3

Ayrah's pov 

Nazra and I got ready to leave Lagos for Abuja, and from the moment I zipped up my suitcase, I already felt tired, not physically, but mentally.

The thought of seeing my mother again sat heavily in my chest. The questions, the corrections, the way she always found something to complain about, it was exhausting before it even began.

I adjusted the sleeve of my Ankara gown, smoothing it down with slow, careful fingers. If there was one thing I had prepared for, it was that. At least today, she wouldn't talk about my dressing.

At least.

Hawra hovered nearby, helping with small things I didn't ask for. Of course she had to come. I needed her, whether I liked to admit it or not.

But the way she and Nazra would not stop talking...

I glanced at them briefly as they laughed over something I didn't care about. Their voices filled the room too easily, too freely.

Annoying.

I picked up my bag without saying anything and walked out first.

At the airport 

We sat in business class, the quiet there doing little to calm my thoughts. Nazra sat beside me, relaxed as always, while Hawra took the seat behind us.

I leaned back, adjusting the fall of my gown over my legs, my fingers brushing absentmindedly against the fabric.

"Can't wait to see the drama between you and Mommy," Nazra said, a laugh already escaping her.

I didn't look at her.

"At least she won't complain about my dressing," I replied calmly. "I'm one hundred percent sure about that."

I glanced down at myself again.

Ankara, Proper, Presentable.

Exactly what she liked.

I reached for my headphones and put them on, shutting the world out before Nazra could say anything else. The recitation of Surah Al-Baqarah filled my ears, steady and grounding.

But even that couldn't quiet my thoughts.

Half of the flight, I wasn't really listening.

I was imagining.

Replaying possible conversations. Anticipating her tone. Her words. The way she would look at me like I still hadn't gotten anything right.

My fingers tightened slightly around the edge of my seat.

It's just a visit.

But it never felt like just anything with her.

By the time we landed, the Abuja air felt different, cleaner, calmer, almost too quiet.

Hawra was already holding her phone up, taking selfies like she had just arrived at a vacation resort.

I paused beside her, my eyes moving slowly over her face... then down to her sunglasses.

I tilted my head slightly.

"So now we are twinning sunglasses?" I asked.

She froze.

Immediately.

Guilty.

I held her gaze for a second longer. The sunglasses I was wearing, she had gifted them to me months ago. Now she had her own, almost identical, and she wore them with that same excitement she wore everything with.

Before she could speak, Nazra cut in.

"Come on, give the girl a break. If it were me, I'd be glad," she said, dragging her suitcase along.

I rolled my eyes and removed the sunglasses, hooking them onto the neckline of my dress.

Hawra pouted slightly.

I saw it.

And I rolled my eyes again.

The driver met us outside, and we drove home in near silence, at least on my end.

I watched the streets pass by, my fingers resting lightly against the door, my thoughts already ahead of me.

At the house.

With her.

"Ah ah, sannu ku da zuwa! Welcome, my dears!"

My mother's voice carried warmth as she stepped forward.

She hugged Nazra first, holding her tightly, smiling in that way I knew too well. Then her eyes shifted to me.

There was a brief pause.

Then she smiled again and pulled me into a hug.

I didn't return it fully.

Just enough to acknowledge it.

Nothing more.

She pulled back and looked at me properly.

"Ehn... I like your dressing," she said, her eyes lighting up. "I'm glad. I'm sure your sister is now taking care of you and teaching you right. That is why I told her to stay with you. Ko ke fa, see how cute you look."

I blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Cute?

For a second, I thought I heard wrong.

"Mommy?" Nazra laughed immediately. "You just called Ayrah cute."

"Yes, now," she continued, waving her hand lightly. "In all these atampa clothes, she looks more responsible. Not those stupid English wears she used to put on. I'm happy to see a change. At least she will find a man and get married."

I said nothing.

I didn't even know what to say.

The words sat somewhere between surprising and irritating.

"Good afternoon, Mommy," I said finally, my voice neutral, my eyes not fully meeting hers.

"Afternoon," she replied. Then her expression shifted slightly. "You know we need to do something about this your frown face. Learn how to smile."

I adjusted the edge of my sleeve again, my face unchanged. "I look more cute with my face frowning," I said.

A small chuckle escaped from behind me.

I turned.

Hawra.

