Layla

Judgment involved in the determination of rights and the assignment of rewards and punishments had begun the moment I stepped into my first class as a law student. Everyone respected me since then because that's the world, the people who execute justice, lawyers, are respected by the people who hold justice, people. The public.

Except my brother.

What a waste of yawp.

With a frustrated sigh, I muttered into my phone. "Ya Malik, please call me back when you're less busy. I'm sorry. Please forgive me, sweet brother, and just answer the phone. This is not fair. I'm your sweet little sister, remember? Please, please, please. I'm stuck in school now. Who will pick me? What if something happens to me, huh? What will you do? Ugh, you know what? I know you're at the office. Wait, maybe I should call your secretary, right? Yes, yes. I should do that." I said through the phone and the message went straight to voice mail again.

That was the sixth message and to be honest, my patience was wearing thin. My irritatingly punctual brother wasn't picking up his phone because I made him wait for 20 minutes yesterday. I was not being dramatic. At all.

My brother, Ya Malik, was a very punctual person. He's always on time and got annoyed whenever he got time lagged on his day by waiting. I might have mistakenly told him I was done with classes 30 minutes early yesterday. I just wanted to test his patience but guess who got tried on instead? Me. He waited twenty minutes before I was done with class, he looked annoyed, and in order not to get hollered, I might have snapped at him to play the victim, thinking it might defuse the situation.

It was supposed to be a joke, but he didn't find it funny and got more annoyed. So, now he wasn't talking to me. Unfortunately, his time was one of the few areas where he wouldn't bend. Now, he's sent the driver to come pick me up, not that that wasn't my usual. He's always never allowed deviation when it came to time since I could remember. He's not that strict with everything. He sat and listened every single time I broke a rule in school or fought with anyone and never yelled at me when I was a kid. Or whenever I ranted about my professors from school. I mean, for someone strict, he never got mad at me.

Only a few times. Not entirely my fault too, of course.

"Hello, Ms. Scarlet. How're you doing?" I asked when his secretary finally picked up the phone.

"Oh hello, Layla. I'm doing well. How about you?" Scarlet asked in a courteous voice.

"I'm good. Quick one. Is my brother around at the office? He's not picking up my calls."

"Yes, he is. He's currently in a meeting though. Do you want me to deliver a message to him?" She enquired.

"You know what? I'll just drop by right now. Don't tell him though, please." I said while picking up my bag from the table I was sitting on. "Bye, I'll see you." I hung up abruptly

I slid into the backseat of Malam Daha's car and asked him to drop by Ya Malik's office first.

"Good evening, Miss Layla. You're welcome." Ms. Janet greeted me as I entered the building. She's the receptionist at the desk.

"Good evening, Ms. Janet. Missed me?" I said with a smile as I approached her.

"I sure did, sweetheart. How've you been? How's school?" Ms. Janet, with her bubbly personality and kind demeanor, was like a ray of sunshine. She was in her mid-forties, plump, fair, and always bubbly.

"It's been good. It's stressful but good. I'm dealing. Hello, Mrs. Aisha. How're you doing?" I greeted the other receptionist.

"Hello, I am doing okay. Thanks for asking." She said with a very big smile.

"I'll go up, bye for now."

I entered the elevator and pressed the 14th floor, where Ya Malik's office was situated. The elevator bell dinged, and the doors slid open. I walked over to his secretary's desk. Ms. Scarlet stood up with a very big smile on her face. She started working with the company before my dad's demise and now, she's been working with Ya Malik.

She was impeccably dressed in a white dress top, black suit, and a pencil skirt, her black-rimmed glasses perfectly placed on the bridge of her nose.

"I'm here. Where is he?" I asked her abruptly.

"He's in a meeting right now. Do you want to wait for him?"

"Sure, I'll do that then," I said walking towards his office door by the left.

"Layla, why don't you wait for him in the living room until he's done? I'll get you some refreshments." She said while pointing to the room at the end of the hallway.

"No, don't worry, I'll wait in his office," I said as I opened the door to his office.

