Episode 4 – The Struggle

The music was deafening.

Layla’s body swayed with the rhythm, but her heart wasn’t in it. Strobe lights sliced the room into flashing fragments—faces half-hidden, laughter distorted, glass after glass raised high in the air. She was in her world again, the one she knew best: sticky floors, expensive perfume mixed with cheap liquor, and the ever-present ache of pretending.

Her friends screamed lyrics into her ear, their voices slurred, their makeup smudged. A man pressed too close at her back, and she let him for a moment, then slipped away, weaving through the crowd with a practiced smile.

This should’ve been her comfort zone. Her escape. Her throne.

But tonight, something gnawed at her.

Every time the bass pounded, she remembered silence. Every time a hand brushed her skin, she remembered restraint. Every time she downed another shot, she remembered water and a plate of simple eggs placed gently in front of her.

Omar.

She cursed under her breath, shoving the thought away. He didn’t belong here. His world and hers didn’t mix. He prayed; she sinned. He lived in light; she danced in shadows. And yet—

Sometimes people don’t realize when God is giving them a chance.

His words played over and over like a song stuck on repeat.

Layla slammed her empty glass down on the counter, earning a startled glance from the bartender. She plastered on a grin and ordered another, but when it came, she only stared at it.

What was wrong with her?

“Layla!” her friend Marissa yelled, stumbling over in her glitter heels. “You’re spacing out. Come dance!”

Layla forced a laugh and let herself be dragged to the center of the floor. She swayed, smiled, even laughed—but her chest felt hollow, each movement mechanical. When the DJ turned the beat up and the crowd roared, all she felt was noise.

Peace. Omar had said the word so easily. She had mocked it, but now the absence of it was suffocating.

After an hour, she excused herself, slipping out the side door into the cool night air. The city lights blinked around her, taxis honking, strangers laughing as they passed. Layla leaned against the wall, tugging her jacket tighter, breathing hard as though she’d run miles.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced at the screen—Marissa again. She ignored it.

Her gaze drifted upward, to the patch of night sky visible between the tall buildings. For once, she wished the stars were brighter.

“What are you doing, Layla?” she muttered to herself. “Losing your mind over some polite stranger?”

But it wasn’t just him. It was what he carried. Something steady, rooted, unshaken.

She rubbed her temples and hailed a cab, unable to stand the noise any longer.

---

The next morning, Layla dragged herself out of bed with a pounding head. She opened her curtains, letting sunlight flood in, and winced. Her apartment was a mess—clothes on the floor, makeup scattered across the vanity, heels tipped over by the door. She grabbed a glass of water and sat heavily on the couch.

The silence mocked her.

It reminded her of Omar’s place—clean, simple, ordered. No empty bottles, no stale smell of perfume and smoke. Just peace.

She found herself reaching for her phone. Her fingers hovered over the contacts. She hadn’t saved his number—he hadn’t given it. He wasn’t like that. She sighed, throwing the phone aside.

Why did she even care?

And yet, as the day dragged on, she found herself replaying their conversations in her head.

“Peace isn’t boring.”

“Sometimes people don’t realize when God is giving them a chance.”

Layla groaned, flopping back against the cushions. Why did every word of his stick like glue? She barely knew him. He wasn’t her type. He wasn’t even in her world. And still…

Still, she couldn’t ignore the way something inside her shifted whenever he spoke.

---

It was late afternoon when she found herself walking aimlessly through the park. Couples strolled, children laughed, elderly men sat on benches feeding pigeons. Layla wrapped her jacket tighter, scanning the peaceful scene.

And then, like fate—or maybe something greater—she saw him.

Omar.

He sat on a bench under a tree, a small notebook open in his lap, pen moving steadily. His posture was straight, his expression calm. He looked like he belonged here, rooted in stillness while the world moved around him.

Layla’s feet froze. She could’ve turned back, pretended she hadn’t seen him. But something stronger pulled her forward.

“Twice in one week,” she said lightly, approaching. “Starting to think you’re following me.”

Omar looked up briefly, then closed his notebook. “Peace be upon you.”

“There it is again,” Layla teased, sitting beside him without waiting for permission. “Your fancy greeting.”

“It’s not fancy,” he replied calmly. “It’s sincere.”

Layla tilted her head. “So, what are you writing? More… deep thoughts about peace and God?”

“A reflection,” he admitted.

“Reflection,” she repeated with a smirk. “You really don’t stop, do you?”

“No,” he said simply. “Because my heart doesn’t stop needing guidance.”

Something in his voice softened the smirk on her lips. She looked away, staring at the kids playing in the distance. “Must be nice. Knowing what you need.”

Omar glanced at her, but his gaze was careful, respectful. “Everyone knows. Some just try to silence it.”

Her throat tightened. She forced a laugh. “And what, you think I’m silencing mine?”

“I don’t judge,” he said gently. “I only speak for myself.”

Silence stretched between them. Layla picked at her nails, her mind whirling. She hated how seen she felt under his calm presence.

Finally, she whispered, almost against her will, “What if someone’s too far gone?”

Omar turned slightly, his voice firm but kind. “No one is too far gone for Allah’s mercy.”

The words hit her harder than she expected. She swallowed, blinking quickly, and stood abruptly. “You really should stop saying stuff like that. It’s… dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

“Yeah.” She forced a grin. “Makes people think too much.”

Omar gave a small smile—gentle, almost unnoticeable. “Maybe that’s the point.”

Layla stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head, retreating with a half-hearted laugh. But as she walked away, her chest ached in a way no drink, no music, no night of empty fun had ever left her aching.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***