Third Person POV

The men sat in a semicircle in Late Alhaji Umar Farouk's spacious sitting room. The air was thick with the mingling aromas of freshly brewed tea and the faint musk of aged leather furniture. The voices, though steady and respectful, rose and fell with the intensity of men deeply immersed in important conversations. Most of them spoke in Fulfulde, their ancestral tongue, with occasional English for Uncle Ahmad, Asad's maternal uncle, who had flown in from Saudi Arabia the night before. 

On one side of Uncle Alhajijo and Alhaji Abdumajid Nyako, a man whose name commanded respect in both Fulani and business circles, sat at the center of his family's contingent. His crisp white shaddah was impeccably pressed, his zanna cap sitting squarely on his head. Next to him sat Uncle Ahmad and then Nadir, his youngest son, laughing quietly with his cousin Hamdan, Uncle Ahmad's only son. Hamdan, with his sharp, youthful features and bright demeanor, was the same age as Nadir, and the two had been inseparable since the moment they were kids. 

Usman, Asad's best friend, sat nearby, whispering something to Karim, a cousin who had traveled from Yola. Karim's lean, confident frame spoke of his upbringing among Fulani herders, though his designer kaftan hinted at his present affluence. He had a bond with Asad that went back years, forged during holidays spent in the countryside and hangouts with Usman after their friendship became inseparable. 

The Salihijo and Nyako uncles, Layla and Asad's relatives, were clustered on the opposite side of the room. Uncle Alhajijo, her rightful guardian, leaned slightly forward, his lined face resting on his clasped hands as he listened intently to the ongoing conversation. His presence commanded attention, not because of his stature but due to the wisdom and calm he carried. Beside him on the other side were his brothers, older men with similar strong features that hinted at their shared ancestry. 

The room buzzed with the energy of reunion and camaraderie, yet an undercurrent of anticipation was palpable. They had spent the last hour exchanging pleasantries, sharing updates on distant relatives, and reminiscing about old times. Now, the conversation subtly shifted toward the reason for their gathering: Layla and Muhammad Asad's introduction. 

"I've been thinking," said Alhaji Mahmud Nyako, one of Asad's paternal uncles and a highly respected elder. His deep voice, seasoned with years of experience, resonated across the room. "Why should we wait? We are all here, and the families already know each other. Why not proceed with the nikah? What sense does it make to return weeks or months later when everything is in place now?" 

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. Alhaji Musa Salihijo, one of Layla's uncles, nodded. "Mahmud has a point," He said, his voice carrying the authority of a man who had spent years advising his family. "It is not just about convenience. We are all family here. What purpose does prolonging this serve, especially when everything is already aligned?" 

Uncle Ahmad, though less familiar with the traditions, nodded respectfully, his sharp Saudi accent evident when he added, "In our tradition, it is also better to act swiftly when both families are in agreement. It avoids unnecessary complications." 

The men chuckled lightly, switching back to Fulfulde for camaraderie. Another uncle from the Nyako side, Alhaji Sulaiman, who was known for his blunt honesty, leaned forward. "And let's not forget," He said, his tone laced with concern, "these are modern times. Delay often leads to fitna. It's better to have things done properly, especially with the youth of today. This generation is too easily distracted by dunya." 

As the discussion swirled around him, Uncle Alhajijo's mind wandered. His weathered face softened with memories of Layla's late father, a man who had always deferred to him as the elder with respect. He thought about the promise he had made to himself after his brother's passing which was to protect Layla and ensure her path was guided with the same care her father would have shown. 

Despite Malik's capability as the breadwinner, Alhajijo had continued to handle Layla's school fees and other responsibilities as if they were still his to shoulder. It wasn't because Malik wasn't capable, far from it. Malik had grown into a fine man, taking charge of the company with maturity beyond his years. But Layla... Layla had been different. 

He thought of her stubbornness, her fire. He recalled the countless arguments she'd had with him, always insisting she was blameless, yet never convincing him. She was fiercely independent, a trait her father had admired but one that often left him exasperated. 

