Layla

The warmth and grace of Asad's family had been nothing short of comforting. Ammi, Sahla, Nahla, and even the myriad of aunties who had shown up in a flurry of gold-threaded veils and perfumes had treated me with such kindness that, for a moment, I felt less like a stranger and more like someone who belonged. They had conversed with my family as if they were old friends reunited after years apart, laughing and reminiscing over nothing and everything at once. It should have put my heart at ease and softened the edges of the turmoil I'd been carrying since the day this whirlwind began.

But it didn't... not completely.

What had stayed with me most, more than the unexpected warmth, more than the light banter, and even more than Nahla's bright, teasing smile as she squeezed my hand like we were already sisters, was Ammi's voice. The last part of our meeting replayed in my mind like a loop I couldn't escape, her words heavy, deliberate, and filled with a mother's quiet anguish.

"I want my old son back."

That one sentence clung to my chest, winding itself around my thoughts like stubborn vines, tightening with every passing moment. I couldn't shake it, couldn't untangle the questions it left behind no matter how hard I tried. For Ammi, his Ammi, of all people, to say something like that to me? Someone she barely knew, someone she didn't owe a single explanation to? It wasn't just words; it meant something. It had to be serious. It had to be massive. But what did it mean?

I turned it over in my mind, again and again. Was his past connected to the subtle habits I had noticed in him, the ones I hadn't thought much of at the time? The way his smile, though kind, always seemed measured, as if he carried invisible reins to keep himself in check. The way his voice, calm and deliberate, never wavered, even in moments that felt like they demanded more emotion. The way he seemed to exist in a quiet bubble, composed but distant, his presence as steady as it was enigmatic. 

Was that what his mother had meant? Was there a reason behind his quiet restraint, the way he seemed to navigate life with such precision, as though veering off course was not an option?

And what about the thing Ammi had said about his past? Did it have to do with this invisible wall I felt but couldn't see? She had spoken as though whatever had happened wasn't recent.

"Even for as little as one day, he's never been the same," She'd said. So why was she still worried? Why did it still weigh so heavily on her? 

And why did it feel, suddenly, like I had been handed a key to a door I wasn't sure I wanted to open? 

The more I thought about it, the more curious I became. I couldn't help myself. The questions clawed at me, demanding answers. What had happened to Asad that changed him so deeply, so profoundly, that his mother, the woman who had raised him, known him, and loved him longer than anyone else probably, still carried the burden of it? 

Was this why he had seemed so patient, so understanding, even as I had kept my distance since the day of our marriage? Did he already know I would take time to adjust because he had once been thrust into something he hadn't been ready for either? 

I didn't know. But I wanted to. Desperately. 

It wasn't just curiosity... it was something else. Something deeper, something that felt like a quiet urgency in my chest. If I was going to walk this path with him, then I needed to understand what had shaped him into the man he was now. I needed to know what had left the shadows I thought I saw in his eyes when he thought no one was looking.

Whatever it was, it had shaped him, molded him, and lingered long enough to still worry his mother. And now, it lingered in me too. 

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that all I wanted right now, more than clarity, more than certainty, was to know what had happened to him. To understand why Ammi had spoken to me the way she had, with hope in her voice but worry in her heart.

But as the questions mounted, so did my unease. Because with every answer I sought, I knew there was a chance it might not be what I wanted to hear. And yet, I couldn't stop myself. I needed to know. I had to know.

Because whatever it was that had made him "like this", I was certain of one thing... it hadn't destroyed him. It had shaped him. And somehow, I suspected, it would shape us too.

After everyone had left our home last night, the house fell into a calm, reflective silence. For the first time since the whirlwind of these past few days, I found myself alone with Ummi, sharing a quiet moment that felt both familiar and grounding. It had been so long since I had the chance to speak with her like this, one-on-one, away from the noise of the world. 

When I sought solace in her room that night, it wasn't just out of habit. It was a need. Sleeping in Ummi's room had always been my refuge, especially after Abba's death. I vividly remembered sneaking into her room as a child, curling into the warmth of her embrace, and feeling her steady presence soothe the ache of grief. 

