Few weeks later.

"Leyla, kalk kızım!" I heard Mammy's voice, sharp and urgent. What does she want now? It's barely dawn.

"It's already 7:30, and you know we're expecting guests. Hadi, hurry up!" She added before storming out of the room.

Innalillahi, the gaisuwa!

I could barely process the words. Why does Mammy always wait until the last minute to remind me of these things? With a sigh, I threw the blankets off me and quickly scrambled out of bed. I had completely forgotten about the visitors coming today.

I rushed to the bathroom, scrubbed myself with raspberry-scented shower gel, and stepped out, wrapping myself in a towel. My mind raced as I dried off, desperately trying to figure out what to wear.

Why does this always happen to me? I can never find the right outfit when I'm under pressure.

I called Ibty in a panic, my voice shaky. "Ibty, I have nothing to wear. Please help."

To my surprise, she answered almost immediately. "I'm already at your place," she said, sounding way too calm for my liking.

I heard her footsteps in the corridor before she pushed open the door to my room. "Hafsatu," she called, her voice sharp but teasing.

She marched right over to my closet, pulling out a simple yet elegant atamfa skirt and blouse. She tossed them onto my bed and smiled. "Here, wear these. Trust me, you'll look great."

I hesitated, but after a quick glance at the clock, I knew I didn't have time to argue.

I dressed quickly and agreed to let her help with my makeup—just a little bit. "Iyı, just a little," I muttered, barely able to hide my annoyance.

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After a few minutes of touch-ups, I stared at myself in the mirror. It was minimal makeup—just enough to make me look polished without overdoing it. Foundation, a swipe of lip gloss, and some mascara.

"Okay, it's time to go, yallah," I told myself as I sprayed a bit of Jimmy Choo perfume. I grabbed a matching veil and hurried downstairs.

When I reached the living room, I hesitated, took a deep breath, and entered, trying to push past the nerves clawing at my stomach.

"Assalamu Alaikum," I greeted as I stepped into the room, my voice steady despite the swirling anxiety.

"Ina wunin ku, ya hanya?" I asked, squatting to greet the guests respectfully.

"Lafiya lau, Alhamdulillah," they responded, their voices warm but distant.

I tried to mask my discomfort as I made my way over to Mammy, who was sitting in her usual spot. I took a seat next to her on the carpet, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. I fiddled with my Swarovski bracelet—another birthday gift from my brother, Ya Muhammad.

The sound of prayer filled the room. "Salati goma ga annabi," a man intoned.

"Sallalahu Alaihiwasallam," the others echoed.

I was trying to focus on the prayer, but my mind kept wandering. Who were these people? I didn't even know half of them. And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off today.

After the prayer, the elders excused themselves. They exchanged polite pleasantries and formal introductions, but I didn't catch most of it. My thoughts were elsewhere.

Suddenly, the room felt emptier. I didn't notice that only one person was left sitting across from me—until I looked up and saw him. The guy from Cold Stone.

The sight of him made my stomach flip. He was wearing a blue kaftan with a matching cap, his eyes still as intense as I remembered.

"Are you done checking me out?" he said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

That cocky jerk.

I wanted to snap at him, but instead, I forced a smile and said, "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Alhamdulillah. You?" he replied, his voice smooth, as if he was used to talking to people like this.

"I'm good," I said, barely able to look him in the eye. I quickly looked away, trying to hide the growing warmth on my cheeks.

There was an awkward silence. The tension between us thickened, and I wasn't sure if it was him or me who was making it worse.

"So, you're Muhammad's younger sister?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

I rolled my eyes internally. Was that supposed to impress me?

"Yeah, I am," I answered, trying to sound unaffected.

"That's good. Haven't seen you in a very long time," he said, his smirk deepening. "You've grown."

I wanted to slap that smirk off his face. What did he mean, I've grown? I wasn't a little girl anymore.

I shot back with a cold, "So, what's your deal?"

He chuckled, unfazed by my sudden change in tone. "I was just saying, it's good to see you after all these years."

I wasn't buying it. I tried to steer the conversation somewhere else. "How's work?"

He leaned back, a smug grin spreading across his face. "Lafiya Alhamdulillah. What are you studying?"

"Civil Engineering," I replied, trying to stay calm despite the storm brewing in my chest.

"Okay, that's good," he said.

More silence.

I had enough. I wasn't about to sit here and exchange pleasantries with this guy anymore. But just as I was about to stand up, someone else spoke.

"Sorry, guys, but it's time to go," a man said.

It was Khalifa, Muhammad's friend. Thank God.

"Okay, goodbye, Layla," Muhammad said, his smirk never leaving his face.

I just nodded, barely able to hold it together.

It wasn't bad after all. But it wasn't good either.

As I walked out of the room, I felt the weight of the day pressing down on me. What was I supposed to feel about all of this?

I didn't know. I didn't even know what to expect anymore.

The translations of the Hausa and Turkish words used in the chapter.

"Iyı, just a little." – "Okay, just a little."

"Hadi, hurry up!" – "Come on, hurry up!"

"Assalamu Alaikum." – "Peace be upon you."

"Ina wunin ku, ya hanya?" – "How are you, how is the way ?" (A polite greeting, asking how the day is or how someone is doing.)

"Lafiya lau, Alhamdulillah." – "We are fine, praise be to God."

"Salati goma ga annabi." – "Ten prayers for the Prophet." (A prayer phrase often used in Islamic gatherings.)

"Sallalahu Alaihiwasallam." – "Peace and blessings be upon him." (A traditional response after mentioning the Prophet Muhammad's name.)

"Naber?" – "How are you?" (Informal greeting.)

"İyi." – "I'm fine."

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Deedah✨