4

Ayrah's pov 

I stood there, rooted to the spot, my chest rising too fast, too uneven. The years I had buried so carefully pressed against my throat, threatening to spill through my eyes.

Not here.

Not now.

"Ma... is everything okay?" Hawra's voice pulled at me, soft but close enough to break the moment. I blinked once, hard, and dragged my gaze away from him like it burned.

Swallow.

Breathe.

I turned slightly, my eyes landing on Nazra. She had seen him too. I could tell from the way her face tightened, from the way she was already watching me instead of the crowd.

Of course she knew.

Before either of them could say anything else, arms wrapped around me.

"Inaya." 

Her perfume hit first, then her voice. "Hi! I'm so happy you came. I thought you wouldn't make it."

I forced my body to respond, my hands lifting just enough to return the hug. "I'm fine," I said, even though I wasn't. "Of course I wouldn't miss this event."

My voice sounded steady. It surprised me.

Over her shoulder, my eyes betrayed me. I looked back.

He was still there, Still watching me.

One hand tucked into his trouser pocket, his posture relaxed like nothing had happened, like years hadn't passed, like he hadn't...

I looked away immediately.

Control yourself.

"I'll be right back," Inaya said, already pulling away. "Come, have a seat."

We moved to the table. I sat down carefully, smoothing my gown beneath me, my fingers lingering there longer than necessary just to keep them from shaking.

Nazra took my hand under the table.

Firm.

Grounding.

"What was that, Ayrah?" she whispered, leaning slightly toward me. "You need to be strong."

Strong.

I almost laughed.

If only she knew how much strength it had taken to stand there and not fall apart.

"I'm fine," I said quietly, though my grip on her hand tightened just a little.

The event started, voices rising and falling, laughter, clinking glasses, but none of it reached me properly.

Because I could still feel it.

His gaze.

Even without looking, I knew.

He was watching me.

Waiting.

My back straightened slightly, my chin lifting the way it always did when I needed to hold myself together.

Just let it end.

That was all I wanted.

For this night to finish so I could leave. Go back to Lagos. Back to distance. Back to a place where he did not exist.

By the time the event ended, I was already exhausted.

We took pictures. I smiled when necessary. I said the right words. I played my part perfectly.

But he was there.

Everywhere.

Close enough to make my skin uneasy.

I noticed the way he moved, like he was trying to get closer without making it obvious. Like he wanted a moment alone with me.

He followed.

And I avoided.

Every time, Carefully, Deliberately.

Until we left.

Dinner was quieter.

Too quiet.

The clinking of spoons against plates filled the space between us. I sat upright, my fingers pushing the jollof rice around my plate without actually eating.

I wasn't hungry.

Not with him sitting in my head like that.

"So," my mother's voice cut through the silence, "did you meet anyone at the event?"

Of course, she will ask

I closed my eyes briefly, then opened them, rolling them slightly. "No."

"Hm." She leaned back a little. "How come? Or you chased them away with that your non-smiling face?"

"Mommy, please," I said, my voice controlled, low.

"No, answer me," she insisted, dropping her spoon onto the plate. "How can you go to that kind of event and not meet any man interested in you?"

My fingers tightened slightly around the spoon.

Don't react.

Don't react.

"No one was interested," I said, my eyes fixed on the rice. "Don't blame me for it."

"It's your fault," she snapped. "I mean, look at you."

Something in my chest twisted.

Sharp.

"Mommy, let's not talk about this," Nazra cut in quickly.

I glanced at my father. Then at Arman. Then back to my plate  "No," I said quietly. "Let her talk."

I could feel it now.

The emotion rising again.

Too close.

Too heavy.

"Are you talking back at me?" my mother asked, her voice rising.

I didn't answer.

I couldn't.

Because if I spoke, I might lose control.

My chest felt tight, like something was pressing against it from the inside.

Why is she like this?

"Listen," she continued, her tone hard, "you better change your character and start getting ready to meet someone. If not, I will find a man for you and get you married. I don't care."

A small, dry laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

I didn't even look at her.

All I could see was his face.

That look in his eyes.

Guilt.

Why?

"If that makes you happy," I said, already standing up.

I didn't wait for a response.

I walked away.

I didn't go far.

I stopped just by the staircase, out of sight, my hand resting lightly against the wall as I listened.

"Mommy, that was not cool," Nazra said. "She saw him today."

Silence.

"Who?" my mother asked.

"Ashraf."

The name hit me like something physical.

I closed my eyes briefly.

"Mommy, give this girl a break," Nazra continued. "Maybe it was her fault, but please let her be. She's still young. I'm the elder one, and you never pressure me for marriage as you do to her."

"It was her fault," my mother replied immediately. "She caused everything herself. So why will she now come and be acting emotional?"

My fingers curled slightly against the wall.

Of course.

"Minal," my father's voice came in, calm but firm. "Let that girl be. Please."

A pause followed.

Then.....

"Uhm... I'll head upstairs. Thank you for dinner," Hawra's voice said softly.

I straightened immediately and moved before she could see me standing there.

Step by step, I climbed the stairs quietly, my face already back to normal.

Cold.

Unreadable.

Like nothing inside me was breaking.

A few minutes later, a knock came at my door.

Not soft. Not loud. Just... careful.

"Come in," I said, my eyes still fixed on my laptop.

The door opened slowly.

"Good day, ma."

I didn't need to look up to know it was her.

"Oh... it's you." I shifted slightly on the couch, adjusting the laptop on my lap, my tone flat as always.

"Yeah," Hawra said, stepping in, closing the door behind her like she wasn't sure if she should be there or not.

I finally glanced up.

She was fidgeting.

One hand went to her veil, adjusting it unnecessarily, then to her head, scratching lightly like she had forgotten what she wanted to say.

"What happened?" I asked, already losing interest, my fingers returning to the keyboard.

"Ehm..." she hesitated, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. "I just came to check on you... or maybe we can watch a movie together."

My fingers stopped.

Slowly, I lifted my head and looked at her properly.

"A movie?" I blinked once. "What, we are now friends?" I asked.

She smiled.

That same smile.

"No... maybe," she said, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I stared at her for a second.

Then I leaned back slightly, my eyes narrowing just a little. "Have you ever seen where a boss watches a movie with her assistant?" I asked.

She didn't answer.

She just stood there... smiling.

Like my words didn't land the way they were supposed to.

Something in my chest shifted, annoyance, maybe.

Or something else.

I looked away.

I knew Hawra cared. It was obvious in the way she showed up, the way she tried, the way she ignored every wall I put up.

And I hated it.

I didn't want anyone looking at me like I needed saving. I didn't want softness around me.

It made me feel... weak.

"Get out," I said, my voice returning to its usual cold edge as I picked up my phone and started typing.