Layla

I had returned from the spa a few hours ago, feeling a little more relaxed, when I heard the familiar voice of Umaima, one of my younger cousins, down the hallway. She burst into my room with that bright energy she always carried, eyes wide and full of excitement.

"Adda Layla!" She squealed while throwing her hands in the air. "I can't believe it. I heard from Baba that you're getting married!"

I turned to her, my eyebrows raised. "Married? I told you already, it is just courting." I chuckled, shaking my head. "And I seriously need everyone to stop saying I am getting married because I am not. Ugh, you guys make it look like I am getting married tomorrow. It's annoying."

Umaima's mouth formed an 'O', her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Trust me, my dad doesn't say things like that for no reason so get ready." She said to which I chuckled because of how outrageous she sounded. "But he is coming tonight, huh? That's why you look a bit worked up."

A part of me wanted to deny it, but what was the point? She'd already heard it from somewhere that was why she came in the evening, and I wasn't exactly keeping it a secret. She and I were closer than any of my other cousins, despite being a little younger than me. She was like the little sister I never had. Not that the rest of her family, her mother, and sisters, gave me much room to get close to them. They didn't like me, not that they ever said it outright, but I always sensed it because it didn't seem like they cared to hide it, and I had a few guesses why.

Maybe it was because my dad had been more successful than theirs, even though my Uncle Alhajijo, had been the one to help scale the company after his death. They always seemed to be jealous, and their mother had hated Ummi for the longest time.

"Well... yeah, he is." I sighed, rolling my eyes but I knew, deep down, she wasn't entirely wrong. I was worked up. "I'm just trying to decide what to wear."

Her eyebrows shot up as if this was the most exciting piece of news she'd heard all month. "What are your options?"

I moved to my wardrobe and pulled out the pieces I had been agonizing over. "It's between this blue abaya..." I pulled it out and hung it on the hanger stand. "... this white dress and this... pink one." I held up the pink Emirati-inspired gown, covered in soft, delicate stones that shimmered gently under the light.

Umaima's face lit up. "Okay, first of all, don't wear the abaya. It's too formal when he's coming to your house. Like, he's some stranger." He was, kind of, a stranger. But I didn't voice out.

"Okay." I considered that. "But the white dress?" I asked while holding it up to display it.

"It's too much when you are just getting started." She leaned in and inspected the dress. "You know... white means innocent."

The way she said it was almost too casual, but I caught on. "Oh, really?" I raised an eyebrow at her looking amused. "And how exactly do you know about the meaning of white? You are 17."

"You know... I just read about these femininity theories, or whatever. Nothing special." She flushed and looked a bit flustered but tried to play it off.

I couldn't help but laugh softly. "Theories, huh? About first dates?" She was trying so hard not to seem like she knew too much, but I wasn't fooled.

"Adda, stop!" Umaima cleared her throat while trying to brush past the teasing and reaching for the pink dress. "Anyway, I think you should wear this one. It's perfect." She held it up and ran her fingers over the soft fabric. "It's baby pink, which is super feminine, and with the matching veil... trust me, it screams delicate." She gestured with her fingers. "It'll make him think of you as you know... innocent, in his mind." She winked at me.

Slowly, I turned to look at her. "What do they teach kids nowadays?" I blinked, flabbergasted, but with ideas forming in my mind. "How do you possibly know that?" Her words had stunned me for a moment, but it made sense. A lot of sense, actually. The pink dress was beautiful, baby pink, with intricate designs and stones that shimmered just enough without being too flashy.

"I just do." Umaima smiled coyly while avoiding eye contact. "I told you, I read about these things." She shrugged.

I stared at her. Growing up, I'd learned all the delicate beauty secrets and codes to femininity from Ummi as that is very much rooted in her tribe. It wasn't something I had consciously thought about before, but Umaima's words were uncanny.

"I seriously can't with you," I said with a smile.

I leaned closer to the mirror, taking in my reflection as I adjusted my veil. I had perfected the act of draping my veil without pins and life had gotten so much easier since then. My hair beneath the veil was wild and coiled as always, in its natural afro. I tamed it into a puff, one of my go-to styles, that sat neatly at the back of my head. It was entirely hidden, and I was glad for that considering the width and length of the veil. My curls gave a slight lift to the veil, though pulled back, creating a gentle halo effect at the back.

My face, framed by the pink fabric, looked softer than usual, the minimal makeup adding to my face. I had applied just a touch of foundation to even out my complexion and gave me a natural glow. A bit of blush on my cheeks gave me a healthy flush, and my lips were lined with a brown lip liner. I had applied the thinnest line of kohl to my eyes.

