Layla stood frozen in her bedroom, the glow of her phone screen casting harsh shadows across her face. The text messages burned into her mind: *You're digging too deep, Layla. Monday won't save you or the center. Back off now.* And then Sana's chilling demand: *We need to talk. Alone. Tomorrow night, 8 PM at the abandoned shop. Come alone or what I know about Malik and Omar goes public—and your precious center burns to the ground.*
Her father's call to the police still echoed in her ears, but their response had been frustratingly dismissive—without more evidence, there was little they could do. The officer had barely looked up from his notepad before leaving, his halfhearted reassurance doing nothing to calm her nerves.
She double-checked her windows for the third time, the satisfying click of each lock a small act of defiance against the fear creeping up her spine. Outside, the neighborhood was quiet, but every shadow seemed to watch her with knowing eyes. Six weeks. According to Amina's findings in the abandoned shop, Sana had been tracking her for six weeks. The thought made her skin crawl.
Layla sank onto her prayer mat, forehead touching the soft carpet as she whispered, "Ya Allah, grant me strength when I am weak, courage when I am afraid. Guide me through this darkness." The familiar rhythm of prayer steadied her racing heart, if only for a moment. But the stakes felt impossibly high—Sana's threat to burn the center wasn't just personal; it endangered the heart of their community.
She couldn't face this alone. Despite the note's warning—"Trust no one"—she needed help. Her thumb hovered over Idris's contact before she typed, deleted, then retyped her message three times:
*Idris, something's happened. Sana texted me demanding a meeting tomorrow night, 8 PM at that abandoned shop. She's making threats about the center. I hate to ask, but I don't know who else to turn to. Can we talk? Masjid courtyard after Fajr?*
His reply came faster than she expected, as if he'd been waiting by his phone:
*Wa alaikum assalam. I'll be there. Try not to worry too much tonight, though I know that's easier said than done. We'll figure this out together, insha'Allah.*
She stared at his response, a small knot in her chest loosening just enough to breathe. Despite everything between them, he hadn't hesitated.
The image of Principal Davis's email flashed in her mind—five days left until Monday's deadline. Five days to either abandon the center or lose her teaching position. The reminder felt like a physical weight pressing down on her shoulders. She opened her laptop, forcing herself to focus on another application to a community school across town, her fingers trembling as she typed her qualifications.
---
Wednesday morning arrived with a gentle rain that left the masjid courtyard glistening in the dawn light. A cluster of uncles huddled near the entrance after Fajr prayer, their hushed conversation drifting through the damp air.
"...another protest last night," one muttered, his weathered face creased with worry. "This audit is tearing our community apart."
"My nephew says the financial records are a mess," another replied, shaking his head. "Says it's why Omar resigned so suddenly."
Layla pretended not to hear as she settled on a bench in the courtyard, pulling her maroon hijab closer against the morning chill. Her fingers fidgeted with the fabric as she whispered, "Ya Allah, show me the truth amidst this pain."
"You look like you haven't slept," said Idris, appearing beside the bench. There was no greeting, just concern in his tired eyes. He wore a simple gray thobe, wrinkled as if he'd tossed and turned all night too.
"Is it that obvious?" She attempted a smile but couldn't quite manage it.
He sat down, leaving respectful space between them. Amina was sketching on a bench nearby, pretending not to listen while keeping watch as their chaperone. Occasionally she would look up, checking the uncles by the entrance who had now fallen silent, eyeing the young people with curious glances.
"Tell me what happened," Idris said, voice low.
Layla recounted Sana's messages, her words tumbling out faster than she intended. "She knows about Malik and Omar. She's threatening to expose everything and—" Her voice caught. "She said she'd burn down the center, Idris."
He didn't immediately offer reassurances or solutions. Instead, he looked down at his hands, a muscle in his jaw working. "I should've told you everything from the beginning," he finally said. "This isn't just about the center for Sana. It's personal."
"What aren't you telling me?" The question came out sharper than she intended.
Idris rubbed his face, suddenly looking much older than his years. "My father... he didn't just cut her program in 2018. He dismantled it completely after she tried to expand it. I found out last night—she filed a lawsuit against him afterward." He glanced at an elderly man walking past them, lowering his voice further. "It got thrown out, but she lost everything. Her reputation, her career... everything."
"And you're just telling me this now?" The betrayal stung, fresh on top of everything else.
"I didn't know until yesterday! I called three different board members last night trying to piece it together." His voice rose slightly before he caught himself, glancing at the elders by the entrance. He lowered his tone again. "Look, I'm as caught in this as you are. My father's reputation, my family's name—"
"Your family will be fine," Layla cut in, then immediately regretted her tone. "I'm sorry. I'm just... scared. Really scared."
The admission hung between them. Idris's expression softened.
"You can't go alone tonight," he said finally.
"She specifically said to come alone. If she sees anyone else—"
"Then she won't see me." His eyes held a determination that brooked no argument. "I'm not letting you walk into that shop by yourself, Layla. The center means everything to me too."
An older woman approached them, her face familiar from community events. "Layla, isn't it? Omar's assistant?" Her eyes were kind but searching. "I heard you're taking over some of his duties. Such a shame about his resignation. The timing couldn't be worse with all this audit business."
Layla straightened, acutely aware of how close she sat to Idris. "Just temporarily, Auntie. Until things settle."