I would wake up sometimes to hear her soft prayers whispered in the darkness, asking Allah for mercy on Abba's soul. The quiet tears she thought I didn't notice would dampen my hair or neck as I pretended to be asleep, too young to fully understand the depth of her sorrow but old enough to hold onto her tightly. Those moments bonded us in a way words couldn't, as if the shared weight of our loss had woven a stronger thread between us. 

Last night felt like a return to those moments, though now, as an adult, I could see it with new clarity. As I lay there, wrapped in the familiarity of her space, I felt a sense of safety I hadn't known I needed. 

"Wake up and come to the kitchen with me. I need your help with a new recipe I'm working on," Ummi said, her gentle voice pulling me from my thoughts. 

I stirred, blinking against the dim light filtering through the curtains. "Do you really need my help, or do you just want someone to keep you company?" I teased, though I already knew the answer. 

A small smile played on her lips. "Maybe both. Come on." 

As I followed her to the kitchen, I couldn't help but admire her dedication to her craft. Ummi had always been relentless in her pursuit of perfection when it came to her recipes, testing and tweaking until every dish was just right even though she had a team that'd be paid just to do that, she preferred to maintain individuality and uniqueness to her recipes. Watching her work tirelessly on these creations for her restaurants was inspiring, and I often wondered how she found the energy to pour so much of herself into everything she did. 

In the soft glow of the kitchen, the quiet hum of her preparations filled the air. I leaned against the counter, still shaking off the remnants of sleep, when I lazily reached for my phone. The screen lit up, and there it was Asad's name, accompanied by a missed call and a message he'd sent earlier. 

Just checking in. I hope you're doing okay. 

A soft smile tugged at my lips as I read his message. It was simple, but it carried a warmth that surprised me. I thought back to our conversation a night ago, his reserved tone and the way he had carefully chosen his words. He had been thoughtful, as always, but there was something else there too, something quieter, almost tentative, that I hadn't quite figured out yet. 

The memory made me chuckle softly, and I mentally noted to call him back or not after replying to his message. I wasn't mad at him per say but I felt the very need to show that I was or at least have an attitude. For a moment, the chaos of the last few days felt distant, replaced by the strange comfort of this new normal. 

But even as I stood there, Ummi moving gracefully around the kitchen, her focus entirely on her work, I couldn't shake the questions that had taken root in my mind. The warmth of her space, the comforting sound of her voice, it all reminded me of the conversation we'd had the night before. 

Her voice broke through my thoughts. "You seem lost in your head this morning," She said, not looking up from her task. 

I hesitated before answering, my fingers idly tracing patterns on the counter. "Just... thinking," I said softly, not entirely ready to share what was on my mind. 

She glanced at me then, her eyes warm and knowing, but she didn't press further. It was one of the things I loved most about her, her ability to give space when it was needed, even as she quietly let you know she was there. 

Later that evening, the house was alive with activity, laughter, and chatter spilling from every corner. Relatives filled the rooms, their voices blending into a warm hum that felt both comforting and overwhelming. Everyone seemed to have caught the "wedding mood," and though I smiled and greeted each person who came my way, I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about it yet. 

Ummi had assured me earlier that this was necessary, that family always came together for such occasions. As if there was an occasion. But as I stepped outside into the cool night air, the stillness of the garden felt far more welcoming than the crowded rooms inside. 

I walked toward the garden behind the house, where I knew I'd find Ya Malik. The garden was his favorite spot, a quiet escape where he often went to think. Tonight, it would become the setting for a conversation I'd been avoiding but could no longer delay. 

As I spotted him sitting on the stone bench under the mango tree, my heart tightened. His shoulders were slightly hunched, his face shadowed in the dim light, but there was no mistaking the familiar silhouette. I paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady meself. 

I hadn't spoken to him since that day, the day I'd lashed out at them and accused them of not loving me, of not standing up for me. The memory of my words made my chest ache with guilt. I'd been unfair, cruel even, and I knew it. Over the past few days, I'd had plenty of time to reflect, and I realized how wrong I'd been to have used words like that even though some of the feelings still remained.

It wasn't his fault. He was doing the best he could in an impossible situation with elders he couldn't go up against. And yet, I had blamed him even after because it was easier than confronting my own emotions. 