Ya Malik looked up from his desk, his gaze steady and then purposeful. He was standing, going through some papers with his phone in hand, his posture tense. I heard the door close behind me, I was sure Scarlet followed me in. She probably failed at keeping me out and now, they were both busted.

Now I get it, he's really mad at me. Nice try, brother. Nice try.

"I thought you were in a meeting, Ya Malik." I said while pointing at the door.

"I am in a meeting. Why are you here?" He asked in a relaxed manner, surprisingly.

That meant he was not mad anymore. That meant he'd forgive me easily now.

"Oh no, I see what you're doing. You two are playing with my head." I accused playfully. "Why are you ignoring me? I said sorry, didn't I? Just forgive me, please." I said in the enactment of a pretense of crying. "I promise I won't ever make you wait for even a minute. I'll always come out on time. I'm sorry." I stomped my feet on the ground.

"What's wrong with you?" He asked with a stern look.

Okay, maybe he was still mad.

I walked over to his desk and stood in front of him. "You're ignoring my calls," I complained, my tone more serious more serious now.

"I was not ignoring your calls. I was in a meeting." He replied in a very firm voice.

"I know you're still mad about yesterday. I promise I didn't do it on purpose. You know I've never done that. I don't know what got into me. I wanted to play around a little because you said you'll be in a meeting. I thought you were still at the meeting that's why I told you I was done. I'm sorry. You know you can't live without talking to me." I finished with a pout, hoping to soften him up.

He opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off, determined to win him over. "You know you can't stay mad at me. I'm your baby. Just say it out that you've forgiven me. Say it. Say it. Say it. Please. Please. Please."

"Layl now isn't the time..." He started raising his voice.

"I know. Tell you what, I'll cook your favorite; food for you today. What do you say? You know you can't pass on that." I said with a smile, very satisfied that he wasn't resisting. "I'll even sing for you."

I learned a lot about how sharp and highly enjoyable my voice is, and Ya Malik was an ardent fan, even if I hardly ever sang. A little exaggeration wasn't going to hurt, I figured.

Ya Malik looked across the room and then back at me. He started walking towards me from behind his desk, but a voice stopped him three steps away.

"I'll get going, I guess. Let's talk over the remaining details tomorrow before the meeting with the stakeholders." A deep, strong voice spoke from behind me.

I turned quickly, startled, to find a man standing by the lounge in the office. I watched as his head turned, eyes going between Ya Malik and me. There was a brief moment of awkwardness as his eyes lingered on my face and then with a polite smile, he started making his way out. He gently opened and closed the door behind me.

For a moment, I was sure the lower horizontal surface of the room was begging to sup me.

"What did I just do?" I asked in a relatively low voice, so much so that I wouldn't have been surprised if Ya Malik didn't hear me.

"You just embarrassed me and yourself. Hello." Ya Malik said with a constrained, mocking smile on his lip.

"You didn't tell me there's someone in the room," I said, mortified

"I told you I was in a meeting."

"But you didn't tell me it was in here."

"But you didn't let me speak." He shot back, clearly exasperated.

Ya Malik was swamped with work and genuinely couldn't pick me up today but my paranoid self jumped to the conclusion thinking he was ignoring my calls on purpose. That was the reality all along, but I didn't realize it was really true.

Taking a very deep breath, I tried to even my thoughts as Ya Malik drove the car.

"I pray we never cross paths again. Ah, that was so embarrassing. What did I do?" I wiggled under the seatbelt in the passenger's seat.

As we drove away, I tried to steady my racing thoughts, taking deep breaths to calm down. I wanted to die of embarrassment.

"That was mortifying for me too, you know. How am I ever going to look him in the eye again?" Ya Malik said while turning the steering wheel to the left.

"Who's he, anyway?" I asked, still trying to place the familiarity. I wasn't sure where from.

"Asad. Asad Abdulmajid." Ya Malik replied. Then, as if a light bulb had gone off in his head, he snapped his fingers. "Now, that I think of it. I can look him in the eye since he's my friend and be like you're not mentally stable. Perfect plan, don't you say?" He turned to me with a mischievous grin.

