Layla

When we pulled up to the Pilates studio, Ya Malik grumbled one last time, "See, if this wasn't on the way, I wouldn't have agreed." He said playfully, trying to break the heavy silence as I thought. I knew at that moment the main reason he had to come to pick me up after class was so that he'd tell me about the introduction. I knew him enough to know that.

I laughed, unbuckling my seatbelt. "Thanks, best driver ever."

"Yeah, yeah," He muttered, waving me off, but I caught the hint of a smile on his face.

Once inside, I headed to the locker room to change out of my abaya. I pulled on my workout gear, a sleek black long-sleeve top, and matching high-waisted leggings that gave me full coverage but allowed easy movement. The fabric was breathable and flexible, perfect for the stretches and poses Pilates demanded. I wrapped a lightweight headscarf around my head, keeping things simple and functional for the session.

The studio was all-female, which made it even more comfortable for me. The room was serene, with large windows letting in soft natural light and mirrors lining one wall. The instructor, Mariam, was a calm, encouraging woman with a lean, athletic build and a warm smile. She always guided us patiently, making sure everyone moved with the correct form.

"Alright, ladies, let's start with our warm-up," Mariam's voice echoed as we all took our places on the mats. "Layla, welcome back. Where are your girls?" She asked with a smile.

"Don't worry, I know they are coming back to us soon too." The gym wasn't for us at all and I knew they will change their minds sooner or later. We didn't have enough time to go to the gym together, so everyone went at their convenience. Knowing Rahilatu and Lulwa, they probably didn't even go once yet, hence why they haven't switched back to Pilates.

We began with gentle stretches, focusing on loosening our hips, shoulders, and backs. I loved this part, the slow, deliberate movements that woke up every muscle in my body. We moved into a series of cat-cow stretches to warm up the spine, followed by standing roll-downs that stretched my hamstrings and lower back. Each motion felt deliberate, and fluid, like a dance, and I could already feel the tension of the day melting away.

After the warm-up, we moved into the main workout: a combination of core-strengthening exercises and leg work. We used resistance bands and Pilates rings to add intensity, moving through leg lifts, bridges, and various planks. My core burned with effort, but it was the kind of burn I adored, one that reminded me I was building strength and control.

Mariam walked around, adjusting our forms and offering encouraging words. "Great work, Layla! Keep your core engaged!"

The class flew by, and before I knew it, we were cooling down with stretches again, focusing on lengthening the muscles we'd just worked. I loved the final moments of class, lying on my mat, eyes closed, just breathing.

When it was over, I felt refreshed, my body tired in the best way possible. As I left the studio, I couldn't help but think about how much this routine kept me grounded. It wasn't just a workout, it was self-care, a time to connect with myself and step away from the craziness of law school, even if just for an hour. And maybe the thought of going on a date with Asad tonight.

Two hours after Pilates, I could feel the telltale soreness settling into my limbs. Every muscle felt a little tighter, and I regretted not easing back into the routine after weeks away. I probably shouldn't have scheduled Pilates on the same day as my date. But at least it had kept my mind from spinning off into anxious overthinking. My entire day had been packed, with barely a moment to pause, and maybe that was for the best since I didn't overthink tonight.

Now, as I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the soft red fabric of my dress, I felt an unexpected mix of excitement and nerves. I hadn't been able to resist picking this dress, remembering Umaima's last comment about choosing bolder colors, something vibrant yet modest. The dress hugged my figure elegantly, cinched at the waist with a soft belt that flowed into a floor-length skirt, loose enough to move in but structured just enough to highlight my silhouette. Its sleeves billowed slightly before tapering at my wrists, giving it an almost regal touch. The neckline was high, framing my collarbones with gentle folds of fabric, lending it the modesty I always felt comfortable in.

I then sat in front of the mirror, staring at the full, unruly mass of my long, thick afro. I ran my fingers through the tangled curls, feeling the familiar frustration build inside me. It was strong and full, a deep black that caught the light just right, but it was also impossible to manage, especially today of all days. My fingers ached from tugging through the knots, and my scalp was starting to sting from all the combing. I had been at it for what felt like forever. My reflection looked back at me with nervous eyes. The tension in my chest tightened as the thought of tonight's date loomed over me again.

Just as I let out a long, exasperated sigh, the door creaked open, and Aunty Yamaniya walked in, her soft slippers barely making a sound on the floor. She took one look at me, the comb tangled in my curls, and smiled knowingly.

"I knew I'd find you here, struggling with this hair of yours," She said gently, walking over to where I sat.

"Aunty Yam Yam, I can't do it today," I groaned, dropping the comb in defeat. "Why is it always like this?"

She placed a calming hand on my shoulder, her presence immediately soothing. "Because, Layla, you always try to fight your hair instead of working with it. Let me help you."

I sighed again, half in frustration, half in relief. "I've been trying for an hour, and it just... it's not cooperating. I'm so tempted to just cut it all off."

Her laugh was soft, and she shook her head. "Oh no, not this again. Don't even think about it. You've got beautiful hair. I've told you that since you were little."

