A Race Against Time

The alley behind the abandoned shop felt suffocating despite the cool night air. Layla's hands trembled as she clutched her phone, the text message glaring up at her in harsh blue light: *Midnight. Choose wisely, or the flames will.* She read it again, as if the words might somehow change.

"She's going to do it," Layla whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. "She's going to burn down the center tonight."

Idris stood beside her, raindrops beginning to speckle his shoulders. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing in worried spikes.

"We won't let her," he said, but his voice betrayed his uncertainty. He checked his watch—a gift from his father that suddenly felt heavy on his wrist. "It's only 8:15. We have time."

Amina and Tariq jogged toward them, the sound of their approaching footsteps splashing through shallow puddles. Behind them, their hastily parked car sat with one wheel on the curb, hazard lights still blinking.

"What happened in there?" Amina asked, slightly breathless. Her hijab had come loose, and she quickly tucked a strand of hair back into place. "We heard shouting, then saw someone bolt out the back—"

"She gave me an ultimatum," Layla interrupted, her voice cracking with the effort of staying calm. "Leave the center permanently, or she burns it down at midnight." She looked up at her friends, the reality of the situation hitting her anew. "And she has proof, actual documents showing how the board diverted funds, how they blacklisted her." She turned to Amina with widening eyes. "She even knows about my teaching job—about Principal Davis's deadline."

"How could she know that?" Amina's brow furrowed.

"She's been watching me. All of us, probably."

Tariq pushed his glasses up his nose, a nervous habit that had intensified over the past few days. "She's been living in that shop—I saw a sleeping bag, food containers, even a portable charger for her phone. This isn't some idle threat."

Layla closed her eyes briefly, Sana's words echoing: *Maybe revenge is all I have left.* When she opened them again, her gaze found Idris's.

"We need to warn the board, get security to the center," she said, surprised by the steadiness returning to her voice. "But Idris...Sana's hurting. I saw it in her eyes. If we just call the police, if we treat her like a criminal—"

"—it'll only confirm everything she believes about the system being against her," Idris finished, nodding slowly. He pulled out his phone. "I'll call Brother Yusuf. He's on the board and lives closest to the center. He can organize people to secure the building." He hesitated. "But you're right. We need to find Sana before midnight. Talk to her."

Amina bit her lip, glancing at Tariq before speaking. "When we scouted the shop this morning, I saw something." She lowered her voice, though the alley was empty save for them. "There was a notebook open on the counter. I didn't touch it, but I could see a map with a location marked—looked like that old warehouse complex on 5th Street. Could be nothing, but..."

"Or it could be another hideout," Tariq said, already pulling out his car keys. "We should check it out."

Idris nodded, his thumb hovering over Brother Yusuf's contact. "I'll handle the center. You three head to the warehouse."

"No," Layla said firmly. "Amina should go to the masjid instead. Sister Fatima mentioned past disputes over community funds—she might know something about what really happened with Sana's program in 2018." She turned to her friend. "We need to understand Sana better if we're going to reach her."

Amina hesitated only briefly before nodding. "I'll text you if I find anything useful."

As Idris stepped away to make his call, Layla caught his arm. "Be careful how you handle this with the board. The community's already divided over the audit. If people see guards at the center..."

A shadow of understanding crossed his face. "It could make things worse," he acknowledged quietly. His eyes met hers, something vulnerable in them. "I should have told you everything about Sana from the beginning. About my father's role in all this. I'm sorry."

The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard. For a moment, the urgency of their situation faded, and she simply saw him—carrying the weight of his family's actions, trying to make things right.

"We'll talk about it later," she said softly. "Let's just get through tonight."

---

The drive to the warehouse district was tense. Rain began to fall in earnest, drumming against the roof of Tariq's old Honda. The windshield wipers squeaked rhythmically, marking time as Layla's fingers worked through her prayer beads in the passenger seat.

"Ya Allah," she whispered, the familiar words a comfort in the storm brewing both outside and within, "guide us to what is right. Help us find her in time."

Tariq's hands were tight on the steering wheel, his knuckles white under the passing streetlights. "Do you think she'll actually do it?" he asked, his voice low. "Burn down the center?"

Layla stared out at the rain-slicked streets, remembering the look in Sana's eyes—the pain, the resolve. "Yes," she said simply. "She has nothing left to lose."

"Except her freedom," Tariq pointed out. "Arson is a serious crime."

"I don't think she cares about that anymore."

Her phone buzzed with a text from Amina: *Sister Fatima remembers Sana well. Says her youth program was tied to a 2018 grant meant specifically for outreach. The board redirected the funds to cover a failed investment project. Sana never got a fair hearing.*

Layla's chest tightened. Another text followed: *Fatima says she tried to speak up for Sana at the time but was ignored. Thinks Sana would listen if given a real chance to present her case.*

The warehouse loomed ahead, a hulking shadow against the night sky. Tariq killed the headlights and coasted to a stop a block away.

"There," Layla pointed to a faint glow emanating from one of the broken windows. "Someone's inside."

