Ramadan: Day One

In the royal workers' cafeteria, Zarah sat on a wooden bench tucked away in a quiet corner. As the workers around her enjoyed their lunch, she savored a bowl of khuzi, a Dubai traditional soup filled with four different types of protein. Amid the lively chatter, she engaged in a video chat with Mustaqeem.

"Hi, Mustaqeem," Zarah greeted, waving as the call connected. She could see Mustaqeem lounging in a pool.

"Have you seen the prince?" Mustaqeem asked, curiosity in his voice.

"I saw the rude man-baby—" Zarah replied loudly. The nearby workers gasped, making her realize she was speaking too loudly.

"—He has no manners. I don’t know why he’s so brainless," she continued, lowering her voice but still filled with annoyance. Mustaqeem just smiled through the phone.

"Why are you smiling like that? What?"

Mustaqeem pointed at someone behind Sarah from the screen and he suddenly said. "Turn around!"

From her phone's screen Zarah could see the reflection of the Prince, but to be sure it's him she turned and her hypothesis was correct, standing right behind her was Prince Abubakar bin Hamdan. She had been badmouthing him to his face, the worst thing a human can ever do.

"I was not speaking. . . about you," Zarah stuttered, rubbing the back of her hijab (headscarf), heads hung low with blushed cheeks. Her attempt to defend herself was futile: the Prince turned, walking away from her — mostly vexed. Zarah loved her job, she couldn't afford to lose it, so she hurried after him.

"Your Royal-ness, wait up!" Zarah called out, but he suddenly stopped and turned just as she quickened her pace, leading both of them to collide.

Prince Abubakar's cheeks burned with embarrassment, his blush was palpable, but he hid it away with a groan. "Rule forty, four feets, please." He ordered, his voice reeking with dominance.

"I’m so sorry, your Royal-ness." Zarah apologized, quickly stepping back to maintain the required distance after doing a very weird curtsy.

Prince Abubakar frowned, "that's not my title, and please don't do that weird thing you call a curtsy, do you think this is the Victorian Era?"

"I'm—" the word froze in Zarah's throat. Her apology only came halfway as it occurred to her that she had always faced bullies her entire life, and playing nice with them wasn't the best way to deal with them. She has to set ground rules for the Prince if he wants her to abide by hers. After "—You. . . can’t treat me like this, I’m your language translator and not your slave. I deserve some respect too," Zarah was practically cowering, she'd  mustered all the courage she had to speak up, she even tapped from her ancestor's.

"So you want to give me rules?" Prince Abubakar focused his gaze on Zarah, sucking on his teeth, he turned. "I’ll make your life miserable, you just wait and see." He threatened with a devilish grin, walking away faster than usual.

Zarah felt a wave of devastation wash over her whole existence. What was she doing? Challenging a billionaire Arabian Prince was the last thing anyone would think of doing, not to talk of a simpleton like her.

"Fazza!" She called after him, running behind him.

"I’m not Fazza!" Prince Abubakar halted and faced Zarah. "My father is," he corrected, walking towards her. Zarah swallowed the lump in her throat as he approached. He stood right in front of her, leaning in. His warm, minty breath brushed across her ear, making her heart race. As Prince Abubakar tilted his head to her ear, she froze with infatuation. "Never, in your pathetic life, lock eyes with me," he whispered before walking away, leaving her frozen like a statue.

Zarah stood paralyzed, every muscle in her body betraying her as she tried to process what had just happened. Her breath caught in her chest, and the world around her seemed to blur, leaving only the sharp memory of Prince Abubakar's words and the sensation of his breath against her ear. The heat of his presence lingered, making her skin tingle and her heart pound uncontrollably.

She felt a cold shiver run down her spine, a stark contrast to the warmth she had just experienced. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion and humiliation, replaying the moment over and over. Why had he come so close, only to deliver such a cutting remark? The pain of his rejection mixed with the inexplicable attraction she felt towards him, creating a tumultuous storm of emotions.