My phone buzzed with Asad's message letting me know of his arrival.

Salaam, I'm here.

"He is here," I said to Umaima, my eyes widening.

"Are you freaking out?" She laughed. "Don't freak out. You've done well so far."

I descended the stairs, my heart thudded louder than my footsteps and I silently smoothed down the fabric of my dress with nervous hands. I could hear quiet conversation coming from the living room, Ya Malik's voice mixed with Asad's, and the thought of facing him in person for the first time since our series of messages and calls over the past few days made my pulse quicken.

I peeped into the room and my eyes immediately found him sitting comfortably on the couch across from Ya Malik. His presence filled the room effortlessly. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored attire, the fabric of his babban riga, and wore the traditional cap that matched the ensemble.

I stepped into the room, and he turned toward me just as Ya Malik left without sparing me a glance. The audacity. I swallowed, fully aware of how awkward this was. The polite greetings between Asad and me felt formal, stiff even, considering how casual our phone conversations had been.

"Sannu da zuwa." I welcomed in Hausa, my voice barely a whisper.

"Thank you." He replied in Fulfulde, his voice deep, deeper than I remembered, but there was a hint of warmth beneath the surface.

I forced a small smile, unsure of what to say next. Asad turned his body my way a little and removed his sunglasses. I found myself staring, and if I wasn't mistaken, my breath hitched. Those eyes. Light, intense, yet obviously mysterious. The faint irregularity in his left iris, which I had noticed during our first encounter, still intrigued me. I had never seen anything like it.

Asad's face was angular and strong, his sharp jawline framed by a neatly trimmed beard. His complexion, like warm desert sand kissed by the sun, was a perfect blend of his background, but today, I noticed more of the defined features—his straight nose, the thick dark brows that always seemed to hold a muted, stern expression. 

Our eyes met for a split second, and I quickly looked away, feeling my neck heat up.

"How are you feeling today?" He asked and I immediately knew he was referring to my headache in the past few days. We've not spoken much because I couldn't use my phone for long periods bur his messages were so considerate and if I didn't know any better, I'd say concerned as well.

"I am a lot better, Alhamdulillah?" I slightly nodded. I didn't want to talk about me being sick though, so I changed the topic. "Did Ya Malik keep you busy when you came?" I asked him while fidgeting with the edges of my veil. I chuckled nervously.

"Yes, I suppose he did." His lips curved into a faint smile, barely there but enough to make me feel like I had done something right. His hands rested in front of him, his posture straight, but he didn't look ready to take command of the room like last time. I watched him carefully, noticing the way his shoulders tensed as he sat there, looking unsure of what to do next. And I realized.

He was shy and nervous.

I mischievous smile graced my face. He had been so confident over the phone, laughing, teasing, leading most of our conversations, and yet, here he was, looking shyer than I ever expected. I smile tugged at my lips as an idea popped into my head.

I decided to take advantage of the situation. After all. He had teased me enough on the phone about being shy, now it was time for a little revenge. I had always been mischievous. Keeping my tone soft, almost teasing, my fingers lightly brushing over the stones on my dress.

"You seem... different in person," I said speaking slower and more feminine than usual, watching for his reaction. I could see his brow furrow slightly, but he didn't say anything, just glanced at me curiously. "Tell me," I continued, "was it your alter ego that was talking on the phone and messaging me all this time?"

He blinked and then gave a soft, nervous laugh, but I could tell he was caught off guard. I smiled wider, then tried to tame but completely enjoyed my play. "I mean, because you on the phone... well, he was quite bold. But you here..." I raised an eyebrow, mischievously looking at him from the corner of my eye, "... seem much quieter. Almost shy." I shrugged while saying the last part.

He cleared his throat, trying to recover his composure. "I wasn't shy." He started but I interrupted with a playful laugh, making sure to tilt my head slightly, the way I knew made me look more innocent.

"No, no, don't worry," I said, lowering my voice to a softer tone. "It's cute, really."

I watched as he shifted slightly, clearly unsure of how to respond. I chuckled. It felt so good to have the upper hand. And I didn't feel bad.

"And speaking of bold..." I added with another mischievous smile, about to dig into the past. "... who sends a proposal through a girl's brother like that? You do realize no one does that anymore, right?"

His eyes widened slightly, clearly taken aback by the sudden change in the conversation. "How do they do it now then?" He asked, genuinely curious while my thoughts flashed back to my conversation with the girls earlier.