They approached cautiously, rainwater soaking their shoes as they navigated around puddles and debris. The smell of wet concrete and rust filled the air, mingling with something sharper—gasoline.

Layla's heart sank. Through a gap in the grimy window, she could see Sana pacing back and forth, papers spread across a makeshift table. A gas can sat in the corner, its cap off.

"She's really going to do it," Tariq whispered, his breath fogging the glass.

Layla checked her phone: 9:46 PM. More than two hours until midnight, but Sana was clearly preparing. Her finger hovered over Idris's contact before she pocketed the phone again.

"We can't wait," she said, her decision made. "I'm going in."

"Layla, wait—" Tariq grabbed her arm, eyes wide behind rain-speckled glasses. "She has gasoline. One spark from that lighter..."

"Which is why we can't wait for Idris," she said firmly. "Text him our location. I have to try to talk to her."

Tariq hesitated, then nodded reluctantly, his fingers already typing. "Be careful. I'll be right behind you."

They found a side entrance, the door hanging loosely on rusted hinges. It opened with a groan that seemed to echo through the cavernous space.

Sana's head snapped up, her hand immediately closing around the lighter on the table. Recognition, then anger flashed across her face.

"You again," she hissed, backing away. Her clothes were rumpled, dark circles beneath her eyes betraying exhaustion. "I told you to walk away, Layla. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Layla raised her hands, palms out, taking a slow step forward. Water dripped from her sleeves onto the concrete floor.

"Sana, please," she said, keeping her voice calm despite the fear clawing at her chest. "I know you're hurting. I saw it tonight—your pain, your loss. But burning the center won't fix what happened to you."

"Won't it?" Sana's laugh was brittle, her finger toying with the lighter's wheel. "It's poetic justice. They took everything from me. My program, my reputation." Her voice broke slightly. "Five years of my life, Layla. Gone because of men like Malik and Idris's father."

"I know about the grant," Layla said, taking another careful step forward. "The 2018 youth outreach funding. I know the board redirected it to cover their failed investment."

Surprise flickered across Sana's face, quickly replaced by suspicion. "How—"

"Sister Fatima told us. She tried to speak up for you back then, but they wouldn't listen." Layla took a breath. "We'll listen now, Sana. I promise. The folder you showed me—with the proof. We can take it to the authorities, to the community."

Sana's grip on the lighter tightened, but doubt crossed her face. "It's too late for that. They won't listen. They didn't then, and they won't now."

"I'll make them listen," came Idris's voice from the doorway.

Layla turned to see him standing there, rain-soaked and breathing hard. His eyes never left Sana as he slowly entered the warehouse, hands raised to show he meant no harm.

"I'm not my father," he continued, his voice quiet but firm. "I can't undo what he did to you, but I can help make it right. The proper way."

Sana's gaze darted between them, the lighter still clutched in her trembling hand. "Why should I trust you?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Your family, your father..."

"Because I've seen what happens when secrets stay buried," Idris said. "The center—it's supposed to be our community's heart. But hearts can't beat properly with poison running through them." He took a careful step forward. "Let us help you tell your story, Sana. The right way."

Layla watched as something shifted in Sana's expression—a flicker of hope battling with years of bitterness and betrayal. Her silent dua continued in her heart: *Ya Allah, soften her heart. Show her another path.*

For a long moment, the only sound was the rain drumming on the metal roof above them. Then, with a strangled sob, Sana's shoulders slumped. The lighter slipped from her fingers, clattering to the concrete floor.

"I just wanted someone to hear me," she whispered, tears streaming down her face as she sank to her knees. "All these years... I just wanted to be heard."

Layla moved forward, kneeling beside her on the cold, damp floor. Hesitantly, she placed a hand on Sana's shoulder. "We hear you now," she said softly. "And we'll make sure everyone else does too."

Tariq stepped in from the shadows where he'd been watching, quickly retrieving the lighter and moving the gas can safely away. "I'll call the police," he said quietly. "Let them know the situation is under control, but they should still be on standby."

Idris nodded, already on the phone with Brother Yusuf. "We need to gather the board tonight," he was saying. "Yes, I know the hour. This can't wait until morning."

As they helped Sana to her feet, Layla's phone buzzed with an email notification. She checked it, her heart sinking as she read:

_____________________

*From: Principal Davis*

*Subject: Urgent - Meeting Request*

*Layla,*

*I've heard about the escalating situation at the community center. We need to discuss your continued involvement and its impact on your potential position at Greenfield immediately. Please meet me in my office tomorrow morning at 9 AM sharp.*

*This matter cannot be delayed further.*

*-Principal Davis*

______________________

She pocketed the phone, a new weight settling on her shoulders. The deadline was still in play, and now her job hung in the balance more than ever.

But as she watched Idris gently talking with Sana, helping her gather the documents that told her story, Layla felt a strange sense of clarity. Some things were worth fighting for, even at great cost.

"Ready?" Idris asked, turning to her with questioning eyes.

Layla took a deep breath and nodded. "Ready."

Outside, the rain had finally stopped.