His thoughts snapped back to the present when Alhaji Abdumajid Nyako turned to him, his calm, commanding voice breaking through. "What do you think, Alhajijo? As her uncle and guardian, your word carries the most weight."  He leaned back, contemplating how his son, Asad, would react if the marriage were finalized. He was certain Asad would accept the news with his characteristic maturity, thoughtfully, without drama, and with a quiet nod of understanding.

Usman and Nadir sat quietly, their expressions neutral but their minds swirling with uncertainty about what the elders were planning. Both knew Asad too well to miss the tension brewing beneath his calm exterior, yet they remained silent, understanding the unspoken rule when it came to elders, there was never a "no." Their shared glances spoke volumes, acknowledging their unease but also their resignation to the situation.,

Alhajijo hesitated, his gaze meeting Malik's from across the room. Malik looked uncertain, a rare expression for him. Then Alhajijo glanced at his brothers, seeking silent counsel, before returning his attention to the circle. He thought of what Layla had told him that morning when he had arrived at her house, her quiet affirmation that she saw potential in Muhammad. 

He considered Alhaji Abdumajid's impeccable reputation. The Nyakos were not just prominent in Abuja or Nigeria; their influence extended across continents. Despite his best efforts, even Alhajijo's private investigations had turned up nothing but good things about them, that too with no ease, a family that commanded respect yet stayed away from scandal. 

Clearing his throat, he straightened. "You are all also her fathers," He began, his tone steady but warm. "Whatever you decide, I will follow. After all, we are family." 

Uncle Jo sat heavily on the plush sofa, his stern gaze darting between Layla, Malik, and their mother, Ummi. His hands rested on the leather bag on his lap, the tension in the air thick enough to slice with a knife. Layla sat stiffly on the edge of the opposite couch, her back straight, and her lips pressed tightly together, a storm brewing in her eyes. Malik, seated beside her, was a pillar of quiet strength, though his clenched jaw betrayed his inner turmoil. Ummi sat to the side, her usual calm demeanor slightly strained as her fingers toyed with the edges of her scarf. All awaiting what could possibly have called for this impromptu meeting.

Layla's heart skipped a beat, her palms suddenly clammy. "What do you mean response?" She asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Ignoring her tone, Uncle Alhaji Jo unzipped the bag and slid it across the coffee table toward her. "Open it," He commanded.

Her eyes flickered between the bag and his face, hesitant. Malik shifted slightly beside her, his gaze wary, but he didn't intervene. Slowly, Layla reached for the bag and pulled it open. Her breath hitched as she saw bundles of crisp, new naira notes, meticulously stacked.

"That," Uncle Alhaji Jo said, his voice unwavering, "is your dowry."

Layla froze, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. "What?" She whispered, her voice barely audible. Then, louder, "What?! No! This... this isn't right! What does this mean?" She shoved the bag away as though it burned her.

"The elders have decided to tie the knot right now and no later." Uncle Jo said.

The world froze for Layla. Several beats passed and she was sure she wasn't breathing, feeling, or even processing what he said. He didn't mean what he said. There's no way. No. 

She looked at Uncle Jo, her eyes screaming with one question. His eyes didn't budge away from her gaze but the message was there, there wasn't even a hint in his eyes that'd possibly deny what was brewing in her mind. She slowly looked at her brother, her eyes now silently begging for him to tell her it's not true. He looked dejected, and then quickly resorted to turning his gaze away. Ummi was no different to her, she looked equally as shocked and confused as Layla.

"How could you do this to me? Why would you... why would they... " Layla started slowly, unable to form coherent words. She paused, and took a breath that did little to help with her nerve. "How could you do this to me?" Her voice went up so loudly that even she felt it resonate through her body.

"Layla," Malik cut in, his voice low and firm, the rare tone he reserved for when she truly crossed the line. She immediately clamped her mouth shut, her eyes darting to his face. The sharp disapproval there stung worse than any words could.