She quickly covered her mouth with her fingers. "Sorry."

My eyes stayed on her for a second longer before I looked away.

"Oh, Hawra, you came too?" my mother said, her tone softening again.

"Yes, ma. Ina wuni? Mun same ku lafiya, (good afternoon hope we meet you all well)" Hawra greeted, bending slightly in respect.

"Lafiya lau, my dear," my mother replied, clearly pleased. "So respectful. I wish your brother would agree to marry Hawra. Such a cute, fine girl."

"Mommy?" I called, turning to her with a look I didn't bother to hide.

Hawra flushed immediately, her face turning shy. She leaned slightly toward me. "I never knew you have a brother," she whispered.

I didn't even look at her. "Don't even dream," I whispered back.

"Where is Daddy?" I asked, shifting the conversation.

"He is at work. He will be back later," my mother said, already moving to sit down.

Good.

That was good.

Things hadn't gone out of hand.

Not yet.

"I'm going to my room," I said shortly, picking up my bag.

No one stopped me.

My room felt the same.

Cold. Quiet. Familiar.

Later at night 

I lay on my bed, pulling the duvet over myself as the AC hummed softly. The house had settled into the night, and I hadn't seen my father yet. He must have come in late.

I would greet him in the morning.

My phone rested in my hand as I scrolled through TikTok without much thought, just letting the videos pass.

Then I paused, Hawra

I frowned slightly and tapped on the video.

Then her page.

My brows lifted slowly as I scrolled.

Video after video.

Brand collaborations.

"Viva... Onga... Maggi... She is content creator." 

I sat up slightly.

"Wow... Hawra, who are you?" I muttered under my breath.

The more I scrolled, the more it didn't make sense.

She was smiling in every video. Bright. Confident. Alive.

A completely different person from the girl who stood quietly in my office, saying "Sorry, ma" every five minutes.

"She has been to Canada..." I whispered, almost to myself.

I leaned back against the headboard, my eyes still on the screen.

Why work for me... when she already had this?

I didn't understand it.

Not fully.

I watched another video.

Then another.

A small, almost invisible thought crossed my mind.

"Maybe I need to be a social media person."

I scoffed lightly at myself and dropped the phone beside me.

The room fell quiet again.

And eventually, Sleep came.

I woke before the house stirred, the darkness still clinging to the corners of my room. For a few seconds, I lay still under the duvet, listening to the soft hum of the AC, letting the quiet settle inside me.

Then I sat up.

There was no hesitation when it came to worship.

I performed my night nafilah prayers slowly, my movements deliberate, my forehead pressing longer against the prayer mat than usual. Words I could not say to anyone stayed between me and Allah, heavy in my chest.

When the call for Subhi finally echoed through the air, I completed my prayers and remained seated for a moment, my fingers loosely wrapped around the edge of my hijab.

Ya Allah... give me ease today.

I stood up, adjusting my veil properly, and stepped out of my room.

The house was calmer in the morning. Softer.

I walked into the living room just as my father returned from the mosque. The moment he saw me, his face lit up in a way that always made something in my chest loosen.

"Good morning, Daddy." I happily greeted.

"Oh, good morning, my love," he said, opening his arms.

I stepped forward and allowed him to hug me. Properly.

Unlike my mother's, this one I returned.

"I was waiting for you yesterday," I said as I pulled back, my hand resting briefly on his shoulder. "But you didn't come back early."

"Sorry, my beauty," he replied, lowering himself into the couch with a tired sigh. "Work was a lot yesterday."

I sat beside him, adjusting the length of my hijab over my chest, smoothing it down absentmindedly.

"Good to see you, sis."

I turned slightly.

Arman stood there, already dressed in his white jalabiya, looking as composed as ever.

"Good morning, Yaya Arman," I greeted, my voice steady.

He studied my face for a second longer than necessary. "It's nice to see your face this morning," he said, then added, "You look... cute. Your cheeks are a little full. Your body has added."

I paused. "Added?" I repeated, my brows pulling together slightly.

What was it with everyone?

"Omg," Nazra's voice came in before I could say anything else. She walked into the living room, her long hijab sweeping lightly against the floor. "Mommy called Ayrah cute yesterday, and now you too? What is happening to you people?"

My father looked up, surprised. "Really? Your mother called you cute?"

I a…