Months had passed since Sabrina's birthday party, and life had continued on smoothly for Layla and Muhammad, or so it seemed. Beneath the surface, however, things weren't as perfect as they appeared. The growing tension between Muhammad and Juwairah had begun to bubble up, threatening to make its presence known in the most uncomfortable ways.

It all began earlier in the month when Juwairah, with her usual melodrama, had called her mother in tears. The words she sobbed through the phone were nothing short of scandalous—Muhammad hadn't touched her in months, hadn't even spoken to her. And as if that wasn't enough to cause a storm, she added that she hated the smallness of her current home, demanding to be moved into the same luxurious estate where Layla and Muhammad lived. She could hardly contain herself as she vented, "Banda neman magana, it's unbearable!"

Of course, Aunty Muneera, ever the manipulator, immediately stepped in, throwing one of her infamous tantrums. She cried, she begged, she even stormed around the house, determined to get what she wanted. Her sister, Hajiya Maryam, was forced to listen, and before long, her pleas had gotten the desired response. Muhammad's parents, not wanting any drama with the elder of the family, reluctantly agreed to whatever Aunty Muneera demanded.

The result? Juwairah had moved into the guestroom of Layla and Muhammad's home just two weeks ago, her presence like a cloud hanging over them. The house, once a haven of peace, had now become a battleground of emotions, with Juwairah doing everything in her power to worm her way into Layla's life, even if that meant getting under her skin.

Layla, however, was not one to be easily shaken. She had been ignoring Juwairah's constant attempts to draw her in, her patience running thin. But Juwairah—oh, Juwairah—never knew when to quit. She'd find ways, subtle and sly, to make Layla respond, pushing her buttons just enough to keep the tension simmering. Whether it was casual comments laced with bitterness, or playful attempts to challenge her, Juwairah's efforts were relentless.

Despite all of this, Layla kept her distance. She had grown weary of the drama, her focus solely on Muhammad and Sabrina, keeping her peace in the midst of chaos. But the storm was far from over. Every time she thought she could breathe, Juwairah found a way to disrupt the calm.

The tension between the women was now a game of who would break first. Juwairah, with her incessant need for validation and attention, had become a constant presence in their home, and Layla? Layla was learning that sometimes silence was the loudest response.

It was a quiet Saturday afternoon, and Muhammad was nowhere to be seen. Layla found herself in the kitchen, busy preparing lunch for her husband, the smell of spices filling the air. Sabrina was at Ya Meena's house, leaving Layla with some rare peace. Juwairah's house was right next door, but Layla tried to push the thought of her out of her mind.

In the meantime, Juwairah was having a heated conversation with her friend, Saf, her voice low but sharp.

"Wallahi, Juwairah, kike kyale ta ta Ke maki duk abun da take so a gidan nan? Doesn't she realize you're not just his wife but his cousin? We need to erase her from the picture of your perfect love story," Saf said, her tone filled with malice.

Juwairah's eyes narrowed. "I just need time, Saf. I mean, Ya Muhammad hasn't even touched me, fah. We've been married for almost a year, but he's not close to me at all."

Saf scoffed. "Tabdi! It's because of his wife that he's distant. He doesn't care about you, Juwairah. He's got another wife, and that's why he doesn't even look your way. She's got him all tangled up, and the child she's had with him? That's just adding to her hold over him."

Juwairah was silent for a moment, her fingers twitching as she processed the words. Saf continued, her voice lowering to a whisper. "You better act fast before it's too late, Juwairah. It's like she has him wrapped around her little finger. You need to make him yours. Take control, before she gets any more comfortable."

A shiver ran down Juwairah's spine, but it didn't last long. She had come this far, and she wasn't about to back down now. "What should we do?"

A wicked grin spread across Saf's face, one that made Juwairah's stomach turn with anticipation. "We're going to make him your puppet, and we'll make sure he hates every second with her. It's time to turn the tables."

Juwairah hesitated for a moment, her fear mixing with excitement. This could be her chance, and she wasn't going to let it slip away. "I'll do it," she whispered, her resolve hardening.

Meanwhile, Layla was finishing up her cooking and heading upstairs to get changed. As she passed the hallway, she overheard some hisses and abusive murmurs that made her smile knowingly. It was always the same with Juwairah. She was trying to get a rise out of Layla, but she had long learned to ignore the petty attempts.

Reaching her room, Layla removed her simple boubou and wrapped herself in a fluffy blue towel, heading for the bathroom. The cool water from the shower relaxed her muscles as she scrubbed away the day's exhaustion, savoring the calm. Afterward, she dried her long black silky hair, letting the warmth of the dryer soothe her.

Once done, she slipped into a pair of blue mom jeans and a cozy purple sweatshirt, finishing the look with a black turban. Comfortable, simple, and ready to relax, she grabbed her phone and went upstairs to watch some TV. She'd recorded the latest episode of Game of Thrones and settled on the three-seater opposite the screen.

As the credits rolled and she casually browsed her phone, she heard the sound of the front door opening, followed by the familiar voice of Muhammad. She smiled, glancing up.

