5

Lagos, Nigeria 

Ayrah's pov 

I sat in the living room with the TV on, the light from the screen flickering across my face, but I wasn't really watching.

The voices from the show came and went, laughter filling the room, but none of it settled in my head. My mind was somewhere else, back in Abuja, back at that dining table, back to my mother's voice rising, sharp and cutting.

Don't go.

She had said it like a command.

I still left.

Of course I did.

I shifted slightly on the couch, pulling one leg under the other, adjusting the strap of my brown camisole where it had slipped off my shoulder. My fingers lingered there for a second before dropping to the pillow on my lap.

My eyes stayed on the screen.

But all I could see was him.

Ashraf.

The way he looked at me.

That expression, like he had something to say, something to fix, It irritated me, More than it should.

"Hm... watching Two Broke Girls?" Arman's voice cut through my thoughts.

I didn't turn immediately. "Yeah," I said, my tone flat.

He walked in like he had been here forever, wearing a white armless shirt and black trousers, casual, relaxed. He dropped onto the couch opposite me, his attention already on the TV.

"Oleg and Sophie are getting married?" he said, leaning forward slightly. "That's crazy. How many episodes did I miss?"

"A lot," I replied. A small smile touched my lips, but it didn't stay.

Nazra hadn't come back with me. My mother had insisted Arman stay instead, like I needed supervision.

I pressed my lips together slightly at the thought.

"That's crazy," he muttered again, folding his arms across his chest, still watching.

I looked away.

My fingers moved absently over the small pillow on my lap, tracing slow circles against the fabric. Round and round. Over and over again.

I didn't even realize I was doing it, My mind drifted again, Back to that hall, Back to that moment, back to his eyes on me, My jaw tightened.

Why did he look at me like that?

"You're daydreaming again."

I blinked.

Looked up.

Arman was watching me now, not the TV.

"Huh," I said, straightening slightly.

"You've been like that for almost eight minutes," he added, his tone calm but observant.

Eight minutes?

It felt like one.

"No, I wasn't," I said quickly, my eyes dropping back to the screen.

Even I knew it sounded unconvincing.

He didn't respond immediately.

I could feel his gaze still on me.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

There was something different in his voice this time.

Careful.

I didn't like it.

"No," I said. "Nothing to talk about." My fingers stilled on the pillow.

Silence stretched between us, broken only by the TV.

"You've been quiet since we came back," he continued. "Almost a week now. You haven't gone out. You don't go to work. It's like you're avoiding something."

I said nothing.

"Or someone," he added.

That made my chest tighten.

I kept my face straight, my eyes fixed on the TV like I was actually watching it.

"Do you think you'll see him again?" he asked. "Is that why you're staying indoors?"

I looked up at him.

For a second, I didn't answer. Because the truth?

I didn't even understand it myself.

Was I scared?

Maybe.

Or maybe I just didn't want to deal with whatever would happen if I saw him again.

There was something about that look he gave me, it stayed. Followed me. Sat at the back of my mind like a question I refused to answer.

I looked away first.

"Can we just watch Two Broke Girls in silence?" I said, a faint smile forming, controlled, deliberate.

He studied me for a second longer.

Then nodded.

"Sure."

He leaned back, his attention returning to the TV.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

But even as the laughter from the show filled the room again—

I still wasn't watching.

And whatever I was avoiding...

It wasn't going anywhere.

                                          ****

I woke up before the alarm, like my body no longer trusted sleep. The room was quiet, the kind that presses against your ears. For a moment, I lay still, staring at the ceiling, letting my thoughts gather, and scatter again.

Then I got up.

Downstairs, I found Yaya  Arman at the dining table, already working. His MacBook was open in front of him, fingers moving steadily across the keyboard like the world outside this house didn't exist.

"Don't tell me you plan to work from home for the rest of your life," I said as I walked past him toward the kitchen.

He didn't look up. "I have no choice. I have to babysit you."

I paused at the fridge, pulled out a cold bottle of water, and shut it harder than necessary. "Babysit me?" I turned, unscrewing the cap. "What am I, five?"

He shrugged slightly, still typing. "I'm just doing my job."

I took a slow sip, watching him over the rim of the bottle. "So when you get married, you'll leave your wife and come babysit me too?"

That made him glance up. "Relax," he said. "Most of my work is online anyway, so...."

I cut him off with a look and drank again.

He sighed and gestured toward the kitchen. "I made breakfast."

"Awwn, I'm so hungry," I said, setting the bottle down and heading in.

"I'm glad you are," he replied, his voice softer now. "You haven't been eating much."

I didn't answer that.

I was still in my nightgown...light, soft, stopping just above my knees. I sat at the table and ate quietly, the food warm but my thoughts elsewhere. When I was done, I stood up without a word and went back upstairs.

My wardrobe was a mess within minutes.

Clothes lay scattered across the bed, some hanging halfway out of the wardrobe, others abandoned on the chair. I stood in front of the mirror, turning slightly to the side, pulling at the fabric of yet another dress.

Tight, Too tight.

I frowned.

I changed into another one.

Same thing.

I pressed my lips together, my hand moving unconsciously to my chest.

My bras felt tighter too, I exhaled slowly. My boobs are Hugh now even my under don't fit again. 

Have I added weight?

I turned again, studying my reflection more critically this time. My figure had changed...not badly, just... different.

Fuller.

Softer.

It annoyed me.

"I need to go shopping," I muttered under my breath.

I was trying on a long ash-colored gown when there was a knock.

"Hawra," I said before she even entered. "Come in."

The door opened.

"Wow... the gown looks so good on you, ma," she said, stepping inside.

I glanced at her through the mirror.

She looked... happy.

Too happy.

Pink gown, neatly tied hijab, iPad in one hand, handbag in the other. There was a softness to her that I couldn't explain—and couldn't ignore.

"The gown is tight," I said, turning slightly and reaching for the zipper at my back. "I can't even breathe properly. My boobs feels like it's about to burst out."

She laughed lightly. "Well, you've added weight in the right places. Your shape is beautiful."

I paused.

Then turned my head slowly and looked at her.

"We're going shopping," I said.

"Okay!" she replied immediately, smiling wider.

Of course she was happy.

I could see it in her face.

"Do you still go to the gym?" I asked, pulling the gown off and reaching for a robe. "I need to start again."

She tilted her head slightly. "You don't need the gym. You look... small, chubby, cute like this."

I raised a brow.  "Complimenting me?" I asked, my tone dry. "What are you, my boyfriend?"

She bit her lip, trying not to smile. "I'm just saying the truth."

I turned away before she could see the slight heat that rose to my cheeks.

Chubby?

I didn't like the word.

But I didn't entirely hate it either.

"I'll get ready," I said, tying my towel around my body. "What time is my meeting?"

"Five p.m.," she answered, tapping on her iPad.

"Good."

She hesitated.

Then, softer, "I missed you, ma. When will you come back to the office?"

I paused.

Just for a second.

Then I turned, frowning slightly. "Are we besties now?"

But something inside me... shifted.

She smiled again.

Like she knew.

I rolled my eyes and walked into the bathroom.

We spent the afternoon shopping.

Too many clothes. Too many bags. Shoes, underwear, things I didn't even need but bought anyway.

It felt... distracting.

And maybe that was the point.