The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over Masjid Al-Noor as people streamed out after Sister Mariam's address. Layla leaned against a column near the entrance, massaging her temples. Her headscarf felt too tight, and she longed to get home and change into something comfortable. She'd been wearing the same clothes since yesterday morning.
"Here," Idris said, appearing beside her with a bottle of water. "You look like you need this."
She accepted it gratefully, taking a long drink before speaking. "Thanks. I forgot to eat lunch."
Idris looked as exhausted as she felt. His usually neat beard was scruffy, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He'd been at the police station most of the night after they'd arrested Fahad and Imran. Still, seeing him brought a sense of calm she desperately needed.
"How are you holding up?" he asked, his voice rough with fatigue.
Before she could answer, her phone buzzed. Amina's name flashed on the screen.
"Hey," Layla answered, switching to speaker so Idris could hear. "How's Tariq?"
"Stubborn as ever," Amina sighed. "The doctors want to keep him overnight, but he's already on his laptop trying to work. I literally had to unplug the charger and hide it."
Layla smiled despite herself. "That sounds like Tariq."
"They're pumping him full of antibiotics," Amina continued. "The cut wasn't deep, thank God, but they're worried about infection. How are things at the masjid?"
Layla glanced around at the dispersing crowd. A trio of little girls chased each other across the courtyard, squealing with laughter. An elderly man with a cane moved slowly toward the parking lot, helped by his teenage grandson.
"Better," she said. "People are still shaken up, but Sister Mariam's statement helped. Having Fahad and Imran in custody makes it feel... safer."
"I heard from Sana," Amina said. "She and Zayn are staying at Leila's tonight. Police have someone watching the house, just as a precaution."
"Good," Layla said, relief washing through her. She'd been worried about them since the threats started.
After hanging up, Idris nudged her gently. "You should eat something. Want to grab a bite before the meeting?"
His concern made her smile. "No time. Sister Mariam wants everyone at the center by five."
As if summoned by her name, Sister Mariam approached them, her normally impeccable appearance showing signs of strain. Her silver-streaked hair peeked out from beneath her hijab, and she'd missed a button on her jacket.
"Layla, Idris," she said, her voice hoarse. "We need everyone at the center in an hour. The board is meeting to discuss next steps." She hesitated, then added more quietly, "People need to see us moving forward, not just reacting. We can't let fear win."
Layla nodded. "We'll be there."
As Sister Mariam moved on to speak with others, Idris checked his watch. "That gives us just enough time to pick up some food. Come on, I'm not letting you go into another meeting on an empty stomach."
His insistence made her realize how hungry she actually was. "Fine, but something quick."
---
Forty-five minutes later, they walked into the community center, the smell of falafel still clinging to their clothes. The boarded-up window where the rock had come through cast strange shadows in the fluorescent lighting. Someone had cleaned up most of the glass, but Layla still heard occasional crunching underfoot.
Brother Yusuf and Sister Fatima were already there, arranging chairs around the conference table. Layla set down the coffee and pastries she'd brought for everyone—a small gesture, but people would need the caffeine.
"Bless you," Sister Fatima said, immediately reaching for a cup. She lowered her voice. "It's going to be a long night."
Sister Mariam arrived precisely at five, her expression grim but determined. Amina rushed in moments later, apologizing as she took a seat.
"Tariq finally fell asleep," she explained. "What did I miss?"
"Nothing yet," Layla said, sliding a coffee toward her. "How is he really?"
"Scared, though he'd never admit it," Amina whispered. "I am too."
Sister Mariam cleared her throat. "Let's begin. Assalamu alaikum everyone." She didn't wait for the traditional response before continuing. "We have several urgent matters to address. The police have Fahad and Imran in custody, which is good news. But we still have the embezzlement situation to deal with."
Brother Yusuf leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "I've spoken with several community members after Jummah. They're relieved about the arrests, but there's a lot of anger too. People want to know how $200,000 disappeared under our noses."
"Can we recover any of it?" someone asked.
Sister Mariam sighed. "Unlikely. Detective Hassan says Kareem moved it through multiple accounts before it reached Malik Al-Fasi. They're still trying to trace the full path."
The name hung heavy in the air. Layla had only heard whispers about Malik Al-Fasi before this week—a wealthy businessman with questionable connections. Now it seemed he was at the center of everything.
"We need to rebuild trust," Brother Yusuf said. "Complete transparency with our finances moving forward. Regular reports, open books."
Layla had been half-listening, her mind racing with her own concerns, but now she spoke up. "What about the children's programs? Parents are asking if Saturday classes will resume tomorrow."
All eyes turned to her, and she felt herself flush slightly.
"I think we should reopen," she continued, more confidently. "Show everyone that we're still here, still functioning. The kids need normalcy after all this. Maybe..." She hesitated, then pushed forward with her idea. "Maybe we could have them work on a mural for the damaged wall? Something bright and hopeful. Let them reclaim the space."
Sister Fatima's face lit up. "That's brilliant, Layla. We could get art supplies tonight, have everything ready by morning."
The tension in the room eased slightly as people began discussing logistics for reopening. Layla caught Idris watching her with something like pride in his expression, and she looked away, suddenly self-conscious.
