Life Of Laila

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"In the heart of darkness, we discover the strength we never knew we had, forging bonds that can withstand the fiercest storms."

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Chapter 3____>>>>>>

Fatima's tail

 In the dimly lit room, Laila's heart raced as she grappled with Lila. The fabric of their late mother's dress, a delicate piece adorned with fading floral patterns settled on Lila's body as she tried to get it off.

 "Ba za ki sa kayan nan ba (You won't wear that!)" Laila exclaimed, her voice a mix of desperation and anger.

 The dress had been a cherished memory, a symbol of their mother's love, and Laila couldn't bear the thought of it being paraded around with Fatima, a girl whose wealth and privilege often made her sister feel small.

 Lila, with her defiant spirit, tugged at the dress, her eyes sparkling with youthful rebellion. "Riga ne Kawai Laila! (It's just a dress, Laila!) Besides it's not even yours so you've no right to decide" Laila's grip tightened, the fabric stretching on Lila's body between them, each pull echoing their shared grief and the unspoken bond of sisterhood.

 "I have all the right to decide who wears it since it belonged to my mother!" Laila replied. "Well she was also my mother!" Lila answered back. Laila ignored her remark as she focused on dragging the dress off her.

 "Ki fita daga harka na (stay out of my business)" Lila said to her twin sister as she struggled to get her to release the dress.

 "I don't have any business with you but I won't allow you to wear this particular dress mother owned" Laila deadpanned trying to pry the dress off Lila's body.

 "I am escorting Fatima to the city! I just want to borrow it" Lila said.

"Ohh you've become Fatima's tail now koh" Laila said.

 Suddenly, Jamil called as he entered the small room, his voice steady yet laced with concern. "Laila! What's going on in there?" The sound of his cane tapping against the ground punctuated the tense atmosphere.

 Laila paused, caught between her duty to protect the memory of their mother and the need to obey her father. "Lila is wearing mother's most expensive gown for an outing with Fatima" Laila explained the situation to her father whose lifeless eyes look at them like he could actually envisioned them.

 Lila hissed making Laila turn her attention back to her. Lila had been wearing their mother's clothes for her meeting with Fatima but this time around she had went far to pick the mist expensive gown their mother owned.

 "Let her be, Laila," he said, the authority in his voice brokering no argument. Reluctantly, Laila released her hold, watching as Lila smoothed down the dress, a triumphant smile blooming on her face.

 Jamil went back outside the room seating where he was earlier, the mat on the floor with his long chasbi, Laila had followed him out of the room just to make sure he had settled down without any difficulties.

 Just then, a small boy, his clothes tattered and dusty, peeked through the doorway.

 "Assalam alaikum, Ana kiran Lila a waje (Someone's asking for Lila outside)" His voice was urgent, a stark contrast to the chaos within. "Wa?(Who?)" Laila interjected, her confusion mingling with worry. "The person can't enter" Laila added.

 But before the boy could answer, they heard Fatima's voice, bright and mocking, carry through the air. "I can't enter that house! I'll probably throw up if I do!"

 Lila, undeterred by the comment, fluffed her veil and stepped out of the room upon hearing Fatima's voice from outside the house, her confidence radiating as she passed her father and sister.

 She walked with a grace that seemed to defy the cramped space of their home, the dress flowing around her like a blooming flower. Laila felt a pang of confusion mixed with surprise, watching Lila slip outside to join her friend, leaving a void in the room that felt heavier than before.

 Jamil, his blind eyes searching the air, sensed the shift. "Where is your sister going?" he asked, worry etched into his features. Laila, still reeling from the confrontation, shook her head. "I don't know, Baba." She stood, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her.

 Sometimes Laila thought it was better that her father does not have to see Lila behaving like this.

 "Let me dress up" Laila said as she realized she still have her bathing wrapper wrapped around her under the long hijab she wore. She turned and entered their room.

 She pushed open the fragile rusted metal door and entered inside. Lila scattered the small room , all in the name of getting ready.

 Laila sighs as she rubs her nape in annoyance as she starts to pick things up before getting ready to prepare dinner.

 After she was done arranging the small room she opened the large ghana most go bag she shares with Lila to chose her clothing for the day.

 Laila went through the tattered worn out clothes and bought out a red long gown to wear. She wore the gown not before rubbing vaseline on her body. It was also amongst what she got from Hajiya Raliya.

 The woman is of a great help to them. If not for her, they would be starving by now.

She gave them enough bag of rice since last year and also some essentials which they've been managing till now.

 she moved to the kitchen, her mind wandered to the dwindling food supplies. Hajiya Raliya's generosity had sustained them for months, but now the bags of rice and beans were nearly empty. Laila opened the cupboard, the shelves bare except for a few scattered grains, and a wave of anxiety washed over her. Where would they find their next meal? The thought gnawed at her, a relentless reminder of their fragile existence.

With a heavy heart, she began to prepare what little she could, the sounds of the outside world fading as she focused on the task at hand, hoping for a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty.

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Creation is hard!

Total words count- 1013 words.