Layla
1448 Words
Before you start this book, there are a few things I want you to know.
1. I do not intend to offend anyone who may see themselves in these characters. If you do, I'm sorry. That was never my intention.
2. This book explores issues that people from different nationalities and cultures experience in different ways. Please remember that every culture is different. What may feel normal in one culture may not be normal in another.
3. Just because something feels acceptable to you does not mean it is acceptable everywhere. Please avoid spreading misinformation, hate, or disrespect toward any culture or religion mentioned in this book.
4. This story is meant to show that no matter where you are in the world, there is always someone out there feeling the same emotions you are feeling.
5. I interviewed people from the countries my characters are from to avoid spreading misinformation or unintentionally offending anyone.
At the end of every chapter, there will be an author's note. It will not appear at the beginning of the chapter.
Enjoy learning more with Layla 🌃
***
🌃 Layla - Arabic Origin: Night, dark beauty.
At 4:12 AM, I locked myself in the bathroom to talk to a guy I met at the mall.
He kept telling me how pretty I was, how every step I took only made him want me more.
And I needed to hear that.
I was tired of lying to myself. I wanted someone to say it, even if they were lying too.
"What are you studying?" Fahad asked.
"Tourism," I said. "Even though my parents would never let me travel."
"When I marry you, I'll let you go wherever you want," he flirted, making me giggle.
"So you promise you're going to marry me?" My eyes lit up as my heart started racing.
"Baby, I can't lose you," he said. "Of course I promise."
I kept waiting for that feeling girls talked about in books.
But it wasn't there.
Maybe it would come later.
"I love it when you call me baby," I said softly.
Suddenly, my mother's knock interrupted us.
"Layla, who are you talking to?!" Mom shouted. "I hope you're doing ablution for Fajr prayer!"
Panic rushed through me as I hung up on Fahad. I quickly turned on the sink water to make it sound like I was doing ablution.
"Open the door right now!" Mom yelled.
I washed my face before opening the door to an angry mother.
"Give me your phone." She held her hand out.
"No!" I protested, shaking my head. "I wasn't talking to anyone."
"Now you're lying to me?!" Mom shouted, snatching the phone from my hand. "Unlock it. What's your password?"
"Mom, please," I cried, trying to take it back.
My heart felt like it was about to stop, but I still thanked God it wasn't Dad who caught me.
"Tell me who you were talking to, Layla," Mom repeated.
"I was talking to Reem," I lied. "Her—"
"And now you're lying again," Mom said, shaking her head in disbelief.
She turned and noticed my two sisters watching us from the doorway.
"Pray and go back to sleep," she told them. "We'll talk about this in the morning."
"Please give me my phone back," I begged.
And just like that, my world darkened when I saw Dad walk into the room.
He looked confused. "What's happening here? Why are you shouting?"
Mom looked at me like she expected me to answer.
But what was I supposed to say?
What sounded better than I was talking to a boy in the bathroom at four in the morning?
"She was talking to a boy," Jamila, my seven-year-old sister, blurted out.
Silence filled the room.
My heart dropped.
Then suddenly, Dad's fist hit my face, making me fall to the ground.
He grabbed my collar violently. "Talking to a boy?!"
"Yousef!" Mom shouted, pulling at his arm. "She wasn't talking to a boy, I promise! Please stop hurting her!"
"Then why is Jamila saying she was talking to a boy?" Dad yelled, letting go of me. "Don't lie to me, Maryam!"
"I'm not!" Mom cried. "Do you really think I would lie to you about this?"
Dad looked at me with disgust.
"Even talking to your friend about boys is unacceptable, do you hear me?" he snapped. "Put God first and leave all that nonsense to the disbelievers!"
Then he walked out of the room.
And I hated him even more.
That man was on his way to pray in the mosque.
He was about to stand in front of the Creator after punching his daughter.
How could he think his prayer would ever be accepted?
It wouldn't.
"Wait here," Mom said before turning to Jamila. "And you... don't interfere when adults are talking. If no one asked you, you stay out of the conversation. Understand?"
Jamila nodded slowly, looking at me. "Sorry."
Mom muttered something under her breath that I couldn't catch before leaving the bathroom and disappearing out of the room.
When she came back, she carried warm towels and a first-aid kit.
She cleaned my face carefully.
But what about my heart?
Would she be able to fix that too?
All I ever wanted was to love and be loved.
As I lay in bed, I thought about how horrible this world was.
Was love wrong?
Why couldn’t I love like everyone else?
Just because I was Muslim, did that mean I wasn’t worthy of love?
Love wasn’t wrong.
I just wanted to feel it.
And I knew it wasn’t my religion.
It was my dad. And his family.
It was my mom. And her family.
It wasn’t my fault Dad never showed me the love I needed.
***
I woke up at eleven in the morning.
I wasn’t in the mood to face my family, but sharing a room with two sisters made it difficult to stay hidden.
I groaned as I touched the bruise on my face from what happened last night. I cried a little before walking to the bathroom.
The moment I saw my reflection, I started sobbing loudly.
I touched the bruise beneath my eye carefully.
I wanted to scream. Break something. Hurt the world the way it hurt me.
But I knew I’d get punished for that too.
So instead, I sat on the cold bathroom floor and cried alone.
I was lonely.
I had been lonely since I was three.
Mom enrolled me in kindergarten when I was three years old. It was hard for me to make friends because I wasn’t interested in the things the other kids talked about.
But then I made a best friend.
His name was Rashid.
I used to cry whenever he wasn’t around.
One time he got chickenpox and had to stay home, and I begged them to take me home too.
They didn’t.
Dad didn’t want me attending a mixed school with boys, so after kindergarten, he enrolled me in an all-girls government school.
And it became one of the hardest things I had ever experienced.
First grade was a mess.
I was only five, but I carried emotions far bigger than me.
I was alone.
I couldn’t make friends. Every time I tried, I got rejected.
And rejection was the worst feeling in the world.
So eventually, I stopped trying.
It wasn’t until sixth grade, when a new student arrived, that I finally made another friend.
At first, we barely interacted.
Then somehow, we started hating each other.
And somehow after that… One Direction brought us together.
I was obsessed with One Direction back then. I begged Mom to buy me anything with their faces on it.
One day, I bought a water bottle with their pictures on it, and that was when she admitted she loved Harry Styles.
We only had one thing in common.
We both loved One Direction.
She was smarter than me. A straight-A student.
She was social. Popular. She had so many friends.
Meanwhile, she was my only friend.
We stayed best friends until we moved to another school.
We attended the same school, but we ended up in different classes.
That’s when everything started falling apart again.
I became friendless.
I barely saw her anymore.
Whenever teachers asked us to choose partners, I was always the one left alone.
Eventually, I started talking to two girls who invited me out with them.
I was so awkward that I pushed one of them away.
But the other girl became my best friend.
And somehow, from just me and Alia, we became a group of five girls.
And somehow…
I still hated having friends.
- Writer
