LAILA

"That's because you keep going for the crazy ones," I said, suppressing a grin as I stared at Wendy in the mirror. "Normal guys come your way all the time. But no. You want the tough ones."

Turning around on the stylist's chair, Wendy said, "So what, Laila? I like them crazy, tough, you know, a little macho..."

Cutting in, I chipped in, "And then they break your heart in three weeks. Yay. You're killing this 'adulting' thing."

Wendy, my best friend for years now, was superb at doing many things. Sadly, choosing romantic partners wasn't one of them. She has been in seven different relationships in just under two years, and none of them ended on a good note. It was always something profound. Either they cheated on her, didn't respect her values or... sorry, that's about it.

"Baby, I've told you," Wendy started, now facing me as the hairdresser let go of her hair, "love isn't for me. I'm talking love as in soulmate kinda shit. I don't like that it took me to the old age of thirty to realise this."

"Wendy, thirty is not old. I swear, you are delusional at times."

Checking her now fully done hair in the mirror, Wendy added, "Baby, I know how much easier it was to pull guys a year ago. Once I hit thirty, them dudes probably be thinking I look like everyone's black aunty."

Letting out a sigh, I told her, "Look, no one thinks you're giving aunty vibes. You're still like you were five years ago. Come on, Wendy!"

"Girl, you're just lying."

As we left the salon, my phone rang and it was Milo's school—again. This time, he didn't just miss school or insult a teacher. He beat up a classmate and then fled the school.

Oh, that little jerk.

"Yes, his Dad will be there tomorrow," I said to the voice I figured belonged to the principal.

"Let me guess, Milo insulted a teacher again?" Wendy guessed, just as I got off the phone.

Shaking my head, I responded, "No, he didn't. This time, he got into a big fight with a classmate, and then left the school building."

Clicking her tongue, Wendy let out, “Oh, that's bad. Did he win?”

Hitting her shoulder, I gasped. “You can't be for real.”

“No, you know I hate fighting. But as my Pops used to say, ‘if you see two people fighting, just know they're both stupid as fuck.’ ”

Flailing my hands, I asked, “So, why do you care if he won or lost?“

“Because losing a fight makes you look even more stupid.”

Wendy and I have been tighter than a knot since she moved into the nextdoor apartment five years ago. We immediately had a connection and became close right away. Now, here's what's funny—we weren't much alike. I guess, the idea of friends needing to be so alike was one of the many things I've had to unlearn since getting to know her.

The age gap between Wendy and me wasn't much— just five. But when I tell you we were different people, I mean it.

She was this plump dark skin beauty, as she has said at least two to three million times. She had multiple tattoos all over her body. She partied, clubbed, was a great hip hop lover, smoked, talked confidently—I mean, you get it. She was one of those ladies you would be wise to choose your words carefully when dealing with.

I, on the other hand, was just Laila Roberts. I loved reading, music of all kinds, though country was my thing. I spoke to my plants when watering them in the morning. Half of my teenage years were spent gushing over boybands. I light scented candles when watching any of my favourite romances. Yes, I was that kind of girl.

But despite it all, Wendy and I were as close as friends could ever be, often borrowing one or two things from our different worlds.

“Oh,” Wendy let out, a widened palm on her forehead, “I haven't even told you we are going to Stuns & Burns tonight.“

My brows furrowed, I questioned, “You mean the Stuns & Burns?”

“Yeah, right? We are going to have a lot of fun.”

Squinting an eye at her, I said, “Who's we? No way you think I'm going anywhere with you today, let alone a club. Staying with you at the salon for two hours was exhausting on its own.”

Stuns & Burns was a super big nightclub in the heart of the city. Though I have gone with Wendy to clubs before, we haven't quite gone there.

Making a funny face at me, Wendy muttered, “You know you want to have a good time. With everything going on, both with Milo and your Mum… it won't hurt to get a little tipsy and blow off some steam.”

“Okay, fine,” I agreed, waving a hand at her. “But here's the thing… I'm not going to be much fun. I don't have the energy for dancing.“

“Girl, you're never fun,” Wendy teased, suppressing a grin. “But put yourself in something good....“

“Fine.“

“....that shows some skin.“

“Can't promise you that.”

Wendy told me we would leave the house by seven, so I better be prepared before that. Just as I got home, I remembered that Mum had asked me to open up her store and let some air in.

Since Mum's health got worse, she has been unable to come to the store. In fact, after the last time she passed out, her elder sister asked her to come stay with her in her house that wasn't in the city. That was where she and Dad have been for months now.

Damn it. I had avoided doing this for so long. Fine. Let me do it and put it behind me.