As the meeting continued, Sister Fatima leaned over to whisper to Layla. "I spoke with the masjid school principal today. They need a part-time teacher for spring session, starting next week. I told her about you."
Layla's breath caught. "Really?"
"The position is yours if you want it," Sister Fatima said. "I know it's not as prestigious as Westridge Elementary, but—"
"I want it," Layla said immediately, surprising herself with her certainty. She'd been agonizing over the resignation email in her drafts folder for days. "Thank you, Sister Fatima. This means everything to me."
Idris, overhearing the exchange, gave her a small nod of encouragement.
The meeting stretched on for hours, with detailed plans for community outreach, security upgrades, and financial reforms. By the time it ended, Layla's head was pounding and her eyes burned with fatigue.
"I need some air," she told Idris as people began gathering their things.
Outside in the parking lot, the night air was cool and refreshing. She pulled out her phone and stared at the draft email to Principal Davis. After a moment's hesitation, she hit send, watching as the message disappeared from her drafts folder.
"Did you do it?" Idris asked, coming to stand beside her.
She nodded. "It's done. No going back now."
"Having second thoughts?"
"No," she said, surprised to realize it was true. "It's just... Westridge was my dream job for so long. My parents were so proud when I got it."
"And now?"
"Now I realize there are different kinds of dreams," she said simply. "Different ways to make a difference."
Idris shifted his weight, hands in his pockets. "Speaking of parents..." he began, then seemed to lose his nerve.
"Yes?" she prompted, amused by his sudden awkwardness.
"I meant what I said earlier—about meeting your family," he said in a rush. "I don't want to pressure you, but I want you to know I'm serious. About us."
The flutter in her chest wasn't just exhaustion. "I'm ready," she said. "Maybe next week? After things settle down a bit?"
His smile transformed his tired face. "Next week works. I'll talk to my sister Noor—she's good at these things. I want to make a good impression."
The moment was interrupted by his phone ringing. Detective Hassan's name appeared on the screen, and Idris quickly answered, putting it on speaker.
"Idris, Layla," the detective's voice was tense. "We've been interrogating Fahad. He mentioned a meeting with Malik Al-Fasi scheduled for next week. We think Malik might be the one pulling the strings on this whole operation—the embezzlement, the threats, possibly more. We're working on tracking him down, but until we do, keep your eyes open."
When the call ended, Layla felt the brief bubble of happiness deflate. "It's not over, is it?"
Idris's expression hardened. "My father warned me about Malik years ago. Said he was dangerous, but never explained why."
She touched his arm lightly. "We'll handle it. Together."
---
Saturday morning dawned unexpectedly bright. Layla arrived at the center early, her car trunk filled with art supplies she'd purchased last night—brushes, paints, roll paper, and stickers for the younger kids. Her back ached from sleeping on her couch; she'd been too exhausted to make it to her bedroom.
By nine o'clock, children began arriving with their parents. Some families looked hesitant, eyeing the police officer stationed by the door, but the kids quickly warmed up when they saw the art supplies.
"Miss Layla!" A high voice called out as seven-year-old Maryam barreled toward her, dark braids flying behind her. "Are we really going to paint the walls? My mom said we're fixing where the bad men tried to hurt our masjid."
Layla knelt down to the girl's level. "That's right, sweetie. We're going to make something beautiful. What would you like to paint?"
"A rainbow! With a unicorn! And maybe Allah's name in pretty letters?" The child bounced with excitement.
Layla smiled. "A rainbow sounds perfect. Let's get you set up."
Soon the wall was a riot of color—small handprints, wobbly flowers, and yes, several enthusiastic rainbows. The children's chatter and laughter filled the space, drowning out the lingering fear.
Sister Fatima arrived mid-morning with a folder. "Your contract," she said, handing it to Layla. "Part-time to start, with room to grow."
Layla clutched it to her chest. "Thank you. I can't wait to start."
The door opened again, and Idris walked in, looking fresher than he had yesterday. He'd clearly showered and changed, though the shadows under his eyes remained. He surveyed the chaotic scene with amusement.
"Looks like it's going well," he said, rolling up his sleeves. "Where do you need me?"
For the next hour, he helped the older boys with their section of the mural, patiently showing them how to blend colors and create depth. Layla found herself watching him more than her own group, struck by the unexpected gentleness in his interactions with the children.
As the session wound down and parents began arriving to pick up their kids, Layla's phone buzzed with a text from Sana:
*Back home with Zayn. Officer Mendez is parked outside our house. Thank you for everything, Layla. But I heard something at the masjid today—someone mentioned Malik Al-Fasi. Said he's not done with the center. Be careful.*
The message sent a chill through her. She showed it to Idris, whose expression darkened momentarily before he glanced at the children still painting nearby.
"We'll deal with him," he said quietly. "But right now, this is what matters." He gestured to the wall where Maryam was putting finishing touches on her rainbow, her tongue sticking out in concentration.
Layla nodded, though the shadow of worry remained. For now, she would focus on the light—the children's laughter, the vibrant colors slowly covering over the damage, and the man beside her who somehow made her feel both stronger and softer at the same time.