Fiction: Layla’s life in a small liberal arts college is about to change when she discovers a body

Halfway into her first semester teaching “Sufi Stories and their Literary Alchemy BA427”, Layla Rashid discovered a dead body in the library. She knew then that she hadn’t run far enough or well enough from her past.

The day began as it usually did with no helpful warnings of impending disaster.

A short stop at the café before work, five days a week. A tall chai-latte with cinnamon, and the table by the window. Sultan out of the pet-carrier for that brief time, and in her lap. Her hand in his silky black pelt, comforting them both. She, nibbling at her lemon muffin. He, judging with a golden stare.

Layla’s days followed each other in disciplined monotony like ducklings in a neat little row, Keeping to a severe albeit fulfilling routine left no time for anything else. She had moved here eight months ago and had built a somewhat new routine for her brand-new life. Layla found routine enriching; it so often slipped into ritual. Routine and ritual had helped her construct her life, day by day, for thirty-two years.

Build your house with straw and sticks and the big bad wolf people’s opinions, your own insecurities, a million other things would blow your house down all too...

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