It had been two long weeks since Laylah last saw Jawwad. As much as she tried to convince herself that she didn't care, his absence troubled her mind.

She kept wondering if he had fully recovered. The thought was like a splinter in her brain that she couldn't ignore.

As she walked out of her last lecture with Amina, Yasmin, and Safiya, she tried to sound indifferent. "You know," she said casually, "I haven't seen Jawwad since he was sick. I wonder if he's even feeling better." She shrugged, hoping her friends wouldn't read too much into it.

Yasmin was the first to catch on. She smirked and shot Laylah a sly glance. "Oh, so you're worried about him now?" she teased, nudging Laylah's shoulder. Safiya giggled, while Amina raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise.

"Wait," Amina said, her tone more serious. "Do you actually like this man, Laylah?"

Laylah felt like she'd just been slapped. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she was at a loss for words. "What? Like him? Are you serious?" she retorted, her voice inserted with fury and something else she couldn't quite name.

"I couldn't care less about him," she snapped, but even as she said it, a flicker of doubt crossed her mind. She could feel her friends' eyes on her, searching for the truth behind her words.

"Sure," Yasmin said, drawing out the word with a grin. "That's why you keep bringing him up."

Laylah glared at her, unwilling to give Yasmin the satisfaction of knowing she'd struck a nerve. "I'm just saying," Laylah replied, trying to sound casual again. "I'm curious if he's still alive, that's all."

They made their way to the cafeteria for lunch, Laylah trying her best to steer the conversation away from Jawwad. But her friends wouldn't let it go.

They teased her relentlessly, especially Yasmin, who kept making dramatic remarks about Laylah's "hidden feelings."

Laylah responded with eye rolls and sighs, but deep down, she was unsettled. Why did it bother her so much to know how Jawwad was doing?

The afternoon stretched into the early evening, and they stayed at the cafeteria until 5 p.m., chatting and laughing.

Eventually, everyone parted ways to head home. Drove back home with cleared mind. She had plans for a quiet evening, intending to spend time painting—something she hadn't done in a long while.

But as soon as she stepped into the house, her peaceful mood shattered. From the living room, she heard a familiar deep voice, one that sent a shiver down her spine.

She didn't know if it was from dread or something else entirely. Laylah hesitated for a moment, her heart thudding in her chest, before she walked into the living room.

There he was—Jawwad—sitting with Mamii and her brother Mujahid. The sight made her stomach twist in an unclear mix of emotions. What was he doing here?

Umar was away for an operation in Benin, which only added to her confusion. Their eyes met briefly, and for a split second, Laylah thought she saw something in his gaze. But then, just as quickly, he looked away, dismissing her as if she was nothing more than a passing thought.

Laylah felt a surge of infuriation. That cold, dismissive look—why did it sting so much?

She hated how he could make her feel so insignificant with just one glance. Mamii noticed her standing awkwardly by the door, her expression turning sharp. "Oh, Kin dawo ashe. Kuma keh baki iya sallama koh gaisuwa ba?" she snapped.

Laylah bit back a retort and forced herself to say, "As-salamu alaykum." She turned to Mujahid and added a quick, "Ya Mujahid, ina yini." Then, her gaze flicked reluctantly to Jawwad. "Ina yini," she greeted, her voice colder than she intended.

Jawwad barely inclined his head, his response curt, his tone indifferent. "Lafiya lau." He returned his attention to Mujahid, acting as though she were a mere inconvenience. The sting of it hit her again. How could he be so dismissive, so completely unfazed by her presence?

Laylah clenched her fists, feeling all sorts of annoyance rising inside her. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed up to her room.

He watched her as she stormed off. The fitted gown she wore clung to her petite frame, highlighting every curve, while a small veil draped carelessly from her shoulder.

Jawwad felt an immediate gush of anger. Why did he even notice what she was wearing? It annoyed him to no end that he had cared enough to look. Jawwad clenched his jaw, tearing his gaze away, furious at himself for letting her presence affect him like that.

She slammed the door to her room behind her, her mind racing with questions. What was he doing here? Why did he always make her feel so... irrelevant? She hated it—hated the way he made her feel small and unimportant, like she was just another person in the room.

Laylah hissed, pushing away any thoughts of him. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her phone and quickly dialed a number. After a few rings, Shamsiyya picked up.

"Shamsiyya, bring me some water to my room. There's none in my fridge," Laylah ordered, her tone sharp. She was about to hang up when Shamsiyya's voice interrupted her.

"Toh, but Mamii asked me to serve some refreshments to the guest. I'll come to your room as soon as I'm done," Shamsiyya explained, her words cautious. She knew all too well how Laylah's temper could flare if she took too long.

Laylah's annoyance spiked. So now this man was even occupying her space in her own father's house? She felt a flash of anger at the thought. Without saying another word, she hissed again and ended the call, her grip tightening on the phone.

Laylah took a deep breath, trying to calm herself as she prepared to take a shower. Just then, the door creaked open, and Mamii stepped in. Her expression was stern, leaving no room for argument.

"Jawwad will be staying for dinner," Mamii announced, her voice leaving no room for negotiation. "I want you to help set the table and bring down the special tea set. You should also help serve. It's important you learn how to be hospitable. You're a woman and a Fulani, and you will get married one day. Ba kullin ki zauna kina biyewa kawayen banza kuna yawo ba, suna kara koya miki rashin kunya."

Laylah's mouth opened in protest, ready to argue, but Mamii's glare cut her off. There was no point fighting this battle; Mamii had already decided. Swallowing her pride, she forced herself to answer, "Toh, gani nan zuwa."

Without another word, Mamii left the room, leaving Laylah fuming.

Reluctantly, she made her way downstairs, feeling a heavy knot of irritation forming in her stomach. She was mentally preparing herself to deal with whatever was about to come. But as she entered the living room, she paused.

Mujahid and Mamii were nowhere to be seen. Instead, Jawwad sat alone, casually eating a small plate of fruits. He seemed perfectly at ease, his eyes focused on his fruits, not even bothering to glance in her direction.

Laylah stood there, waiting for him to at least acknowledge her presence. But he didn't. It was like she was invisible. Her eyes narrowed as she took in his appearance—he was wearing a casual milk-colored long-sleeve shirt and coffee-brown jeans. He looked completely unbothered, as if he owned the place. His usual expensive cologne filled the room, making her stomach turn.

Her irritation boiled over. She couldn't hold back any longer. "You know," she snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "some people would at least pretend to have basic manners when they're guests in someone else's home."

For a moment, Jawwad remained silent, his eyes still fixed on his plate. He slowly chewed his fruit as if carefully deciding whether her words even deserved a response. Finally, he set his fork down and leaned back, meeting her gaze with a calm, icy expression.

"I'm not here to entertain a spoiled child who thinks the world owes her something," he replied, his voice low and cutting. His words were like a slap to the face. Laylah felt her breath hitch as a combination of rage and shock surged through her. How could he dismiss her so easily, so coldly?

She stood there, trembling with anger, her fists clenched at her sides. She wanted to lash out, to scream back at him, but the words were stuck in her throat.

Jawwad picked up his plate again, his expression indifferent as he continued eating, completely dismissing her presence as if she were nothing more than a nuisance.

Laylah felt her blood boil. It wasn't just his words that stung; it was how effortlessly he seemed to cut her down. She was furious, not just at him but at herself for letting him get under her skin like this. How dare he? And yet, there he was, eating calmly, as if her outburst was just another minor inconvenience.