Sneaking in and out of the gates of Bako Manor without being spotted by any of the dozen guards on rotation or the CCTV camera was an act Yaseerah had perfected over the years – a skill born out of desperation more than necessity.
Her footsteps were soundless as she made her way through the well-worn path that led to Mamu's cottage, using the cover of trees to her advantage.
The path was littered with fallen leaves and debris–a world different from the well-tended gardens of the Manor–but the clutter didn't bother her.
Instead, with every step away from the well-tended gardens of the Bako Manor and towards the cottage hidden from view of the public eye, Yaseerah could feel her heart getting calmer, and her mind getting clearer.
The Bako Manor, with its imposing facade, meticulously polished interiors–which were always cold, exuding an eerie silence often broken by her father's booming voice or the echoes of footsteps on the polished marble floors–had always felt suffocating to Yaseerah and paled in comparison to the humble cottage that Mamu and Bilal shared.
Aesthetically, the cottage had nothing on the manor, but when it came to how homey a place made one feel, the cottage would always top the manor in Yaseerah's books.
The distant hum of an engine beyond the trees drew Yaseerah's attention briefly, but she dismissed it, too consumed by her thoughts about the encounter at the stables to give it any thought.
Fulan still lingered in her thoughts, leaving her off-kilter as she wound her way through the familiar paths toward the secluded house.
But the apprehension was momentarily set aside as she neared the cottage, knowing that she was finally going to be home.
However, a frown graced her lips when the scent of lavender oil hit her nostrils, the nearer she got to the door.
Her heart quickened, a cascade of thoughts racing through her mind, confusion about her encounter giving way to a deeper worry for Mamu as she pushed open the door and stepped in, making her way to the kitchen where she could hear movements.
She found Bilal in the kitchen, his head bent over the counter, while jars of spices remained unopened beside him.
"Bad morning?" she ventured, her brows furrowing deep as she appraised him.
At the sound of her voice, Bilal's head snapped up, a fleeting smile crossing his lips before giving way to a deeper frown.
The scent of lavender was stronger here, and Yaseerah wrinkled her nose at its heady scent, but concern for Mamu overshadowed her distaste for the scent as she moved farther into the kitchen, making her way to him.
The urge to hug him and feel the familiar embrace of her kin hit her, and Yaseerah didn't waste any time contemplating it.
If Bilal was surprised when he felt her arms wrap around his waist and her face pressing into the crook of his neck, he didn't show it.
He merely sighed, as he draped an arm around her shoulders, reciprocating her embrace, his lips brushing lightly against her forehead; a familiar gesture that conveyed more than words ever could.
This unspoken comfort was their routine; one or either of them would feel down, and Yaseerah would hug him while he placed a kiss on her forehead. They didn't need words to soothe each other.
"Mamu?" she queried when she took a step back and sat on one of the stools.
"Resting," he sighed again, scrubbing a hand across his face. "She's been having those headaches again."
Yaseerah nodded because she'd already anticipated that answer. Guilt gnawed at her for not checking up on them sooner, but she squashed it down as she began to think of solutions.
Mamu had been battling Lupus since before either Yaseerah or Bilal were born. Over the years, with Yaseerah's father funding her treatments, Mamu had made tremendous recovery, but Mamu's headaches had become more frequent now, and it was a worry that weighed heavily on Yaseerah's heart.
Mamu has refused to see a doctor because accepting more help from Abdul-Aziz Bako always came with a price; one the three of them couldn't afford to pay anymore.
"I made her some lavender tea," Bilal continued, gesturing to the steaming pot on the stove.
Yaseerah nodded. Mamu's love for lavender was no secret; she infused the house with its scent on a daily basis and brewed its tea religiously.
Yaseerah's frown deepened as she leaned against the counter, thinking about Mamu's struggles.
"Maybe we need to pressure her more to see a doctor," she stated as she grabbed a cup and poured the lavender tea in, her fingers curling around the porcelain.
She might detest the scent of the tea, but Yaseerah couldn't deny its soothing effects.
"Maybe you'll get through to her," Bilal said in response, weariness creeping into his tone.
She took a tentative sip of the lavender tea, letting the soothing warmth cascade down her throat as she contemplated Mamu's well-being and Bilal's words.
"I wish there was something else that I can do," Yaseerah uttered, her gaze downcast.
Bilal's lips curled into a genuine smile as he squeezed her hand gently. "You already do enough, Yas. You're always there for her, for me."
Yaseerah's heart swelled with emotions, her eyes warming as she met his gaze. Bilal and Mamu have always anchored her, reminding her that love exists, even in this cruel world they've found themselves in.
"Ohana means family," she said softly, quoting one of their favorite cartoons.
"And family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten," Bilal completed, a fond smile on his lips, as he thought about their bond and how, above everything else, they'd always be there for each other.
A momentary silence descended upon them as they got lost in their thoughts. Then, as if he remembered something, Bilal groaned, making Yaseerah's head snap up quickly, thinking he'd hurt himself.
"Speaking of family..." he trailed off, his voice dropping, hesitating about whatever it was he wanted to say.
