LAILA

Hassan released a sigh. Despite the loud noises of hawkers and citizens filling the streets outside, all he could feel was sadness and a deep sense of emptiness. A part of his chest ached, and slowly, he reached towards it, tugging at his shirt. He closed his eyes and took deep calming breaths.

Knowing he had no time to waste, he immediately forced his focus back onto the unfinished lace he had been working on. He placed it gently beneath the needle and had only slowly started pedalling when—

"As'salamualaikum." A soft voice called from the doorway.

"Wa'alaikumusalam." On instinct, he responded even before raising his head.

The moment he willed his eyes away from the fabric and towards the woman standing by the doorway, his hands threatened to freeze all over again.

His brows knitted.

He had just sent Hajia Saudah away, so why was her oldest daughter, Laila, standing in his doorway?

"Mallam Hassan." She called out, stepping fully into the enclosed space, her voice was gentle, it held a hint of remorse, and her steps were just as hesitant.

The clothes she wore seemed to carry the rays of sunlight with her, and only then did Hassan notice the faint scent of fried onions and spices drifting from her that reached him before his eyes fell onto the blue cooler in her arms.

She placed it gently on the small  wooden kujera next to a pile of clothes without saying anything.

Clearing her throat, she finally met his eyes "I heard about what my mom did." She sighed. "I'm so sorry, Hassan." Her eyes were soft, filled with a deep sense of regret, as though she were carrying a burden that wasn't hers. "I know my mom can be a handful sometimes." She swallowed, no longer able to hold his gaze, she shifted it to the small chalk on his machine. "But she'll come around," she said softly. "I'm sorry, you've been nothing but kind towards us and—"

"Laila," Hassan called.

Only then did she meet his eyes.

"It's okay." He gently shook his head. "If anything, I owe you all an apology. I can't tell you how embarrassed I feel that you've somehow heard about this." He smiled tightly, his voice nothing but respectful. "This is just a small part of the business life." He shrugged.

"Right." She smiled.

Seeing that he didn't take offence to what had happened, her shoulders finally eased slightly, she stared at him for a moment before swallowing, almost as though she were nervous.

"I... I brought fried rice." She said, standing awkwardly on her feet. "I... I know how much you like it. Not like I know, cause you didn't tell me or anything, it's more like I saw... I mean, Lawal once mentioned it in a random conversation." She rambled, stuttering over her words. Her eyes squeezed tightly in embarrassment when she realized she might be making a fool of herself, anxiety threatening to spill through her chest.

A deep, throaty chuckle made her snap her eyes open, falling to the man who sat as though life had been nothing but kind to him.

She had never heard him laugh before, not in all their years of being neighbours. Quite frankly, the man had always acted more like a robot around her, never exchanging more than two-word sentences with her. So seeing him laugh, hearing it, almost as though he hadn't a care in the world, she could only stare.

"Thank you," he said, a faint smile still lingering on his face.

"Of course! You're welcome." She nodded, an equally big smile on her face. "Well, I'd be on my way now." Her eyes remained fixed on him, almost as though she were in a trance.

She shook her head, smiling one last time before turning to leave the shop. But just as she was about to step out, she came face to face with Lawal.

"Laila," he greeted, his voice cheerful. "Ya kike?"

| How are you doing?

"Alhamdulillah, sannu." She responded, nodding her head one last time, and without another word, she finally left the shop.

Lawal still had a smile on his face as he stared at the spot where she had just been standing. Someone cleared his throat from behind, and that was when he turned around, coming face to face with Hassan's knowing smile.

"Don't," he warned.

Hassan laughed once more.

***

"I heard what happened." Lawal said, dragging the small, vacant plastic chair over and placing it beside his friend.

"The usual business fallout. I forgot to sew her dress. She was angry. It didn't end well." Hassan said, his focus returning to the cloth at hand.

"The usual?" Lawal chuckled, though there was little amusement in his voice. "Hassan, you've been sewing for years. You've never failed to complete a single dress. Not even when Mama got sick." Lawal shook his head, his focus remaining entirely on Hassan. "What's truly been on your mind? Because the Hassan Lamido I know has never forgotten." His voice lowered.

Hassan's fingers stopped. He gently removed his foot from the pedal of the machine and turned towards Lawal. "What exactly are you trying to say, Lawal?" he asked, folding his hands.

"I'm saying, who has you distracted?" Lawal asked seriously. "Who is she?"

"Don't be silly, man." Hassan shook his head. "You know I don't have time for things like that."

"Oh, I know." Lawal leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving Hassan. "Which is exactly why I'm curious. The other night, under the mango tree..." He paused. "You were thinking about her, weren't you?"

Hassan sighed, placing two fingers on his temple and gently massaging. Despite himself, his thoughts drifted to her. It had been two weeks now. Two weeks since he had set his eyes on her. Two weeks since she had pointed fingers at him, set boundaries between them. Two long weeks.

He swallowed.

And each night, he had thought of her. 

Thought of her scent

Her eyes 

Her hair 

Her lips.

Of the way she had stood before him, the sound of her voice, how passionate she was, of the brief moments their eyes had met.

It made little sense. He had only seen her once, yet somehow, that one meeting had stayed with him far longer than it should have.

He could still remember the smallest things about her, things he hadn't meant to notice in the first place. The way she carried herself. The way she spoke. The quiet confidence in her eyes.

And perhaps that was what unsettled him most.

He wanted to see her again.

Even when he knew he shouldn't.

He had never felt such intense guilt in his heart. He had done everything he could to get her out of his system. He had woken up several times in the night, praying and asking Allah to forgive him whenever his thoughts wandered to places they shouldn't, especially when they involved someone like her.

"You're thinking about her." Lawal's voice cut through knowingly, his brow arched as though daring Hassan to deny it.

Hassan sighed, rubbing both hands over his face. "I have." He swallowed. "I... have been thinking about her. I've tried, man. So hard, to stop. But she's everywhere." He pointed to his head."Here."

Lawal was quiet for a while, then he spoke "I know how you feel, Hassan." His eyes shifted towards the spot where Laila had stood only moments ago.

Hassan followed his gaze. "Laila?" he asked.

Unlike Hassan, Lawal made no attempt to hide his feelings. "Yes," he said.

"What are you going to do about her?" Hassan asked.

"Make her notice me, and hopefully, if she seems interested, I'll take things forward. Ask for her hand in marriage." Lawal said.

"That serious?" Hassan asked.

"I don't see the point in wasting time." Lawal shrugged. "She's someone I feel deeply for. Someone I'd want in my house, as my wife." His voice carried a quiet certainty, almost protective. "I'll make her mine one day, in sha Allah." He said it with no hint of doubt, shifting in his seat.

Shifting his gaze from the door, Lawal's voice was quiet this time. "So, who's she?" he asked.

"Asma'u Galadima."

He swallowed.