"Hi, daddy," she greeted warmly.

He came over and sat beside her, his lips brushing her cheek in a soft kiss. "Hi, Anne," he murmured, calling her by his usual endearment. He rested his hand on her knee. "How was your day?"

Layla smiled back, her heart light. "It was fine, Alhamdulillah. How about yours?"

"Good, just tired. I'm going to shower, then I'll join you." He stood up and made his way toward their room, his figure disappearing down the hall.

Layla leaned back into the couch, returning to her phone. Her cousin Ruqaiya had messaged her, saying she would visit tomorrow, inshallah. Layla felt a burst of happiness at the thought of seeing her family. It was a much-needed change, especially after the tension with Juwairah.

For now, though, Layla decided to enjoy the peace, feeling content in the moment with her husband and the excitement of family coming together. But little did she know, the calm before the storm was just beginning.

Not long after, Muhammad emerged from the bathroom, dressed casually in black jeans and a navy blue button-up shirt. He looked effortlessly handsome, and Layla couldn't help but smile as he reached out for her hand. She gladly took it, and together, they descended the stairs, their hearts light, their conversation flowing effortlessly. Their chemistry was undeniable, and it was impossible for anyone to tell that their marriage had been arranged. To an outsider, they looked like the perfect couple, genuinely in love.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, passed through the living room, and into the dining room. Just as they walked in, Juwairah, sitting off to the side, caught a glimpse of them. The sight of Layla and Muhammad so effortlessly happy together sent a pang of jealousy straight through her chest. The intensity of her feelings surprised her—this wasn't just jealousy, it was pure rage. In that moment, she swore to herself that Muhammad would be hers, no matter what it took.

She hissed through her teeth, her hand gripping her phone tightly. "Saf, please, let's go out. I need to breathe, and I'm clearly not doing so in this house," she said, her voice dripping with resentment. She grabbed her bag and marched toward the door, slamming it behind her with a loud bang.

Muhammad, unaware of the drama unfolding next door, simply smiled at Layla. They both laughed at something silly that had been said and made their way to the dining table. They ate their meal together, still lost in conversation, before heading to the living room to relax and watch TV, a simple, happy moment between the two of them.

****

Meanwhile, Saf and Juwairah were on a different path. Juwairah's nerves were beginning to take over, and she couldn't shake the doubt creeping into her mind.

"Saf, are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Saf, always confident, waved her concerns away. "Keh dallah banza, ki kwantar da hankalin ki. Everything is going to be fine," she reassured her, walking confidently toward the direction of an abandoned house.

Juwairah hesitated, a lump forming in her throat. "No, Saf, what if we get caught? I'm scared."

Saf stopped, turning to face her with a hard stare. "Do you want your husband to love you, or do you want to keep being the third party?" she demanded, her voice sharp.

Juwairah sighed heavily, rubbing her temple in frustration. She was torn between fear and her desire to make Muhammad hers.

Saf rolled her eyes. "I mean, the choice is yours, Juwairah."

After a long moment of silence, Juwairah finally nodded, resigning herself to her fate. "Okay, fine. Let's do it."

Together, they headed to the Mallam's place. After what they needed to do, Juwairah dropped Saf off at home and headed back to her own house, her mind racing with guilt and excitement.

****

As she walked through the door, she immediately sensed the tension in the air. Muhammad was standing in the living room, his expression dark and furious.

"Where the hell are you coming from? Whose permission did you ask to go out?" he snapped. "Juwairah, for Allah's sake, it's past eleven!"

Juwairah wasn't in the mood to listen. She hissed, rolling her eyes in frustration. "It's none of your business where I'm coming from, ya Muhammad. I didn't need your permission because I'm no less than a wife in this goddamn house! You don't treat me like one, so I don't see you as my husband. Therefore, leave me the hell alone."

With that, she turned on her heel and stomped off toward her room, leaving Muhammad standing in disbelief. What just happened? He couldn't believe the audacity she had just shown. Was she really okay? Something had to be wrong with her, some deep issue in her head.

He shook his head, muttering a few duas for her before heading upstairs to Layla's room. When he walked in, Layla immediately noticed the look on his face.

"What's wrong, baby?" she asked softly.

Muhammad sat down next to her, massaging his temple. "It's Juwairah," he started, explaining what had happened. "I don't know what's going on with her, but she snapped at me like she's lost her mind. I don't even know what to do anymore."

Layla shook her head in disbelief, but her expression was calm. "Don't worry, Muhammad. Everything will be okay. We'll handle it."

He looked at her with deep affection, kissing her forehead. "You're the best, Layla. I love you."

She smiled, her heart full. "I love you too, Muhammad. May Allah strengthen our love for each other."

"Ameen," he said with a soft smile, before lying down beside her. Together, they recited their duas, praying for peace in their hearts and protection for their marriage. They eventually fell asleep in each other's arms, the comfort of their bond wrapping around them like a protective shield.

Little did they know, the storm was far from over. Juwairah's plans were just beginning, and the road ahead would be far more complicated than either of them could anticipate.

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Love, Chiickadee