B: Assassin's Creed or Mortal Kombat tonight?
Yaseerah rolled her eyes at the message, annoyed that it had broken her concentration, as she wobbled and fell onto her yoga mat.
She had finally been able to nail the burpees exercise routine, after almost two weeks of trying and failing. But now, after seeing Bilal's message, her focus had been lost, for today.
With a frustrated huff, Yaseerah pushed herself up from the splayed position on her yoga mat, feeling the cool, smooth surface beneath her fingertips.
She walked to the ledge of her balcony, and peered down at the lush rolling acres of the estate, where emerald-green lawns stretched to meet the horizon, taking notice of the extra guards patrolling the grounds, which her father had hired to man the manor upon his return.
Or, to keep her from escaping more like.
Not that there was a place on earth she would hide that he wouldn't be able to find her.
Abdul-Aziz Bako was too powerful, and had too much money to back him. If she dared to run, he would find her in a heartbeat, and then things would be much worse than they ever were.
The thought had her sucking in a sharp breath, as she padded back into her bedroom, her lips tilting up into a scowl.
A soft knock on the door of her bedroom had her pausing, her fingers hovering over the screen of her phone.
Scowl still etched on her face, she gave permission for the person to step into the bedroom.
"What do you want?" Yaseerah snapped at the maid-who stood at the threshold of the room as if she was debating whether to enter or stay outside-her patience wearing thin.
She hated being rude to them but moments like this, when they refused to state their business, after interrupting her, grated on her nerves.
"Your father is requesting your presence in his room," she responded after a beat, refusing to meet Yaseerah's eyes.
The maid's words were enough to chase away any remnant of annoyance out of her system, replacing it with a bone-chilling fear that had her swallowing thickly over the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat.
Yaseerah hadn't seen nor heard from her father ever since he came back three days ago. And now that he'd summoned her, she couldn't imagine what he wanted to talk to her about.
"I will be there soon," she replied, her voice laced with a cool measured tone, dismissing the maid without a backward glance, as she returned her gaze back to her phone, finally typing back a response to Bilal.
Y: Mortal Kombat, definitely!
Without waiting for his reply, she locked her phone and dropped it on her bed, then picked up the jilbab she had left there earlier after her subh prayer.
Leaving the safety of her bedroom, Yaseerah wondered if she couldn't just brave the fallout of refusing to answer her father's call later but also knew that it was better to just get it done, and over with.
It had been a long time since she had been on the receiving end of his angry outburst-two weeks to be exact-and she would like to keep that record going.
There was no need to look for trouble today, or any day really, when it came to her father.
And so, even though every part of her protested against answering the summon, Yaseerah found herself minutes later, standing before the imposing mahogany door to her father's bedroom, her knuckles hovering inches away from the polished wood.
Time seemed to slow, the seconds ticking away in agonizing anticipation, as she steeled herself for what lay beyond.
It swung open before her hand could meet it, and she was immediately engulfed by the scent of bakhour incense, and the glorious sight of her father's wife standing behind him on a sofa, massaging his shoulder blades with a serene smile on her face.
His eyes were closed, while Lubna talked to him in a soft tone, that had his lips tilting up into a half-smile.
The sight of his smile-even though it wasn't a full one-was like a one-two punch to her gut. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen his smile.
And to see it being directed at the woman who not only hated her, but also everything that she stood for, it made her feel sick.
She stepped aside to let the maid who had opened the door to walk out, before she walked in with a salam.
"Ina kwana Baba," she greeted, ignoring her father's wife-like she always did, whenever they found themselves within the same vicinity-as she stopped her task, to gaze at her with a frown.
She might be scared of her father, and obeyed every single rule of his, but there was one thing she could absolutely not tolerate, and that was his wife number six.
There had been a steady stream of them, ever since she had been a kid. It took her a while to realize that they were not there to stay, and so she'd never formed any attachment to either of them, because they never lasted more than a year or two.
But Lubna had surpassed her expectations, as she was now hitting the four year mark of her marriage to Abdul-Aziz Bako.
They could have had a great relationship, seeing as they were both witnesses to her father's proclivities, but the woman abhorred her.
"Lafiya," he replied, cutting into her thoughts, as he rose from his reclined position, to meet her in the middle of the dimly lit room adorned with opulent furnishings and heavy velvet curtains, where she stood.
"You look just like her," he uttered, his tone reverent raising a hand to cup her chin but pausing halfway, his hand hovering in the space between them.
Yaseerah hadn't meant to flinch, when he had raised his hand to her chin. But it had been an instinctual action, more than an intentional one.