Zarah's eyes stung with unshed tears, but she blinked them away, determined not to show any more weakness. She could still feel the exact spot where his breath had draped her skin, an uninvited memory that seemed impossible to shake. The vicinity around her seemed distant, the chatter and movement of others fading into the background as she stood rooted to the spot.

She knew she couldn't stay like that forever: vulnerable and exposed. She needed to regain her composure, to put on the mask of indifference that had served her so well in the past. With a final, shaky breath, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, forcing herself to move. One step at a time, she told herself, as she walked away from the scene, determined to never let Prince Abubakar see her falter again.

"Oh Allah, ease my pain," she said a short and silent prayer.

The whole situation was normal, right?

♣♣♣

The sound of the elevator arriving echoed through the foyer. A stressed and fatigued-looking woman stepped out, her hijab dishevelled. She unlocked the door to room 36 and was immediately struck by the room's immaculate condition. Zarah, exhausted, didn't even bother removing her shoes. She walked in and collapsed onto the super bouncy couch. Just then, the door opened again. Safeenah and Dale entered the room.

"And she said, 'Where's the broom?' and I said, 'Do we even have one?'" Safeenah said, and Dale laughed loudly, evidently amused by Safeenah's stories about her mother.

"Mrs. Rahman," Dale acknowledged as he noticed Zarah. Safeenah jumped onto the couch and hugged her mother.

"Did you have fun with uncle Dale today?" Sarah inquired.

"Yes ummi, I did — but you look stressed." Safeenah observed, noticing her mother's tired face.

"The castle is just too big for me. I don't think I'll pass," Zarah replied, with a long yawn, a testament of her rough day at work.

"Have a restful night, Madam." Dale said, walking out of the hotel room. His work for the day was done, and the situation was personal.

"Same to you, Mr. Yahaya." Zarah said.

"Did Prince Abubakar say something bad to you?" Safeenah asked, almost intuitively, her hand tracing across her mother's hijab.

"No, not him," Zarah said as she pulled out the big rule book inside her totes bag and she began doing what she'd ought to do before. Minutes passed by, she didn't get past two pages before sleep overtook her.

Safeenah, smart and brilliant, took the book, covered her mother with the pure white quilt from the bedroom,  adjusted her mother's head, and placed a throw pillow underneath it.

"Prince Abubakar, nobody messes with my ummi and gets away with it," Safeenah said to herself with a determined grin. Crossing her small chubby fingers across each other — plotting the perfect revenge.

What could she probably do to the Prince? Hurt him with her cuteness?

The next day, Zarah's hotel room was in disarray from the sahoor meal she'd eaten the previous day: it was the first day of Ramadan. Plates with half-eaten food and empty cups were scattered across the coffee table and floor. Crumbs littered the couch, and a stray piece of flatbread lay forgotten under the table. The remnants of the meal gave the room an air of hurried chaos.

The television was still on, casting a muted glow across the room. The morning news played, barely audible over the hum of the air conditioning. Headlines written in Arabic scrolled at the bottom of the screen, providing a continuous stream of information. The flickering images added to the sense of disarray, their moving shadows dancing across the walls.

Zarah, already dressed for the day's work, moved through the room with determined efficiency. Her hijab was neatly pinned, and her outfit was impeccable, in sharp contrast to the mess around her. She picked up the plates and cups one by one, stacking them carefully on the tray. Her movements were precise, almost mechanical, as she wiped the crumbs from the couch and straightened the cushions.

Despite the early hour and the fatigue etched on her face, Zarah's resolve was unwavering. She glanced around the room, satisfied with her progress. The chaos from the sahoor meal was gradually being tamed, replaced by the orderliness she'd committed to.

The doorbell rang, and Safeenah, also dressed for the day, rushed to open the door — holding a bowl of cereal in her small hands. Dale entered, dressed in sportswear. His tracksuit made him look like an athlete, and his leather shirt clung to his abs like a second skin, beads of sweat rolling down from his short hair.

"Ramadan Mubarak, Mrs. Rahman," Dale greeted, breathing heavily, clearly having just finished a jog.

