top that hugged her frame perfectly, paired with faded ripped denim jeans. She applied just enough makeup to enhance her features, letting her long, dark curls fall naturally over her shoulders.

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she smiled faintly. She looked beautiful, but most of all, she felt like herself again. Confident. Determined. Ready.

She made her way downstairs, her heart pounding as she waited. Moments later, she heard the familiar sound of his car pulling up. Her pulse quickened.

The front door opened. "Assalamu Alaikum," he greeted, his voice calm but distant.

Layla stood up, hands clasped in front of her. "Sannu da dawowa," she said softly, stealing a glance at him.

"Yawwa, thank you," he replied, his gaze lingering on her longer than expected. She could see it in his eyes—the way they darkened slightly, the way he took her in, like he was trying not to let his guard down.

"Your food is ready," she said, stepping closer. "Why don't you take a shower first? Then we can eat together." She batted her lashes, her voice honeyed with a softness she knew he couldn't ignore.

Something flickered in his expression. Awe. Desire. But he masked it quickly, giving a curt nod. "Okay."

As he turned toward the stairs, she followed. She wasn't going to let him slip away again.

She entered his room without knocking, making him pause mid-unbuttoning his dress shirt. He looked at her through the mirror. "Can I help you?"

"Let me do it," she murmured, stepping closer.

He didn't stop her. His Adam's apple bobbed as she reached up, undoing the rest of his buttons, her fingers grazing his warm skin. The tension crackled between them like a live wire. He held her gaze for a moment before walking into the bathroom, leaving her standing there, heart hammering.