The Translator

Chapter One

She raises her hands upto her ear lobes and ties the Takbeer. Prayer is where success lies. Bela is the kind of person who defends her religion. Culture, history and literature has always been her strong point, the business field is sort of like a strategic plan for her to make some money of her own. Islam has always interested her and even today its teachings fascinate her and millions worldwide. As she bows and prostrates, pride shoots through her veins.

This is life. Pleasing God, is when we've achieved, succeeded and won. Bela gazes at the black wall in front of her, frameless and blank. Her thoughts are deep and chaotic. She makes a prayer for her day to go well. Oh my Lord, make this day and the days to come go smoothly. Enable me to be extremely good at what I do. Make my identity noticed and respected, let them know me as the Muslim girl who did this or that. You my Lord, are All- Able. I wear this scarf with pride, I carry your religion with pride, I speak about You and Your messenger with pride. My Lord, forgive me, have mercy on me and grant me from your limitless Bounty. Aameen.

She clambers about her room looking for her black closed shoes. 'They are the most stylish things on earth!' The girl at the shops had screamed. That was enough to get Bela to buy it. Finally, she drapes her scarf with great caution and skill. Once done, she pastes on a pretty smile and rushes downstairs. Her mother is drinking a glass of juice with her husband when she sees her eldest daughter running for the door.

'Mi hija! Where are you going?'

'Work!' She grabs an apple and her car keys.

'You've not eaten!'

'It's okay mamma, don't worry about it.' Bela gives her a reassuring smile and open the front door.

'Thabith! Look!' The chubby father sighs. He folds his newspaper and puts it away.

'Bela.' His daughter throws him a sweet smile which takes him by surprise.

'Papa, I love you. Mamma you too. Allah bless.' With that she bolts to her car and drives to the Jabir Corporations without sparing anyone a second glance.

***

'Tell me you're joking.' The Man looks at his secretary with blank eyes. He stands against his mahogany table while his long arms support his broad stature.

'I wouldn't joke about something like this Sir.' No one would, Norman. No one.

'Do you realize what kind of situation you've put me in?' Norman gets a little upset, I didn't plan this Sir...

'Sir-'

'Did Gary tell you when he'd be back?' The young man interrupts. He can't stand here forever listening to excuses. He has a problem and now I have one too. He pulls out his black leather chair and sits on it. Norman is forced to admire the man's composure.

'No he didn't Sir.' Talha frowns and leans into his chair. He brings his left hand to his chin and shifts his chair from right to left. His black eyes glare at the ground, his defined jaw is tightly clenched and his mouth is pursed in annoyance. He plays with a silver band on his middle finger, trying to buy time. To him Gary was a valuable tool, he put in a lot of money to keep him but now, he's helpless. Oh God, what am I going to do?

'Inform security to pack Mr. Gary Webber's things and toss him out before can step inside this building.'

'Sir-'

'Entertain my guests while I think of a backup plan.' Talha orders in a bitter tone.

'But Sir-'

'That'll be all Norman.' He watches his secretary struggle to contain himself, the urge to talk back, to fight but he'll never do it. Ha! He suppresses a smirk.

'Sir if I may recommend a-'

'Norman, I have to deal with not one, not two, and not three representatives but seven. Can you recommend anything that could possibly get me out of this mess?' He becomes impatient now, Norman swallows.

'Sorry Sir.' Talha tilts his chin towards the door and shuts his eyes.

'Tell Nicole to get me a coffee on your way out.' As Norman leaves, another individual barges in rather happily. Talha doesn't bother to pay any mind to his lawyer, the man is overly cheery.

'Yo T man!' Why? Why me? That nickname drives him crazy but of course Sid doesn't care. 'Eh, come on. Open those pretty eyes now baby.'

'I hate you.'

'I know. Now tell me why is little T sad?' He glances lazily at his friend.

'My translator didn't show up, I have three founders and four presidents to impress, I'm running on two hours of sleep and I need caffeine in my system before I blow up.' He finishes off in one breath. Sid sits on Talha's table, the only man who'd dare to do it. The reason he gets away with it is because the guy can almost hypnotize a judge in court. He's an asset.

'You're screwed.' Talha scoffs. 'But let me just ask for the sake of it anyway. What are your options?' The blonde haired lawyer scratches his ear. His joyous attitude always clashes with Talha's serious one.

'I've got none.'

'Aw come on man! You need to have a plan.' Talha grits his teeth, if I did I wouldn't be like this.

'I'm trying to think of one you-'

'Alright alright.' Sid raises his hands in surrender. Let him swear and the guy will find every word in the dictionary. 'Don't kill the messenger.'

'You're my lawyer.' Suddenly he hears two women stomping outside. Their talking really fast, their voices are of a moderate pitch but what really grabs his attention is that they aren't speaking in English. Is that French? What... Italian! Definitely but... No Spanish!

'Yes, mediator, buddy, pal. Whatever you want to call me.' Sid continues to talk. Talha's sits up straight now, trying hard to focus on those voices. There's one that stands out. 'You know I think I can help you, there's a friend I know who...' Talha tunes him out and clings onto that voice. It's light, airy almost musical and it's also fading. She's going! Stop her! Before he can think this through, he runs out the door in search of that voice. The two figures get on the elevator. He hastens toward it but it clamps shut. No! Sid calls out behind him.

He presses on the elevator buttons frantically. He gazes up at the cube shaped light above, it shows which floors have been pressed. It says that floor number 19, 17, 16, 15, 13, 12 and 10 have been pressed. Great! Just great! I need to run down ten frickin' flights on stairs to find out which one she's on! Are you serious?! Argh! But she's my only hope. If she can speak to them, I just might have a chance! He heads over to the fire exit, his suit is pulled over his tight sinewy back, his soft curls bounce about as he skips downstairs. People watch him in shock.

'Why is Mr. Jabir running?'

'What's he after?'

'Looking good Sir.'

'It's like watching James Bond.'

'Nuh-uh Matt Damon.'

'Is someone looking for him?'

'Probably the cops.' Some people even dare to whistle. He misses all the action, he runs from the twentieth floor to the nineteenth. As he gets inside, he notes that they aren't there, he begins running to the seventeenth, a bunch of business men file out of the elevator gripping their suitcases, she's not here! He's breathing hard, he pauses at the thirteenth, more women head out but not the one he's looking for. He finally lands on the tenth and that's when he sees the two women, they saunter over to the receptionist and laugh about something. They're about to begin walking away.

'You!' Talha speaks aloud with a finger pointing in the woman's direction and half walks and limps to her. She whirls around and stares at the rude man. The busy floor is suddenly hushed by his authoritative tone. Everyone is watching the two of them with eager eyes. 'Follow me.'

***

There it is! Hope you all like it, updates are going to be a little slow but I'll try my best iA :) Writing Bela's Dua reminds me of Jamila :D my true readers y'know who I'm talkin' about ;) please vote, comment and share! Also I made a new Instagram account, the username is: zainabameen_

Peace- zai