I folded my arms in front of me, as I tapped my chin thoughtfully. "Well," I started while pretending to be deep in thought, "you're supposed to, you know... say out your interest first, maybe ask for her number, call her a few times..." I trailed off as I watched him closely as he listened intently, almost as if he were taking mental notes. "And, of course, message her often... maybe even take her out on a da-" I stopped mid-sentence, realizing what I was about to say. My eyes widened, and I glanced up at him quickly. "No." I added abruptly."

His expression didn't change, instead, he tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing with interest. "That's what they do these days?" He asked with a low and serious voice as if he were truly trying to understand.

And then the realization hit me. He was serious. He didn't know that was how it's done nowadays. My face softened and I tried to hold back a big smile,

"You..." I started but a too-obvious smile which I suspected could turn into a burst of laughter threatened to appear. "... you're old." I finished but couldn't hold back anymore, knowing that was a discovery even for me.

He smiled at that, just a small one but enough to make my heart skip a bit. "I am not old." He voiced out. "Technically speaking."

"But you..." I said in between laughs. "You don't know. How is that possible?" I eventually burst into fits of laughter. There was no way, a man, in the 21st century, in Northern Nigeria didn't know how things go. Except if he didn't have friends, or never dated a lady before. I leaned on both because he lowkey gave me the vibe that he didn't have many girl conversations with his friends and he probably didn't date much.

Asad's gaze lingered on me so seriously while I was still laughing that it made me shift in my seat. Silence stretched long for comfort, thick and suffocating, and I cleared my throat.

"Is there something on my face?" I asked, my voice coming out more confused than I intended. I instinctively reached up to touch my cheek, wondering if I'd smudged my makeup but there was nothing. I touched my veil to see if my hair had somehow come loose.

His expression didn't change. Instead, his eyes softened, but only just slightly. "You are... so beautiful." He said quietly, in the most expected way.

I blinked, completely taken aback. That was the last thing I expected him to say. I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. The intensity in his voice, and the weight of his words, struck me deeply, making my heart skip. I searched his face for any sign of humor, maybe an awkward joke to diffuse the moment, but there was none. Who was I kidding anyway? He meant it.

"I..." I started, totally speechless. "I guess so. Thank you." I turned my face away, in an attempt to hide myself blushing. I heard him chuckle a bit.

"Would you go on a date with me?" He asked, his voice too calm but now with a hint of amusement in his tone.

I bit my lip, my eyes widened in shock, and then suddenly felt flustered. What's wrong with this man and his abruptness? I stared at him completely stunned wondering how that flipped on me so fast. The confident Asad was back, and I wasn't prepared for it. My heart raced but I tried to play it cool by giving a shy smile again.

"No, no, of course not," I said while waving my hand dismissively. "You are only asking because I mentioned it."

"No." His brows kneaded together, his voice serious again. "I'm asking for myself. I didn't before because I wasn't sure if you'd be comfortable with it. And you weren't feeling well these past few days."

I blinked a couple of times, completely taken surprised by his sincerity. He was really asking. The teasing was gone, even though it was mostly from me anyway, and all that was left was the quiet question hanging in the air between us.

"Well... I guess we will have to see whether I would go on a date with you or not." I said softly while glancing at him through my lashes.

Truthfully speaking, I would go on a date with him, but I couldn't let him know that there and then. 1. Not after I had just subconsciously suggested it to him. 2. He'd have to show me if he was actually serious by asking again. 3. What kind of girl would I be if I said yes, the first time?

The conversation diverted for a few minutes and he was about to say something but a knock on the door interrupted. We both looked up and I wondered who was there. Before I could stand to answer, the door swung open, revealing a figure standing in the doorway. The dim light from the hallway cast long shadows, making it difficult to see who it was at first, but the moment he stepped inside, my stomach dropped.

The last person I could have wanted to see in the situation.

Strict, stern, and traditional. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, landed immediately on the two of us, sitting together. A man and a lady, alone. I knew it was a terrible sight instantly. His gaze carried weight, as always but I couldn't put a finger on what exactly he was thinking.

I swallowed hard, hoping silently that my brother was somewhere near, every nerve in my body on high alert. I forced an innocent smile that had worked a few times before, praying it did at the moment too.

"Wa'alaikum'Salaam, Uncle Alhajijo."

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Hello readers,

How're we all doing? How was today's chapter?😁  Consider it as one of the many love letters from me to you on Asad and Layla's bond. I can't wait for us to explore more of their relationship.

Let me know what you think in the comment section!💗

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