As she reached for the oil, I relaxed into the chair. Aunty Yamaniya always knew what to do. She had been taming my hair for as long as I could remember. Even when salons couldn't get it right, Aunty always could. She had a way with my curls, working through the thick strands with patience, unlike anyone else.

"It's just so hard to manage sometimes," I muttered, leaning back as she began to section off my hair and work the oil in. The scent of coconut and jasmine filled the air, and slowly, my tension began to ease.

"I know it is, baby. But that's why you have me and your Ummi," she said, her fingers moving deftly through my hair, untangling the knots with ease. "You've always had hair that didn't quite match anyone else's in both families."

I nodded, thinking back to how different my hair had always been from both sides of my family. My mother and her sisters, with their Shuwa-Arab heritage, had fine, silky hair that they could comb through in minutes. It flowed effortlessly down their backs, straight and smooth. My father's sisters and cousins had the typical Fulani hair, long, and soft, but more wavy than curly. And then there was me, with this thick, springy afro that didn't seem to belong to either side of the family. It was fuller, coarser, and harder to manage.

Even Adda Malika, with her perfect blend of both Shuwa and Fulani genes, had hair that was easier to handle than mine. But me? I got the stubborn hair that never did what I wanted, the hair that needed hours of attention, oil, and coaxing to sit right. Aunty Yam Yam had always been the one to step in when I gave up, just like she was doing now.

"Why don't salons get it like you do?" I asked, watching her work her magic in the mirror.

"Because salons don't know you as I do. I've been doing your hair since you were a little girl, remember?" She said, giving me a wink. "I figured you'd need some help today, especially with tonight's big event."

I smiled gratefully. "I was going to ask you for help, but you came in at the perfect time."

"Of course I did," She said, smoothing a section of hair down and braiding it neatly. "You think I'd let you go on a date with unruly hair? Never."

I chuckled, feeling the warmth of her affection wrap around me like a blanket. "Thanks, Aunty Yam Yam. The hair has been acting right recently but I guess today is a bad day." I groaned as I looked at the massive hut-looking hair on my head.

She chuckled and continued working in silence for a few minutes, carefully taming my curls and braiding them down into a low, elegant style that would last me through the evening. But as I watched her hands move, my thoughts began to drift toward the future, and my chest tightened again with a different kind of anxiety.

"Aunty..." I hesitated, unsure how to voice the concern that had been sitting heavy in my heart. "Do you think... everything's moving too fast?"

She paused, her hands stilling in my hair, and met my eyes in the mirror. "You're nervous, aren't you?"

I nodded, biting my lip. "I'm just... scared. What if it's too soon? What if I'm not ready?" I hesitated, then nodded, smiling nervously. " I... it's all happening so fast. Sometimes I'm not even sure what I'm feeling. And part of me is really scared," I admitted, feeling the vulnerability bubble to the surface. "I mean, I know he's a good guy, and I want this. But a part of me is still... afraid."

Just then, a message came in from Asad letting me know he was going to be on the way in a few minutes. With the way he constantly texted throughout the day, I knew he was probably more nervous than I was. The texts were constantly asking for assurance that I was still going to make it, it was funny but still cute.

She came closer after she was done taming the hair in one place, placing a gentle hand on my arm. "It's okay to be scared, Layla. That just means you're human. Fear is natural. But listen to me," She said, her voice growing firmer, her gaze steady, "You need to be intentional. Always, as I tell you. Fear shouldn't stop you from going forward with the things you want. From what I've heard about him, and what you've told me, he sounds like a good boy. Just remember, your family is here with you every step of the way."

I nodded, feeling a sense of comfort in her words, as I always did. Aunty Yamaniya had been like a second mother to me. She'd come to live with us just before my father passed, and since then, she'd been there through every moment of my life. She had been there for my tears, my joys, and my quietest, most secret thoughts. I knew I could always rely on her for wisdom. As I did always, especially moments when I couldn't talk to Ummi about some things.

"You've got a good feeling about him, don't you?" She asked, her eyes searching mine.

"I do," I admitted as I thought about how I smiled every time I thought of Asad, how even the small moments of getting to know him had been warm, and easy. "But I'm still scared."

Seeing the question in my eyes, she continued, "You know, Layla, not all marriages are perfect. Some work out beautifully; some don't. Mine..." She sighed, a flicker of something I couldn't quite identify passing over her face. "Mine didn't work out, and I had a feeling from the beginning it might not. But our father was insistent. I didn't want it. Neither did my mother, your other aunts, or even your mother. We could all feel that it wasn't right, but your grandfather was firm. And when it finally ended, I was relieved but also broken in a way that took a long time to heal."

She paused, squeezing my hand gently. "The moment I got that divorce, I came straight here to Abuja. I'd had enough, and I needed family around me. Your father was a comfort during those days. I had just lost my father, and I didn't know where else to go." She looked at me, her eyes filled with a calm yet fierce determination. "So, I'm telling you this: If your heart feels at peace with Asad, and everyone around you feels the same, you're starting off better than I did. You have a good chance, Layla. I believe in this. Arranged marriages have worked for decades and millions. It worked for my sisters, our parents, but especially your parents. When it's the same tribe, it's always more likely to work out but for it to work for your father and mother, it should give you so much hope. Malika and most of your cousins brought their own husbands. You have plenty of time to see which you'd prefer." She gave me a soul-piercing knowing look.