"May Allah make it easy for you," the woman said, patting Layla's shoulder before continuing on her way.
Idris waited until she was out of earshot. "The whole community's on edge. Another protest last night outside the center—smaller, but louder. People are taking sides."
Layla's heart sank. "And Principal Davis made it clear—either I distance myself from this controversy by Monday, or my teaching position is gone." The deadline that had seemed abstract now loomed terrifyingly close.
"You've worked so hard for that job," Idris said quietly. "No one would blame you for walking away from all this."
"Wouldn't they?" Layla met his gaze. "The center raised me, Idris. I learned to read Quran there. I found my voice there. How can I abandon it now?"
He nodded slowly, understanding in his eyes. "So we face Sana together. But carefully."
---
Throughout the day, Layla tried to focus on her teaching application, but her mind kept returning to the evening ahead. She called Amina during her lunch break, pacing her small bedroom while the curtains fluttered in the breeze.
"Idris thinks it's too dangerous to go alone," she explained, keeping her voice low though no one else was home.
"He's right," Amina said firmly. "Tariq and I checked out the shop again this morning—didn't go inside, just looked through the broken windows. There's more stuff now than when we first found her notes—a sleeping bag, food wrappers, even a small lamp. She's been living there, Layla."
Layla's stomach twisted at the thought of Sana watching her, tracking her movements for weeks. "What if she sees Idris? She'll follow through on her threat—"
"Then let Tariq and me help too," Amina insisted. "We'll stay farther back, keep watch from the car. If anything happens, we'll call the police immediately."
After some negotiation, they settled on a plan that did little to ease Layla's growing anxiety. As afternoon faded into evening, she found herself returning to her prayer mat, desperately seeking the calm that had eluded her all day.
"Ya Allah," she whispered, "grant me wisdom to see the right path forward. Protect our community from harm."
---
Dusk had settled fully by the time Layla approached the abandoned shop. The street was eerily quiet, most businesses closed for the day. A single streetlight flickered nearby, casting distorted shadows across the cracked pavement. The shop itself stood dark and forbidding—boarded windows like blind eyes, peeling paint revealing the weathered wood beneath.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket—one message from Idris (*In position. You're not alone.*), another from Amina (*Watching from the car. One text and we're there*). The reassurance of their presence gave her the courage to approach the building.
The door protested loudly as she pushed it open, the rusty hinges announcing her arrival. Inside was darker than she expected, the air thick with dust and disuse. A small battery-powered lamp cast long shadows across the debris-strewn floor. Old shelving units stood like skeletons against the walls, and the counter where customers once paid was now covered in dust and abandoned flyers.
"Close the door." Sana's voice came from the shadows before Layla could see her.
Layla did as instructed, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her hand instinctively found the small prayer beads in her pocket, fingers moving across them for comfort.
Sana stepped into the weak circle of light. She looked thinner than Layla remembered, her cheekbones sharp under her skin, dark circles beneath her eyes suggesting many sleepless nights. But her gaze burned with an intensity that was almost frightening.
"You actually came alone." Sana sounded surprised, maybe even impressed.
"You didn't leave me much choice." Layla's voice was steadier than she felt.
Sana gave a laugh that held no humor. "Choices? You want to talk about choices?" She moved closer, the silver bracelet on her wrist catching the light. "Your precious Idris's father took all my choices away. Five years of work, gone in one board meeting."
"That doesn't justify threatening to burn down a community center."
"Doesn't it?" Sana's voice cracked slightly. "They took everything from me, Layla. Do you know what it's like to watch your life's work disappear overnight? To have your name dragged through mud by people who've never even met you?"
For the first time, Layla saw beyond the anger to the pain beneath it. "Then tell your story, Sana. Make them listen. The audit—it's happening now. If there was wrongdoing—"
"The audit is a joke," Sana spat. "A performance to pretend they care about accountability. Malik's just as corrupt as the rest of them." She pulled a manila folder from her bag, waving it between them. "I have proof of everything—how they diverted funds, how they blacklisted me when I threatened to speak out."
"Then use that proof the right way," Layla pleaded. "This—" she gestured around them, "—threatening people, stalking me for weeks... this isn't justice. It's revenge."
Something flickered across Sana's face—doubt, perhaps—before hardening again. "Maybe revenge is all I have left." She shoved the folder back into her bag. "You have a choice to make, Layla. Walk away from the center permanently, or watch it burn. Your precious teaching job at Greenfield is waiting, isn't it? Principal Davis made his deadline very clear."
Layla's breath caught. "How do you know about that?"
Sana's smile was cold. "I told you. I've been watching."
A sound outside—the unmistakable slam of a car door—made them both freeze.
Sana's expression twisted. "You lied to me." She pulled a lighter from her pocket, the flame dancing to life with a flick of her thumb. "You'll regret this."
Before Layla could respond, Sana was already moving toward the back exit, a shadow slipping away into the night.
"Sana, wait!" Layla called, but the back door was already swinging closed.
Idris burst through the front entrance seconds later, his face pale with worry. "Are you okay? I heard shouting."
Layla's phone buzzed in her hand—a new message lighting up the screen:
*Midnight. Choose wisely, or the flames will.*
"She's going to burn down the center," Layla whispered, the realization hitting her like physical pain. "Tonight."