Malik sat rigidly, his hands clasped tightly together, the weight of the situation pressing down on him like never before. Hopelessness was an alien feeling to him, a stranger he had never allowed past the threshold of his mind. From the moment their father had passed, he had shouldered the mantle of strength, the silent guardian of his mother and sisters. It was a role he had embraced without complaint, one that demanded unwavering resolve and a clear head, no matter the storm. But today, sitting amidst the charged atmosphere, with the elders' words echoing in his ears and Layla's tearful protests cutting into his heart, Malik felt the unfamiliar sting of helplessness.

From the start of the conversation, he had been grasping at straws, his mind working furiously for solutions that simply did not exist. He knew there was no room for rebellion here, not from him, and certainly not from Layla. The authority of the Fulani elders was absolute, and to challenge them would mean igniting a conflict far beyond what any of them could handle. Malik could see no path forward except damage control, managing the fallout of whatever decision Layla ultimately made. But as much as he hated the thought, he understood that protecting her meant standing firm now, even if it felt like watching her drown while being unable to pull her to safety.

Uncle Alhajijo adjusted his cap, his face set in stern lines as he prepared to speak. His patience was fraying, but he knew he couldn't afford to waver. He had to stand firm, as the man entrusted with upholding the family's dignity, even when it meant confronting Layla's unyielding stubbornness. His voice was steady but carried the weight of unrelenting authority when he began. 

"Layla," He said, his eyes narrowing as they settled on her tear-streaked face. "There is nothing wrong with this arrangement. What difference does it make whether the marriage is in a few weeks or a few months? Tell me, didn't you say you were sure about him?" 

Layla's breath hitched, her voice breaking as she sobbed. "I... I was sure of giving him a chance, not marrying him!" 

Alhaji Jo clicked his tongue, shaking his head with evident disapproval. "What's the difference, eh? I don't know what youngsters do nowadays, but for us, it's the same. Giving him a chance, marrying him, it's all the same to us. You didn't seem to hate him when I saw the two of you together that night." 

Layla froze for a moment, her mind flashing back to that evening. She clenched her fists, frustrated by his ability to twist any moment into a justification for his arguments. "But that's not the same thing!" She retorted, her voice rising despite the tears. 

Uncle Jo's expression hardened further. "I don't care what you think is the same or different. What I care about is that you've made the elders gather downstairs, and now you want to embarrass me? Tarnish my reputation because of your whims?" His tone grew more biting, and his words landed like a heavy blow. 

Layla's defiance flared, her voice sharp. "I didn't ask anyone to gather! I didn't ask them to force this on me. How is that my fault?"

Her mother, Ummi, sighed deeply, her disappointment palpable. "Layla, is this how I raised you to speak to your elders? Have some respect!" 

Tears welled up anew in Layla's eyes, and her defiance cracked under the weight of their reprimands. Her voice trembled as she choked out, "You all hate me. All of you! Especially Uncle Alhajijo. If Abba were still alive, he would never... never... do this to me. He's the only one who ever loved me." 

Her words hung in the air, raw and painful, as silence fell over the room. Her uncle's jaw clenched, and his brows knit together, but for a brief moment, he said nothing. Malik looked away, his face unreadable, while Ummi's expression was a mix of hurt and concern.

Uncle Jo took a deep breath, his resolve unshaken. "Layla, you can cry all you want, but you need to understand something. I will not let you make a fool of this family. Behave yourself." He leaned forward, his hands clasped together, his voice steely. "Layla, let me remind you of something. Do you remember what happened in high school? Hmm? When you were almost arrested along with those bad kids?"

Layla's tears momentarily ceased as her eyes widened in shock. "What does that have to do with this?" She demanded, her voice trembling.

"It has everything to do with this!" Uncle Jo thundered. "Do you know who society blamed for that incident? Me! They said I failed as your father figure. I had to bear the shame, the whispers, the accusations. And you want to sit here and act like I owe you leniency?"