"Well, as long as he's not Alhaji Abdulmajid Nyako's son, we're good, I think? I will probably never see him again anyway." Instead of being deranged, a wave of relief washed over me. In fact, it was comforting to think I wouldn't have to face him again.

"How do you know he is his son? I don't think I've ever told you." Ya Malik looked at me with utter skepticism and amusement, his eyebrow raised.

"Haha, funny. Drop the act. He can't be his son, can he?" I asked with a higher spirit but with growing uncertainty. "He can't be, right?" I repeated with affright washing over my body. "No," I murmured when he didn't immediately reply to me.

"Why'd I lie to you, Stupid?" He said, shaking his head.

"Oh no. No. No. Noooo. I want to die." I groaned, sinking into my seat.

Alhaji Abdulmajid Nyako was a name I knew all too well. He was Abba's friend and business partner sometime before he died. I didn't remember him from my childhood, so I figured they were friends not for very long. But I did remember him visiting our house a few times years ago when Abba was still alive.

"Doesn't he only have two daughters?" I asked turning my body to face him. "Alhaji Abdulmajid." Desperately hoping for some reassurance.

"And two sons." He said casually as if he were no big deal.

Heavens, we should never meet again, please.

The chances were very low anyway.

As I replayed the encounter in my mind, one thing nagged at me. "Why are his eyes that color, anyway?" I muttered, more to myself than to my brother, The image of his piercing gaze lingering in my thoughts.

The next morning, I went straight to my mom's room and knocked. I usually didn't knock when I was a child, but Ummi reprimanded that I and started doing so. She always had a habit of knowing it was me standing at her door because of the amount of love and connection we had. I always tell myself that. I pushed the door slightly, peeking to see her on her praying mat with her Qur'an in front of her. She must have been sitting there since morning prayers.

"Good good good morning Ummi." I sang.

I ran to her and knelt behind her back. Before she knew it, my hands were wrapped around her petite back, I enveloped her in a hug. I felt her face spreading into a smile while nodding her head.

"Good morning. It looks like you are troubling me as early as you can. I'm not so strong as you, keep that in mind." She spoke.

She rolled me over slowly and I fell on her lap with my face looking up at hers. The glow on her fair-skinned face, it's my biggest treasure. The woman right here, had my heart, all inches of it.

"Yes, Ummi I know you're old. But I also bear in mind that you're just fifty. You're such a young baby. Very young." I argued.

"I'm fifty-seven. That's not young, young lady. Go away. Go eat your breakfast." She jokingly ordered.

"Alright, I'm going. But you will search for your baby later during the day, and no, I won't cook dinner with you." I smiled.

"Says the girl who cooks even when everyone is already full. I'm the lady of the house, I will eat everything. Please just disappear from my face. By the time you turn fifty-seven, you shall realize what my body is feeling." She explained.

The bond we share is a mother-daughter but most of the time we act like best friends. We talk freely with each other, and it doesn't hinder the huge respect I have for her. I gently closed her door before she called me back and lectured me.

It was only my room, Umma's room, and Aunty Yamaniya's room upstairs so I ran downstairs to check on everybody knowing fully well that Aunty Yamaniya was already there. She's Abba's youngest sister who lived with us. Coming downstairs, I was met with the pleasure view of two maids running from the kitchen to dining, bringing coolers of food. The breakfast in this house was always mouth-watering but unfortunately, we hardly ever ate breakfast together. We're all busy preparing for day-to-day schedules that everyone had no time to eat breakfast on the table mostly, so our foods are taken to our various rooms.

"My beautiful Aunty," I said when I saw Aunty Yamaniya coming out from the kitchen with her reddish-brown henna in two cones on an open receptacle for displaying it. She had lived with us since before Abba's death up till now and she's a complete sweetheart that's almost ten years more than thirty years. A woman of striking beauty, with a tall, statuesque figure that she carried with effortless grace. Her rich, olive-colored skin glowed with vitality, a testament to the natural oils and elixirs she had crafter over the years.

