That afternoon, Laila’s house was filled with the soft cadence of Qur’anic verses drifting through the air. Mats were neatly laid out, rows of sweet tea glasses lined the floor, and plates of fried snacks sat beside them. Neighbors arrived one after another.
Laila stood by the door, greeting each guest with a smile that almost never left her face. She truly looked like a gracious host—kind, polished, and impeccably mannered.
When Mawar and Nila stepped inside side by side, that smile shifted—not disappearing, just… changing. Thinner. Lingering longer. As if it were holding back something difficult to name.
“Thank you for coming,” Laila said gently, her voice steeped in courtesy.
Her gaze settled on Nila. It traced her face, the way she stood, the way she returned the greeting. There was an interest there, not entirely concealed. Not a friendly curiosity. More like someone who had just discovered a new riddle—something that sparked quietly inside her.
“Nila, correct?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” Nila replied calmly.
“Have you settled in here? Moving to this village so suddenly… there must have been a big reason.”
Her tone was light, but the question felt like a fine needle. Standing beside her, Mawar could sense the invisible pressure. She was certain the question carried a sharp undertone directed straight at Nila.
“I just wanted a quieter life. Nothing strange,” Nila answered briefly, clearly uninterested in small talk.
“Quieter?” Laila tilted her head slightly. “Sometimes people move to find peace because something before wasn’t so peaceful, right? Like wanting to get away from the crowd… or perhaps from problems? Ah, forgive me,” she added deliberately.
A few women sitting nearby slowed their movements. They didn’t want to appear as though they were listening in, yet it was obvious they heard how the conversation felt less like casual talk and more like an interrogation.
Nila let out a small laugh. Not one born of humor—just enough to brush aside the awkward tension between herself and this woman she had only just met, who already felt excessively intrusive.
“I think you’re making me nervous,” she said lightly, though her eyes were sharp. “It feels like I’m being interrogated—especially in front of so many people. It’s very uncomfortable. I truly feel awkward right now.”
For a moment, the air grew heavy. The discomfort spread quickly.
Then Laila laughed softly as well. “Oh dear, I’m sorry if it sounded that way. I’m just curious. It’s rare for someone from outside the village to move here. I thought outsiders were usually more open. More… honest or straightforward. But I suppose some can be rather closed off.”
Her last sentence hung in the air. It felt like a subtle threat.
The neighbors didn’t fully grasp the direction of their exchange, but they could sense something unusual—like two faint currents of electricity brushing against each other. And it felt dangerous for anyone who came too close.
The gathering continued. Prayers were recited. But every now and then, Laila’s gaze would return to Nila. And each time, Nila met it with an unreadable, expressionless face. Yet even that did nothing to dampen Laila’s persistence.
17. Wanita yang TertarikAs the event was about to end, Laila approached again.
“You should stop by my house sometime,” she said sweetly. “So we can get to know each other better. For some reason, I feel we’d make very good friends.”
Nila smiled politely. “I don’t think I’ll ever invite you to my house. My home is too comfortable in its quiet. I’m not particularly good at socializing.”
Mawar stiffened at that. She could clearly hear how the two women were striking at each other in subtle ways.
But Laila only smiled wider. “A little commotion makes life livelier, doesn’t it? I think your life could be a bit more enjoyable. Even the way you speak—so formal—it feels rather stiff.”
Nila didn’t respond. She simply took Mawar’s hand and led her away from Laila’s house, which now felt increasingly threatening.
“Let’s go. It’s getting dark.”
They left just like that.
Mawar glanced back once. Laila was still standing on the porch. Smiling. As if she had just discovered an interesting new game.
On the way home, their steps were faster than usual.
“…What was that back there?” Mawar finally asked. “There was something strange between you two.”
“You’re reading too much into it,” Nila replied lightly. “She just seems overly curious.”
But Mawar saw it—a thin line of irritation at the corner of Nila’s eyes. She chose not to press further. “Let’s walk faster. It’s almost Maghrib.”
At home, Ezra had prepared a simple dinner. Stir-fried vegetables and an omelet shaped slightly unevenly.
Nila looked surprised, then smiled with pride.
“Is this purely an attempt at a new recipe,” she teased before heading to her room, “or is there a certain name that’s making you so diligent? Mia, perhaps?”
Ezra’s face immediately flushed. “Mom! What does Mia have to do with this?”
Nila laughed lightly. For a moment, the tension from earlier seemed to dissolve. “Well, lately you’ve been saying Mia often brings homemade lunches. So…”
“Mom!” Ezra grew even more flustered, and Nila’s laughter rang louder.
After dinner and clearing the table, Nila suddenly felt a tightness in her chest. Not pain. Just… restlessness. As if something was lodged inside her heart.
She stepped onto the porch. The night breeze brushed her face. The yard light glowed dimly.
Then she saw it.
At the edge of the gate stood a figure. Slim. A dark, loose headscarf. A faint smile.
Laila.
Nila’s heart pounded. She nearly stood up on reflex, already reaching for her sandals by the chair.
The figure stepped closer.
“Nila…” The voice was clear now.
Not a shadow. Not an illusion.
Nila hurried into the kitchen. Her hand quickly grabbed the salt from the spice rack. She returned to the porch and, without hesitation, threw it toward Laila’s face.
Grains of salt scattered through the air. Laila stood still. Then blinked slowly. “If I were a demon, I’d be melting by now,” she said flatly.
Nila looked at her without expression. “I was just making sure. I should’ve thrown the leftovers from dinner instead.”
Laila laughed. In her hands were two black plastic bags. “I brought some food from the memorial gathering,” she said gently. “I was worried you wouldn’t get any.”
“At this hour?” Nila raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t like delaying things,” Laila replied. “Especially when I’m already curious.”
The words felt heavier than simple politeness.
Ezra appeared in the doorway. “Mom, who is it?”
“A friend,” Nila answered shortly, without taking her eyes off Laila.
Silence lingered for a few seconds. Then Laila handed over the bags. “Consider it a gesture of introduction.” Her hand brushed Nila’s briefly. Cold. Not from the night air—another kind of cold.
“Thank you,” Nila said, her voice lacking sincerity.
“In that case, may I come inside?” Laila asked, glancing past her into the house.
Nila’s face hardened, but Laila seemed to ignore it, her curiosity about the interior unmistakable.
“Go ahead,” Nila said at last, though clearly forced. “But I assure you, there’s absolutely nothing inside that would interest you.”
And in the end, Nila let Laila step into her home—reluctantly.