I smiled, weightlifting off my shoulders. "Thank you, Aunty Yam Yam. I needed to hear that." I didn't know if my future would be certain, but with her words, I felt a little less afraid.

"If you decide to be with this one, make sure he is kind and intentional. Very important." She patted my hand after dropping wisdom, giving me one last look. "Now, don't worry about the rest. Go enjoy your date. You youngsters are always coming up with innovations these days." She made an exasperated sound before continuing. "And remember, whatever happens, we are all with you. You're not alone in this."

Her words stayed with me as she left, and as I took one last look in the mirror, I felt a quiet sense of resolve settling in. The future was still uncertain, but with my family beside me, I knew I was strong enough to face it. I smoothed the fabric, watching my reflection thoughtfully. My dark eyes glazed at me, framed by long lashes, my prominent Fulani features emphasized by the soft lighting. My face had that little delicate sharpness I'd inherited from my mother, with high cheekbones and full lips. I looked... ready, I supposed. But inside, I felt a wave of thoughts swirling like the folds of my dress.

As I stared at my reflection, memories drifted back. The turn my life had taken recently, the quick succession of decisions, and the prospect of an upcoming introduction with Asad, it all felt almost surreal. I never thought I'd be in this place, staring down the path that could lead to something I'd once been too afraid to even consider. Love had been a fragile, fleeting thing for me once, wrapped in a sense of teenage naivety. I could still feel a lingering shadow from that time, from a boy I had let into my heart back in my teenage years. That chapter had ended in a way that left me scarred, enough that I'd sworn off serious potentials since. I hadn't let anyone in. Maybe that's why this felt different now, why I wasn't immediately afraid. I was willing to give this a chance with Asad.

As I slipped on my heels, a message from Asad buzzed on my phone, right on time as usual. Every day, we'd share bits of ourselves through those text messages, passing the hours with small conversations and little details that made my day lighter. And most nights, when he called, I found myself looking forward to the steady warmth of his voice, a comforting end to the day.

But tonight, the message was different.

Something just came up. I'll need to head to the office right now, an emergency just came up. I'll be there as soon as I can, can you wait for me?

I stared at the message, my fingers hovering over the keys. My brother would drive me there, and we'd have that time to talk, to sit across from each other without the screen between us. I took a breath, typing a quick reply.

Take your time. I'll wait for you.

And so, I waited. I checked the time, noting how the minutes stretched into tens, and those tens stretched further, the anticipation chipping away as the clock ticked past eight, then eight-thirty, then nine. At first, I paced, my heels clicking softly against the living room floor, while I rehearsed things I wanted to say. Then I sat on the couch, flipping through my phone to distract myself, casting glances at the screen, expecting it to light up any moment.

I sent a few more messages, each a little lighter in tone, not wanting to pressure him but needing some kind of reply. I tried calling once. The ringtone buzzed, long and empty, before sending me straight to voicemail. My stomach twisted a little, a small, bitter knot forming there. I tried to brush it off, thinking, he's busy; this is important. But the longer I waited, the more I felt a prickle of irritation creeping in, turning into something sharper, hotter.

I had dressed up and prepared my heart for it, and he had said he'd be here. But now, with each minute dragging on, I felt the anticipation shift, a bitter taste forming in my mouth as hope slowly gave way to disappointment.

By the time it reached ten, my posture had sunk into the couch, and my initial nerves and excitement had burned down to a quiet, simmering anger. I hadn't just dressed up tonight; I had let myself look forward to this, to him, to this chance to be together, unbothered by my mind's demands. I sat, staring at the empty room, feeling more alone with each silent minute that passed. I tried calling once more, half-hoping he would pick up, explain, say something. But again, no answer, just the hollow silence of the unanswered line.

The hours continued their slow, relentless crawl, the night pressing in around me. I closed my eyes, resting my head back against the couch, telling myself I would wait a little longer. At that moment, I would have not gone out if he had called back. My self-respect wouldn't have let me, I knew. But I still waited somehow. My body being controlled by my heart didn't let me leave. I could feel my pulse still beating with an angry rhythm, but my body betrayed me as exhaustion crept in. I drifted off, the weight of unspoken words and unshed tears heavy on my heart, surrendering to the silence, with the message I had been waiting for still floating in some corner of my mind, unanswered.

When I awoke, the room was quiet, and I realized it was already the early hours of the morning. The screen of my phone, once so full of life and connection, was blank, cold against my hand, with no reply.

Well, damn.

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Hello lovely readers,

How's it going? How was the chapter? Are we in love with Aunty Yam Yam or our attention is on our girl getting stood up?😔 Mine is her getting stood up to be honest because... that's a lot of audacity from Asad's side. But then, again, men right?🤣

Drop your comments and predictions for the next chapter here, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Mine is that Layla shouldn't agree with this let down from him because hm😔

Send me your long essay reviews on IG as always; husna_thewriter

I adore chatting with y'all on your thoughts!💕