She sucked in her bottom lip into her mouth-a nervous habit of hers-as she waited with bated breath, wondering what he was going to do now.
She knew the 'she' he was talking about, but she dared not reply, even though she was burning with curiosity to know what had prompted him into acknowledging the fact that she looked like her deceased mother, when he had made sure not to speak of her, ever since wife number three.
Her eyes flicked to Lubna-who was now sitting on the sofa he had vacated from, a frown still etched on her face, as she cleaned her hands with a paper towel-before returning to her father.
It wasn't the sight of Lubna that had turned her stomach, or the smile that she had seen on his face but rather, it was the longing she heard in his voice, and the softness in his eyes, as he gazed at her.
Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she blinked them away, so unused to seeing such an expression on his face, that it'd taken her by surprise.
How long had it been, since he had gazed at her with such soft eyes, and cupped her chin with tenderness, that she never doubted his love for her? When she was six? Seven?
Now, seeing him like this, instead of the love she felt back then, there was only fear inside of her.
And even though she tried to clamp down that emotion, it was still visible for all to see. From the slight trembling of her hands, down to the faint wobble of her lips.
She blinked, and everything was back to normal. Her father looked contemplative, as he put an inch of space between them, his face mercifully devoid of all soft expressions.
A sigh of relief slipped past her lips, her tense shoulders easing slightly, though she was still poised, ready for an attack from him.
When he looked like this, she could handle it. But when he looked like the father she had lost, she had no idea how to deal with it.
Suddenly, his hands whipped out and gripped her forearm in a punishing grip, his lips pursed with disapproval.
"Where were you when I came back?" he asked in a careful tone, that had shivers racing up her spine.
A sinking feeling settled in her gut. She knew this tone all too well; it meant trouble of the highest order.
Yaseerah gulped, her gaze meeting Lubna's in question, only to find the woman smirking at her.
It was clear that she had been the one who had outed her-and how she knew Yaseerah wasn't at home baffled her, because Yaseerah had been extra careful when she had left for the stables, and when she'd returned also.
"I..." she swallowed past the lump in her throat, unsure of how to proceed. Her father was clearly in a mood, flickering between happy, lovesick, and angry.
"Think very carefully before you lie to me girl," he snapped, his grip tightening a fraction more.
Yaseerah couldn't lie to him even if she dared, but if she told him she was at the stables...
"I was at Mamu's," she squeaked out which wasn't a total lie, closing her eyes, and bracing herself for the first strike.
When it didn't immediately come, she risked opening an eye, to see him staring down at her with an odd expression.
She kept her eyes on him, even as he released her, and went back to his earlier spot, refusing to rub at the sore spot on her arm.
Lubna scrambled up to return to her task of massaging his shoulders.
"The date of your wedding has been fixed," he stated as he grabbed his phone, without turning to look at her. "Do well to remember that."
"When?" she heard herself ask, even though she immediately regretted questioning him, as he fixed her with a stare that told her he didn't appreciate her line of questioning.
"July seventh."
Yaseerah sucked in a sharp breath, the only outward reaction to the fixed date.
Her father's tone was dismal, and she knew better than to dally. She turned on her heels and left for the sanctuary of her room, not before she threw a scathing look towards Lubna who watched her with a scowl.
Though Yaseerah wanted to stay and gloat over Lubna's failed attempts at pitting her father against her, she also knew that she would only be inviting more trouble for herself.
It took everything inside her to not react at the woman's blatant hypocrisy but when Rahma-her sister's nanny-came into the room with a crying Amna, Yaseerah forgot all about the feud between her and the baby's mother, and took the two year old into her arms.
As she walked out of the room, the tension in the air slowly dissipated, replaced by the infectious laughter of Amna, who offered her a much-needed respite.
Burying her face into Amna's neck, she inhaled her sweet baby scent, calming down instantly.
The shift from the stifling tension in her father's room to the lightness of Amna's laughter left Yaseerah breathless, but she was used to it; constantly caught between the contrasting rhythms of her life.
In a couple of weeks, her life was going to drastically change once again. Just under a month, and she would be changing a gilded cage for another one.
At this point, she couldn't even let herself think about it too much or allow herself to truly feel incensed about the whole situation.
She had always known that her life wasn't hers. She was like a marionette doll, her father pulling the strings from behind closed curtains, and steering her life towards the path he wanted it to be.
All she could hope for was that little Amna didn't have to face the kind of life she was now facing, or grow up the way Yaseerah had been raised.
Though she had been raised with love by Mamu, and Bilal by extension, there was still a gaping hole in her heart, where her father's love should have been.
•°•°•••
So, what do you think about this chapter?
A word for Baba Bako, and his wife number six? 😄
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