Layla's thoughts spiraled back to the incident that had nearly upended her life in high school, a memory she wished she could erase but which now resurfaced with painful clarity. She had been naive, swept up in the allure of a popular boy liking her. She blamed herself for being captivated by his charm and attention, but what followed had not been her fault. 

She remembered that fateful evening when she had snuck out to meet him after school, an act of defiance she used to indulge in. It was supposed to be innocent, a chance to spend time with someone who made her feel special. But instead, she had stumbled into something far darker. She had been horrified to discover the boy and his friends, both boys and girls, indulging in drugs. It wasn't until Hanifa, her cousin and self-appointed "guardian of morality", reported the gathering to the police and to her father, Uncle Jo, that the situation spiraled out of control. 

Layla shuddered at the memory of being almost taken to the police station, her heart pounding as she faced accusations she hadn't anticipated. She had been lucky, so lucky, that the drug tests came out negative.

Her family had been furious. They didn't believe her innocence or her claims that she hadn't known what the boy and his friends were doing. To them, it was all her fault. She had been reckless and irresponsible, and her actions had brought shame to their family. Her Uncle Jo bore the brunt of the backlash from relatives and society alike, who criticized him for not being strict enough with her. 

The weight of that criticism had driven him to threaten to move her into his home, away from her mother and brother, to impose stricter control over her life. Layla had been spared that fate only because Uncle Jo respected her mother and trusted Malik to discipline her. But even after the storm settled, her uncle had never let her forget the disgrace she had brought upon their family. He constantly checked up on her, his vigilance a reminder of how close she had come to tarnishing their reputation. 

The memory made Layla's chest tighten. She had been young and naive, but the consequences had been heavy and unforgiving. Even now, years later, her uncle's watchful eyes and firm demeanor felt like an unyielding shadow of that incident

"I was just a kid," She said weakly, her voice barely audible.

"You were old enough to know better," Uncle Alhaji Jo snapped. "And I will not be a disrespected elder because of you again. Do you understand me?" His voice dropped, but the weight of his words was heavier. "You have two options, Layla. Only two."

The room was silent except for Layla's muffled sobs. Malik leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped tightly together, his knuckles white. He had never felt so powerless in his life.

"Option one," Uncle Alhaji Jo continued, his tone brooking no argument, "you agree to this marriage before I leave this room. I will not force you, as per our religion. But if you choose option two," He paused, ensuring her tear-streaked face was fully focused on him, "you refuse, and I walk out of this room. Mark my words, Layla, if I walk out, do not dream of ever coming to me with news of a marriage, to Asad or any other man. I will not be present. I will wash my hands of this matter completely. Of your matter completely."

Layla's sobs grew quieter, but they didn't stop. Her mind raced, and her heart felt heavy. This wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that she was being pushed into a corner like this. Uncle Jo had always been strict, always authoritative, but this felt like a betrayal. Yet she couldn't deny that, after her father's death, he had been the closest thing to a paternal figure she had. As much as she resented him in moments like these, she also knew his words carried weight.

"Uncle Alhajijo." Ya Malik called out in a deep, quiet, barely controlled voice.

The room remained heavy with tension, everyone waiting for her reply. Layla wiped her tears with trembling hands but stayed silent, her thoughts a whirlwind of despair and defiance.

——————

Hello readers,

I'm not sure it's a good idea to ask how today's chapter was but I'll anyway, how was it?😁 Is there an incoming scandal soon?😮 "A failed union between the Nyako and Salihijo family"?👀

I'd need you guys to comment your thoughts more than you've on any chapter in order to get the next update soon😉 We've already had double update this week, would it be triple? You choose🤭

I'm permitting everyone to be mad and unhinged today but don't forget, I love Uncle Jo🙃

Be sure to dm me your reviews on IG as well, I love having convos with you all. IG: husna_thewriter