Layla's hands trembled as she dialed Idris's number. The threatening text still lit up her screen: *You can't stop what's already in motion. Back off, or you'll burn with it.*
"Come on, pick up," she muttered, pressing the phone harder against her ear. It was almost 5:00 PM on Thursday, and the youth center office felt suffocating despite the ceiling fan's lazy rotations.
Sister Fatima had made tea earlier—the cup sat untouched on Layla's desk, gone cold hours ago. Across from her, Sana sat with her five-year-old son Zayn asleep in her lap, his small hand still clutching a toy car even in slumber. His breathing was soft and steady, a stark contrast to the tension in the room.
"Mmm... want juice," Zayn mumbled in his sleep, shifting slightly.
Sana stroked his hair. "Shh, habibi. Sleep a little longer." Her voice was gentle, but Layla could see the fear behind her eyes.
Amina paced by the window, peering through the blinds every few seconds. "Any sign of Tariq's car?" Layla asked her.
"Nothing yet." Amina sighed, rubbing her neck. "God, I need a coffee. Or something stronger."
The phone connected, and Idris's voice came through, breathless. "Layla? We just got to the storage unit. What's wrong?"
"I got a text," she said, lowering her voice instinctively. "From an unknown number." She read it aloud, her throat tightening on the words.
The line went quiet for a moment. She could hear muffled voices—Idris talking to Tariq.
"Shit," Idris finally said, the rare curse revealing his stress. "We just got the lock open. There's... stuff in here, Layla. Gasoline cans. Rags. A prepaid phone. Fahad's planning something bigger than embezzlement."
Layla closed her eyes, the confirmation of their fears hitting her like a physical blow. "You need to get out of there. If they're watching—"
"Yeah, we're not sticking around. Tariq's taking photos for evidence, but..." His voice dropped. "Look, we'll be back in twenty minutes. Don't let anyone in until we get there, okay?"
As she hung up, Sana's eyes met hers. "It's him, isn't it?" she whispered. "Fahad found out I talked."
Layla reached across the desk and squeezed Sana's hand. "We're going to fix this," she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "The board has your financial documents now. Brother Yusuf is on our side."
"What if it's not enough?" Sana's voice cracked. "I can't lose this job, Layla. Zayn's school, our apartment—"
"Hey." Layla cut her off gently. "One step at a time, remember? Like you told me when I was panicking about my grad school applications."
A ghost of a smile crossed Sana's face. "That was different."
"Was it?" Layla raised an eyebrow. "We've faced worse than some corrupt board treasurer."
Amina turned from the window. "Guys, what if they're not waiting until tomorrow? What if they target the center tonight instead?"
The thought hung heavy in the air. Tomorrow was Jummah prayer—the mosque section would be packed with families.
Sister Fatima, who had been quietly listening from the doorway, spoke up. "I'll check the back entrance. Make sure everything's locked up tight." Her usual cheerful demeanor had been replaced by something harder, more determined.
"I'll help," Amina said, already moving toward the hallway.
"And I'll call Brother Yusuf," Layla added. "Maybe he knows someone at the precinct who can expedite this." She looked at Sana. "Will you be okay here with Zayn for a minute?"
Sana nodded, pulling her son closer. "We'll be fine. Go."
The center's hallways felt eerily quiet as Layla walked through them, phone in hand. Usually at this hour, there would be children in the after-school program, their laughter echoing off the walls. But today they'd sent everyone home early, citing plumbing issues—a lie that sat uncomfortably in Layla's stomach.
Brother Yusuf answered on the third ring. "Assalamu alaikum, Layla. Any news?"
"Wa alaikum assalam. Not good news, I'm afraid." She quickly explained about the text and what Idris and Tariq had found.
"Astaghfirullah," he muttered. "I knew Fahad was trouble, but this... this is criminal. I'll call Detective Hassan right now—he attends the same mosque as my cousin. And I've already reached out to the other board members. We're meeting tomorrow morning before Jummah."
"What about Kareem?" Layla asked, referring to the board president who'd been suspiciously close to Fahad.
A pause. "He's not answering my calls. But don't worry about him—we have enough votes to remove them both."
As she hung up, Layla heard the center's front door open. Her heart jumped to her throat until she heard Idris's familiar voice calling her name.
She rushed back to the office where Idris and Tariq had joined the others. Tariq's laptop was open on the desk, showing photos of the storage unit contents.
"Five gasoline cans," Tariq said grimly, pointing to the screen. "Plus these." He scrolled to a picture of a bag filled with rags. "And a burner phone that matches the description of the one Sana saw Fahad using last week."
Idris ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. There were dark circles under his eyes—he'd been up late the past three nights, helping Layla piece together the financial discrepancies Sana had flagged.
"Police are on their way," Layla told them. "Brother Yusuf is calling Detective Hassan directly."
"Good," Idris exhaled. "That's... good."
Their eyes met across the room, and for a moment, everything else faded away. They'd been dancing around each other for months—colleagues first, then friends, and now... something more complicated, amplified by the crisis they were facing together.
The moment broke when Zayn stirred in his mother's arms. "Mama? I'm hungry."
Sana kissed his forehead. "We'll get dinner soon, habibi."
"He can have my granola bar," Amina offered, digging in her bag. "It's the good kind—with chocolate chips."
Zayn's face lit up, his innocent excitement a stark reminder of what they were fighting to protect.
Brother Yusuf arrived thirty minutes later with Sister Mariam and two other board members. By then, Detective Hassan was already taking statements, his presence a reassuring anchor in the chaos.
"We've secured the storage unit and collected the evidence," he informed them, his voice measured and professional. "Officers are looking for Mr. Fahad Malik now. In the meantime, I'll have a patrol car stationed outside the center tonight."
"What about tomorrow?" Layla asked. "It's Jummah—hundreds of people will be here."
"We'll have officers on site," he assured her. "Visible presence. And we're working on tracking the phone that sent you that text."
As the detective stepped away to take a call, Brother Yusuf gathered everyone around. "The emergency board meeting is set for 10 AM tomorrow. We'll formally remove Fahad and Kareem, and Sister Mariam will step in as interim president."
Sister Mariam, a retired accountant with steel-gray hair and kind eyes, nodded firmly. "We'll need to inform the congregation after prayers. Transparency is the only way forward."
"What about Sana and Zayn?" Layla asked. "It's not safe for them to go home if Fahad's still out there."
"My cousin has a spare room in Glendale," Sana said quietly. "I've already texted her."
"I'll drive you," Amina offered immediately.
As people broke into smaller groups to discuss next steps, Idris pulled Layla aside, his voice low. "You okay? You look exhausted."
She gave him a tired smile. "Says the guy who hasn't slept in three days."
"Four, actually. But who's counting?" He attempted a joke, but his eyes remained serious. "Layla, what you're doing here... standing up for Sana, for the center. It matters."
"We're doing it together," she corrected him. "I couldn't have gotten this far without you, Idris."
Something shifted in his expression—a softening, a vulnerability. "When this is over..." he started, then hesitated.
"When this is over, what?" she prompted.
"Maybe we could—"
The crash of breaking glass from the back of the building cut him off. Everyone froze for a split second before Detective Hassan was shouting orders, officers were drawing weapons, and Zayn was crying in fear.
Idris instinctively moved in front of Layla as they all turned toward the sound, the moment between them lost in the sudden chaos.
Whatever Fahad had planned, it was happening now.