The Three Muslimahs ✔

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Thirty-Nine: A Henna Party and a Surprise

The black nondescript car slowly revved its way up the rounding path, leading to the huge Ahmed home. Black-clad men patiently waited the arrival of the Ahmeds while maids within the home frantically put together last-minute touches. The Ahmeds should never find themselves displeased with the state of the home. Quickly fluffing up the cushions on the sofa, Abigail's eyes roamed around the huge home, making sure not a speck of dirt was to be seen. The walkie-talkie on her hip crackled as Jim, one of the guards at the gate, said in his usual quiet voice, "The Ahmeds have arrived. Be prepared."

Abigail's eyes widened as she and the other maids scurried forward to take their place near the doorway, ready to take any luggages or outerwear the Ahmeds may have. Though it was a tiring job, Abigail tried not to complain about her work as a maid. Life isn't easy with two boys and no father in the picture. She needed to do her best here for her sons to have a good future. A small, sad smile graced her face as she thought of her kids, wishing she could stay with them for longer hours. She couldn't complain though, as Mr. Ahmed has been kind enough to provide funds for their education. The sound of the door opening brought Abigail out of her thoughts.

"Hello," Mr. Ahmed said with a smile as he rolled his luggage in. Aubrey, the youngest of the maids, rushed forward to take the luggage from him. He let her take it away as he pulled off his coat, exhausted but happy to be home. NYC was good to them, but nothing beats home.

Mrs. Ahmed followed, her hijab a bit askew but a smile gracing her face. She looked elegant and lovely, as always. Kylie, the other maid, stepped up to take the luggage from her hand. "Oh, thank you so much, Kylie. It is so wonderful to be home," she said, her smile widening at the sight of the maids standing before her. Abigail only smiled back, wondering how they fared in NYC. Were there maids there too? Or did they have to do everything by themselves?

Abigail waited patiently for Nida to arrive. When the door opened again, there was a girl in hijab, wearing a teal skirt and black blazer. She was dragging not one, but two suitcases and both looked familiar. Weren't they Nida's? Abigail's eyes darted to the girl's face again and this time she recognized the features. With a gasp, Abigail hurried forward to take the luggages from Nida's hands.

"I'm so sorry, miss, I didn't recognize you!" Abigail said as she rushed forward. She prayed she wouldn't get fired. She really couldn't afford it.

"Oh, it's okay," Nida said, gently prying Abigail's hands off the handle. "I can do it, thank you." Abigail only stood, frozen in shock, as she watched the heir to the Ahmed empire walk off with her luggage. Where did the arrogant, self-obsessed girl go?

~*~*~*~*~

In the silence of her room, Nida covered her face, embarrassed. She doesn't know how she will ever face the maids again. She was so awful to them, petty, and abusive. How can she show her remorse? She realized she didn't even know anything about them. The first step, she decided, is to know who they are and what would make them happy. How is she supposed to figure that out? She thought back to the countless times the ladies cleaned up after her mess and silently did what they were supposed to. Could it be as simple as having a paid break? Who could know better than her father who pays them?

With a small smile on her lips, Nida formed a plan on how to give back. But first, she needed to unpack, as well as rid herself of her previous wardrobe. Perhaps she could make some items work for her, too.

Two and a half hours later, a freshened-up Nida left her room, her wardrobe sorted and her clothes from NYC unpacked. She walked down the familiar halls to her father's study, where she was sure to find him. He is a workaholic, after all. Within minutes she caught sight of her father through the glass window of his door, his back to her, as he spoke calmly on the phone. Nida knew that her father had a no-nonsense voice when he made his demands for work. She waited until he hung up to knock on his door.