“Oh, you're home,” I exclaimed. “Want to guess what your principal said to me on the phone?“

His attention on the TV screen, Milo replied, “Uh… not really.”

“Well, you know what she said, dumbass.“

“That she was into me?“

Exhaling noisily, I said, “Milo, you just turned fourteen… no one is into you.”

“Could say the same about you. You're always single.”

Picking the store's key from atop the fridge, I said, “If I were you, I would be more concerned about what to tell Dad when he calls. You know he told you he would send you to some military school if you mess up one more time.”

Pausing the movie he was seeing, he let out, “There is no way he will do that.“ Now on his feet, his brows raised as he enquired, “Wait, he can't actually do that, can he?”

“Well, don't bother yourself. You're going to find out either way.”

“Laila,” he called after me as I left the apartment.

Damn. That boy will be the death of me.

On getting to the store, well, it was just as I expected. Dusty, unkempt— cobwebs all around as though the spiders wanted to make maps of all the countries on the planet.

No one has stepped foot here in months. Mum has had this flower shop since I was eleven years old, and in all those years, the last few months were the longest time the shop has been vacant and inactive.

Still, as of the time we spoke, Mum said she was going to pay the rent in two months when it would be due. A part of me knew that she didn't believe she would be fine then, but she couldn't stomach the thought of the shop being taken from her.

Sitting for a moment, I stared at the frame hung on the wall. There were multiple of them and I could, in incredible clarity, recall when each and every one of them was procured.

“Ah,” I gasped, as dust scattered in the air before me as I opened the window.

I did a little cleaning, not that we intended on opening it again. But just because I knew Mum would have liked seeing me make the place come together a little.

After doing this, I went home, doing some work on my laptop.

“I hope you're all dressed,” Wendy stated, as I picked up the phone.

“Oh, of course, I am,” I declared, immediately closing my laptop and heading to my room.

Before hanging up, Wendy said, “Girl, I know you're lying. Just be quick with it.“

After what Wendy repeatedly referred to as an eternity, I got out in my simple dress that stopped just above my knee.

“Okay, girl,” Wendy exclaimed, doing a silly dance as she approached me. “You look fire. I mean, the neckline could have been lower but whatever.”

Sitting in the taxi, Wendy began to tell me how lucky I was because the person who invited her to the party was friends with ‘high and mighty' people.

“High and mighty?“ I let out, giving her a side eye. “What's that supposed to mean?“

“Girl, you know what I mean.”

“I assure you, I don't.“

Sighing, she said, “Since you want me to spell it out for you. I'm talking rich ass men. Men with very deep pocket. Even deeper than Abby's, and that's saying something.”

Abby was an old friend of Wendy's who invited her to this silly party I was now forced to attend.

Stuns & Burns was a hell of a building. Look, I don't care about clubs, but this one was definitely owned by someone with style.

After getting us drinks, Wendy began to look for this friend of hers. Walking behind her like a lost dog, we began the search for Abby.

“We are never going to find her,” I let out, bringing my face close to her ears.

“Wait… there she is,” Wendy exclaimed, running to embrace a tall lady from behind.

“Wendy, you made it,” the woman let out, a smile on her face. Turning to me, she said, “I see you brought a friend.”

Wendy nodded, still a tad too excited. “Yeah, yeah. Abby meet Laila.”

Abby and Wendy, downing one too many shots, join the crowd on the dance floor.

As I walked in the dimly lit club, my eyes scanned the whole place, looking for an unoccupied place to sit.

Then I saw him.

There, away from the pulsating dance floor and flashing lights, sat a guy. What was funny was that what made him seize my attention wasn't the fact that beside him seemed to be the only unoccupied seat around.

Fidgeting with a pen in his hands, he seemed to possess an air of calmness and confidence. His chiselled physique didn't make appear him strong in a way that was intimidating or anything of the sort. He did look really fit though.

Okay, I had a thing for guys with long hair. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I noticed his long, flowing locks cascading down his broad shoulders. A part of them was tied behind his head, and if this kind of hair styling has ever looked good on a man, he was that man.

With each subtle movement, the light caught the contours of his glistening muscles. It was as if he had literally stepped straight out of a fashion magazine.

Pulling out my phone for no reason whatsoever, I sat down beside him, not saying a thing.

Facing me, he let out, “Ninth”.

Clearing my throat, I said, “Pardon me, you said?“

“You are the ninth one.”

A quizzical expression etched on my face, I asked, “What do you mean by that?“

Facing me again, still having a straight face, he said, “You're the ninth girl to check me out in the last hour.“