As I approached, Ya Malik looked up and stood. His tall frame made me feel small, even though I wasn't particularly short. For a moment, we just stared at each other, the silence between us heavy with unspoken words. 

"You first." He said, just as I opened my mouth to speak as he did. 

"No, you go ahead," I replied, shaking my head slightly. 

He raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Alright, let's not do this back-and-forth. You go first, Layla." 

I hesitated, wringing my hands together. "I... I wanted to apologize," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. I glanced down at the grass before forcing myself to meet his gaze. "For what I said and did these past few days. I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have said those things to you or to anyone. I was angry and overwhelmed, and I let it get the best of me." 

My words faltered, and I looked away, unsure how to continue. A lump formed in my throat, and I clenched my hands to keep them from trembling. 

Before I could spiral further, Ya Malik closed the distance between us and pulled me into a tight hug. 

The gesture caught me off guard, but I melted into it, feeling the warmth of his embrace.

"No, Layla," He said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "I should be apologizing. If not for me, none of this would have turned out this way." 

I pulled back slightly, shaking my head. "No, Ya Malik. I understand now. There was nothing you could have done against the elders. If you had tried, they would have just called you mannerless or disrespectful." 

"And you're always finding a way to argue with me." He shot back, raising an eyebrow.

We both laughed, the tension melting away as our usual banter took over. 

"So," He said after a moment, leaning back against the tree with his arms crossed. "How are you holding up with all this wedding madness? Are you getting used to the idea yet?" 

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not sure 'used to it' is the right phrase. I think I'm just going along with it at this point. But, surprisingly... everyone's been nice. His family is... wonderful." 

Ya Malik's expression softened. "Good. I hoped they'd be. Ummi kept saying they were good people." 

I nodded with a faint smile on my lips. "They are. But I'm still figuring out how to deal with all of this. It's a lot to process, you know?" 

"I know." Ya Malik said, his tone gentle. "And you don't have to do it all at once. Just take it one step at a time." 

"Mhm." I hummed and nodded.

"You have grown more mature in the last few days, I must say."

I scoffed playfully before replying to him. "Then, you must finally be proud of me."

"I am always proud of you." He said as a matter of fact.

I rolled my eyes and scoffed once more.

"If you feel today is the first day I'm proud of you, then I should be apologizing. I'm always proud of you. Maybe you can be a handful sometimes and maybe have way too much outbursts but you always seem to realize your mistake by yourself after some time. That, I cant be too made at."

We continued talking, the conversation drifting into lighter topics.

As our conversation wound down, the light banter between Ya Malik and me faded into a comfortable silence. I had missed this, missed him. 

"Well, Layl," He said, standing and dusting his hands against his pants. "Before we head in, send me everything you'd want to include in your marriage contract." 

I blinked, confused. "My... what?" 

He raised an eyebrow at me like I'd just asked what water was. "Your marriage contract. You didn't think I was just going to sit back and do nothing, did you?" 

My silence must have spoken for me because he crossed his arms, his tone shifting into the firm, no-nonsense one he often used when he meant business. "I'll respect the elders, but I must ensure your security regardless. So, send me everything you'd like to include. Should you need any counsel to decide, consult Malika or me only." 

I stared at him, caught between awe and disbelief. "Did he... agree to this?" The words left my lips before I could stop them, but I couldn't bring myself to say his name. I didn't want to. I didn't need to. Ya Malik would understand. 

He shrugged, his expression unreadable. "I wouldn't know since I didn't give him the choice." 

His answer left me momentarily stunned. I opened my mouth to respond, but he continued, his tone lighter now, almost nonchalant. "Besides, his mother's side of the family does it all the time in their culture."

Before I could process what he'd just said, he turned to leave, casually tossing his next words over his shoulder. "Both you and Asad will sign it tomorrow when he comes to visit." 

The air around me seemed to shift as he said it. I'd known Asad was coming tomorrow, I'd permitted it. But hearing Ya Malik say it out loud sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. 

I stood there, rooted to the spot, my thoughts spiraling as I watched my brother disappear into the house.

Whatever tomorrow held, it was going to change things... I'm guessing.

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