Layla's heart hadn't stopped racing since overhearing the aunties' whisper at the masjid—
"The hidden deal… His family knows more than they're saying."
The words clung to her, weaving with the stranger's note—
"His lies will break you"—
and the photo of Idris meeting Malik in a dim alley. Was the "hidden deal" the debt Idris mentioned, or something worse?
Sana's grudge, Amina's warnings, and Omar's relentless rumors swirled in her mind, each a knot she couldn't untie. She whispered a dua, her voice trembling in the dawn quiet:
"Ya Allah, light my path. Keep me safe from what hides in the shadows."
Outside, the neighborhood stirred—vendors hauling crates of halal meat, kids kicking a ball in the park, the faint Fajr prayer call fading. But the whispered deal's weight dulled the familiar hum.
Layla needed Idris to be clear, not guarded. She texted him, asking to meet at the community café that afternoon, with Amina as chaperone.
His reply was quick:
Assalamu alaikum, Layla. 3 PM, café. I'll try to explain more. Thank you for giving me a chance.
His sincerity eased her, but the stranger's note, slipped into her purse, kept her wary.
The community café buzzed with its usual rhythm—students typing over lattes, aunties sharing gossip over baklava, the scent of cardamom coffee thick in the air. Layla sat across from Idris, Amina nearby, sketching in her notebook but listening closely.
Idris's navy sweater was familiar, his leather bracelet glinting, but his eyes held a new strain, a flicker of exhaustion.
"Layla," he began, voice low, "I know you're frustrated. I'm sorry for holding back."
She leaned forward, her maroon hijab catching the light.
"Idris, I heard something at the masjid—about a 'hidden deal' tied to your family. Is that the debt? Or is there more? I can't keep guessing."
Idris's jaw tightened, his fingers brushing the bracelet.
"The debt is real—Malik's tied to a business my father started years ago. It failed, and we've been paying him ever since. He's pressuring us now, demanding faster payments. That's what the alley meeting was—trying to buy time."
He paused, eyes searching hers.
"There's no 'hidden deal' beyond that, Layla. Rumors twist things. I'm handling it, but it's messy, and I don't want it touching you."
His admission was a step, but the gaps—Malik's full role, the deal's whispers—stung.
"Why is Malik pressuring you now?" she pressed, her voice soft but firm.
"And Sana—her grudge against your father. Is she part of this?"
Idris frowned, rubbing his neck.
"Sana's name came up once, years ago—a volunteer my dad clashed with. I don't know why she'd resurface. Malik's just a creditor, not connected to her, as far as I know. Layla, I'm digging into this too. Give me a few days—I'll get you answers."
His plea stirred her, his effort clear, but the vagueness echoed the note's warning. Amina caught her eye, signaling time to go, and Layla stood.
"A few days, Idris," she said, her voice trembling. "But I need the whole truth."
As they left, Amina whispered, "He's trying, but he's scared. And Omar's petition at the center—it's bad. People are signing it, demanding the audit."
The youth center was abuzz that evening, flyers for Omar's petition pinned to bulletin boards, volunteers whispering as they passed. Layla spotted the petition on a table—
"Demand Transparency: Audit the Youth Center Funds"—
with dozens of signatures.
Omar stood nearby, his charcoal suit sharp, charming a group of parents.
"It's about our kids," he said, voice smooth. "We can't let discrepancies slide."
Layla's stomach knotted as a mother signed, murmuring about Idris's father. Omar's eyes met hers, his smile calculated.
"Layla, your voice could help," he called, beckoning. "Join us for fairness."
His offer felt like a snare.
"I'm here to mentor," she replied, turning away.
But the petition's momentum, Omar's sway, threatened Idris's family—and her trust in him.
The next morning, Layla's school meeting loomed, her teaching dreams teetering.
At the principal's office, the air was stiff, the principal's tone blunt.
"Your dispute ties raise concerns," she said, adjusting her glasses.
"We need assurance you're not entangled. Your job offer is conditional—distance yourself from the youth center, or we'll reconsider."
Layla's heart sank, the ultimatum a blow.
"I'm a mentor, not a decision-maker," she said, voice steady but strained. "I'll clarify my role."
The principal nodded, unconvinced.
"Submit a statement by next week."
At home, Layla called Amina, her voice shaky.
"The school's tying me to the dispute, Amina. And Idris—he's trying, but it's not enough. What if the 'hidden deal' is real?"
Amina's tone was tense.
"It's worse here. I found a note at my studio—'Back off Sana, or you're next.' It was taped to my easel, Layla. She's close, and I'm freaking out."
Layla's breath caught, the stranger's reach tightening.
"Stay with your cousin tonight," she urged. "Don't be alone."
Seeking guidance, Layla visited Sister Fatima at the masjid, the women's section calm, its carpet soft underfoot. Sister Fatima's silver hair gleamed under her navy hijab, her eyes kind but grave.
"Layla, the community's dividing," she said, stirring her tea.
"Years ago, a dispute over masjid funds tore us apart—families shunned, trust broken. Be cautious. Omar's words sway many, and Idris's family carries a heavy load."
Layla nodded, Sister Fatima's warning echoing her parents' concerns.
"I'm trying to find the truth," she said. "But it's slipping away."
"Lean on dua," Sister Fatima urged. "Truth reveals itself to the patient."
That night, Layla walked home, the neighborhood settling into dusk, streetlights flickering on, the call to Maghrib prayer drifting.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Idris:
Working on Malik's details. Meet tomorrow?
She typed a reply, then froze. Across the street, a figure stood under a lamppost, their face obscured by a hood, watching her.
Her heart pounded, the stranger's notes—
"Stay away,"
"His lies will break you"—
flashing in her mind.
She quickened her pace, glancing back, but the figure was gone, swallowed by the dark.
She whispered a dua, her voice shaking:
"Ya Allah, protect me. Unveil what hides."
The watcher, the deal, Omar's petition, Amina's note—
Layla's world was unraveling, and the truth felt like a shadow she couldn't outrun.