Yaseerah sighed when she realized that he wasn't hurt and refocused her attention back to her tea, though the uncertainty in his tone still left a sense of foreboding inside her. "What about family?"
Bilal grimaced, watching her carefully as he uttered four words that had her world tilting off its axis once again. "The general is back."
Icy tendrils of dread crept up her spine, her pulse quickening, and breaths coming out in short gasps as she thought about the implications of her father's return. Her fingers trembled, betraying her outward composure, as she carefully set the porcelain cup back onto the counter, her face losing all its color.
No!
No!
No!
Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un! She repeated internally, her mind racing a mile a minute.
Her father wasn't supposed to be back now. He'd only been gone a few days. She was supposed to be safe for a little while longer.
This can't be happening, not today of all days.
Yaseerah felt sick. Her stomach churned with a nauseating mixture of dread and horror at the prospect of seeing her father so soon after his departure.
A long moment passed before she could swallow down the rush of bile and acknowledge him. "Thanks for telling me."
"Yas," Bilal's voice softened, his eyes conveying his regret at not being able to protect her more than his words ever could. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," she whispered, waving him off, attempting to smile but it fell flat. "It's not your fault."
"When did he come back?" she whispered, detesting how small and weak her voice sounded but not bothering to hide it, because this was Bilal.
Memories of past confrontations with her father resurfaced in her mind, the pain she carried in her heart, and the faded scars on her body throbbed, leaving behind an acrid taste of resentment in her mouth and a reminder of the harsh punishments she and Bilal had endured.
"About an hour ago, maybe?" Bilal sighed. "You didn't notice the cars?"
No, she hadn't.
She had been too preoccupied with her thoughts about the stranger in the stables to notice them.
This was why she didn't allow herself to become familiar with people; familiarity bred distractions, and distractions were not a luxury Yaseerah could afford.
Now, that momentary lapse of judgment had cost her a great deal.
As her thoughts began to spiral out of control, she forced herself to focus on the tasks ahead: a wardrobe change to look presentable, perfume to mask any lingering scent of hay and horses, makeup to cover up her nose piercing, and...
Her thoughts trailed off when she felt Bilal's hands on her shoulders.
"Do you want me to go back with you?"
"No," she shook her head, fisting her fingers, her nails biting into the flesh of her palms, the pain the only thing keeping her from slipping away from reality. "Stay with Mamu, she needs you more than I do."
"Yas..."
"No," she cut him off. "I'll be fine, I promise. I'd rather you stay here with Mamu."
Her stomach was still twisted in tight knots, and cold sweat still prickled on her forehead, but she knew that she had to protect Bilal from whatever it was that had her father returning earlier than his stipulated time.
Bilal nodded, but he still felt uneasy knowing that she was facing The General alone, especially since she wasn't at the house when he returned.
Abdul-Aziz Bako was not really a general, neither did he have any affiliation with any force, but they had dubbed him that when he had punished both of them severely one night when Yaseerah was thirteen, and Bilal was eleven, and the name had stuck ever since.
The memory of that fateful night when they tried to pawn Yaseerah's gold earrings to pay for Mamu's hospital bills–a desperate act born out of love for the woman who raised them–still haunted her dreams. It was safe to say, neither of them had tried to do something as daring as that.
"I don't like the idea of you going there alone," Bilal stated. "Just let me go with you, Mamu's asleep now, she..."
"Bilal," she cut him off again, interrupting his tirade. Yaseerah had no doubt that he'd go with her if she said the word, but Mamu's well-being outweighed every consequence the encounter with her father will come with. "It's okay. I don't plan on running into him, and if I do, well, I think it's best if we both don't bear the brunt of his mood."
Bilal sighed, knowing that Yaseerah spoke the truth, as he rubbed his tired eyes, his gaze briefly flickering to her palm.
He sucked in a sharp breath but didn't say a word about her unhealthy habit of hurting herself when she was stressed, as he retrieved the first aid kit, though there was a trace of frustration in his gentle movements, as he began to clean up the half-moon indents her nails had left on her palm.
Yaseerah winced as the antiseptic stung her wound, and Bilal's fingers tightened ever so slightly around the cotton swab.
"You should get a haircut," Yaseerah uttered when he discarded the wipes and returned the kit to its place, aiming for a change in conversation as she reached out to him, her fingers lightly grazing his curls, her lips tilted up into a frown.
Bilal shot her a playful glare, his eyes dancing with a mix of annoyance and affection.
"What?" she shrugged. "You really need it."
At sixteen, Bilal was absurdly pretty; fair-skinned, dark-haired, even darker eyes, and lean in a way that undersold his strength. He left a string of broken hearts in his wake, not intentionally but because being under her father's thumb had hardened them both and made them distrust outsiders.
Yaseerah's heart ached for him, for the man he'll become but for now, her worry had to take a back seat, as she prepped herself mentally for the inevitable collision with her father.
•••
Hi, here's another chapter.
Thoughts on it?
Who's ready to meet our MMC? I know I am 😅.
Xoxo, Jidderh 😘