"Why're you still here?" She said while making a funny face with her nose scrunched up and eyes bulged out playfully. Her dark and almond-shaped eyes are her most captivating feature, always lined with kohl, giving her an air of mystery to outsiders.

"Good morning to you too, I'm good, thank you for asking."

"Well, how're you?" She said dropping the tray she was holding on the table. "So, why are you not in school yet?"

I huffed. "Aunty Yam Yam, you've been too busy every single morning since my semester started to realize that I don't have a single class by 7 am all through. And it's been more than... what?" I fake counted using my fingers. "A month." I finished while slumping my shoulders.

"Now, you're making me feel bad that I've been working too hard and haven't spent much time with my favourite niece." She put one hand on my arm and the other on my chin.

"Not going to work on me anymore. You call everyone in the family your favorite." It's true, every one of my siblings and cousins knew that. We all loved Aunty Yamaniya.

"Okay, okay, you got me. I promise I'll make it up to you. We're changing our location to a new building in a week. I should try these new formulas on you and your friends, don't you think?" She pointed at the cones.

Did I forget to mention she knew how to get to everybody's heart?

Aunty Yamaniya was a woman of formidable presence, known for her expertise in traditional spa treatments, henna artistry, and female beautification. She had cultivated a reputation as a master of her craft, running a successful shop that had long became a sanctuary for women seeking beauty and solace.

I rolled my eyes at the pineapple juice being served; I didn't like pineapples. I turned my direction to my favorite person's room.

I knocked heavily just to annoy him a little, and he accepted me rather fast. I pushed the door and saw his tall sinewy body standing close to the window holding some files. His room is scattered again, with books and files thrown every which way just like a professional businessman.

Ya Malik was on the cusp of thirty and had the build of someone who was no stranger to hard work –tall, broad-shouldered, with hands that knew both the rough texture of tools and the gentle touch needed for the more delicate aspects of the family business.

He was holding his phone to his ear, nodding and explaining the hell only he knew. I walked to his place of standing. His back was turned on me, and he was fully dressed in his black suit.

"Come on, it's not fair to ignore me like this. Is it your new favorite thing? I came all the way here to greet you and you're on a phone call? Come on." I reasoned.

"I have a future to prepare for. Excuse me. And I'm not ignoring you, I'm answering business-related stuff." He replied.

I rolled my eyes. I stared at him helplessly, hoping I would get a hug or something like we always did during our childhood, so I thought, why don't I just take the hug myself? I walked sheepishly behind him and wrapped my arms around him from the back. What I always do when forgotten. His muscles relaxed and he briefly ended the phone call.

"You just have to get that morning hug." He groaned.

"Whenever I can." I giggled.

He turned over and his manly, yet handsome attributes came to light. His rich brown eyes were shaped like almonds, his lips were a bright shade of light red color which rightfully complimented his warm brown skin.

That was the same man I shared every single childhood memory with, he was always there. I care a bunch lot about him. He cared even more for me. In the middle of my imagination, Ya Malik bent over and briefly pecked my temple. I wasn't surprised about that, he always did it. I let out a giggle, if Ummi found us pecking each other, we'd get an hour lecture on the taste in art and manners that are accepted by our social group. And then, she always, ended it off with how much it brought love and siblings closer, like in her culture. Ummi said two opposite thoughts on every topic of discussion.

"I think that will do, I'm off for work." He sentenced.

"Wait, good luck. May Allah protect you." I prayed.

I didn't bother to ask him if he had eaten breakfast, knowing him fully well, he didn't play with food. After Abba had passed away when we were kids, our uncle, Abba's younger brother, and Aunty Yamaniya's older brother, took over the family business, nurturing Ya Malik along the way. A few years ago, when the time came for Ya Malik to step up, he did so with a sense of duty and honor. Though it was huge, he embraced it fully because of a deep respect for the legacy of Abba.