"Thank you, Dale. Same to you," Zarah replied, turning off the television, bringing a sudden quiet to the room. The absence of sound was almost jarring, highlighting the task at hand. Zarah continued her methodical cleaning, picking up the stray piece of flatbread and disposing of it. She wiped down the coffee table, making sure every surface was spotless. With one final sweep of the room, she ensured everything was in its place before ready to face the challenges of the day — a certain Prince's.

"Ummi, I'm going with you today." Safer ah began to whine as soon as she saw her mother packing her things, "I promise to be a good girl." Safeenah pleaded, giving Zarah the most beautiful puppy eyes ever.

"Yeah. . . yeah, you'll go with me, apparently you're determined, but you must stay with Uncle Dale throughout." Zarah said, "I hope that's not a problem, Mr. Yahaya?" she inquired turning to Dale.

"It's okay." Dale replied, opening the door for them and they all stepped out into the hallway, heading towards the elevator. Safeenah's elevator phobia was gone now and she was familiar with it.

The drive to the castle was a jarring and uncomfortable experience, with the car bouncing over rough terrain and the silence between the passengers thick and palpable. Upon their arrival, Safeenah's eyes widened in astonishment. Before her, a bustling scene unfolded: countless workers moved gracefully, balancing large baskets brimming with vibrant, ripe fruit atop their heads. Her gaze darted among the baskets until it fixed on one in particular, her breath catching in her throat as she recognized what she had been searching for.

"Strawberry!" she exclaimed.

The car pulled over, and Safeenah was the first to open the door, watching the workers with amazement.

"Where are they taking those fruits?" she inquired , turning to Dale.

"To the iftar point, that's where the royal family breaks their fast for the day," Dale explained, eagerly.

"Well, I see you've brought your little monkey along."

A familiar voice broke the silence. Zarah instantly knew who it was. Only Uthman ever called Safeenah a monkey. She turned to face him, frowning.

"And look who it is, the esteemed old earl of Dubai," Zarah teased, her lips curling into a smile.

"The Prince is waiting," Uthman replied, his voice as cold as ever, as he adjusted his tie and strode towards the palace entrance.

"Dale, please keep an eye on Safeenah," Zarah called out, hurrying after Uthman.

"Safeenah, let's check out the Louis Vuitton store. They’ve got some... Safeenah?" Dale turned around, realizing she had vanished. "Oh boy!" Dale exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.

At the iftar point, workers were busy preparing fruit juice and gathering fruit in a deep, cave-like hole that had been dug out like a well. Safeenah stood mesmerized by the scene. The iftar point resembled a large gazebo, and the air was filled with the delightful aroma of strawberry shortcake.

Drawn by her craving for strawberries, she walked over to the fruit hole and peered down. She climbed up the edge, her body trembling as she struggled to keep her balance. As she reached for a strawberry, she slipped and screamed, bracing herself for a painful fall.

But she didn't hit the ground. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

"You shouldn't be here without supervision. It's dangerous," said Prince Abubakar, firmly holding Safeenah's small hand.

Author's note

So, the icy cold Prince has a soft spot for children... It's so cute what Abubakar did. Comment down your thoughts on this chapter.

Glossary

1. Khuzi (or Khuzay):  could refer to a type of dish, usually roasted lamb or goat, popular in the Middle East, particularly in Gulf countries.

2. Hijab: A headscarf worn by some Muslim women in the presence of any male outside of their immediate family. It is a symbol of modesty and privacy in the Islamic faith.

3. Ramadan: The ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar, observed by Muslims worldwide as a month of fasting, prayer, and community. Fasting during Ramadan is one of the Five Pillars of Islam.

4. Sahoor (or Suhoor): A pre-dawn meal consumed early in the morning before the fast begins during Ramadan.

5. Iftar: The meal eaten by Muslims after sunset to break their fast during Ramadan. It typically starts with eating dates and drinking water, followed by a larger meal.

6. Ramadan Mubarak: It is used to wish others a blessed and happy Ramadan.