~ Safeenah Abubakar ~

The sun had already set when we arrived at the palace. My father's soon-to-be aboard was still unclear.

As we approached the magnificent Palace, a feeling of awe washed over me. Its opulent design merged seamlessly with the modern skyscrapers that surrounded it. The intricate Arabian-inspired architecture was a sight to behold, with its domed roofs, ornate archways, and intricate mosaics that adorned the exterior. The Palace stood as a testament to the grandeur and luxury that defined Dubai. Lush gardens and water features led the way to the entrance, providing a serene oasis amidst the bustling city.

Stepping inside, we were greeted by the grandeur of the lobby, where the fusion of Middle Eastern elegance and contemporary luxury was at its peak. Chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting a warm glow over the marble floors and richly decorated furnishings.

My grandfather had done a great job furnishing the palace like this. I still remembered when I was ten in the palace, those were the memories that made me who I am, the memories that baptized me into becoming a strong person for my mother.

"Wow." Rayhan will forever be a baby; he always exclaims in surprise every time we visit Grandpa and Grandma. But today I also was on the verge of being impressed.

From the long hallway of the palace, I noticed many black cars were being parked outside the castle's lot. The Fazza is having guests.

"Abi, why are there so many cars? Did something happen?" My granddaughter instinct kicked in, as my skin crawled despite me knowing nothing was wrong with my father's old man.

My father's eyes squinted as he gave the car's proper assessment. "Hmm, nothing is wrong. With the way the cars are parked, I think Fazza has some guests from Seoul over."

Seoul was what I had to hear for me to know my mother's DNA was replicated in mine; all her characteristics were wound around my histones, creating a sentimental nucleosome inside my nucleus.

Years ago, I had to experience my mother fighting for the love of her life, even when she knew and believed it was all make-believe. Sometimes I wonder why my mother does crazy things for love, and I vowed never to be as gullible as my mother. My father is a great man, but he wasn't as great as he seemed from the start; my biological father, that is. But now that I had fallen in love, I know what my mother was feeling back in those days.

Who wouldn't feel that for Dawood Al-Kim? The Arab-Korean billionaire heir.

Dawood Al-Kim is a visual masterpiece. His handsomeness is a symphony of contrasting heritages, a fusion of Arab and Korean beauty. His chiseled jawline could cut through glass, and his dark, expressive eyes could capture the secrets of the universe. His skin, kissed by the sun, bore the perfect blend of olive tones and a radiant, Korean glow. Every time he smiled, it was as if the heavens had conspired to create the most enchanting dimples.

Dawood's handsomeness didn't stop at his face; it extended down to his long, elegant fingers. They were a testament to his aristocratic lineage, each digit a masterpiece of symmetry and grace. When his hands moved, it was as though they orchestrated a silent, mesmerizing ballet. His nails were impeccably groomed, a testament to his meticulous attention to detail.

His handsomeness was more than just skin deep; it was a captivating aura that left an indelible mark on everyone fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of him. Whether he was dressed in a tailored suit or casual attire, his allure was undeniable, a testament to his unique blend of Arab and Korean allure.

And I was fortunate enough to be his maybe-friend.

"Safeenah and Dawood sitting on a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g." Rayhan's voice broke me from the heavenly trance I had entered.

"You forgot what I did to you earlier," I said, spanking his bosom, and chuckling as he squealed like the child he was.

"Safeenah, behave," my mother corrected, standing like a poignant flower: chest pointed out and maintaining a very confident posture, as if the world was out to get her or take her picture. Ever since I turned sixteen, she'd changed, claiming she was getting me ready for the big world I was about to set foot into.

It was no fun.

Sheikha Yasmin announced her presence by scoffing loudly, making all of us stop. "I always say she's a monkey," she insulted with a stupid chortle.

I wasn't ready to have another skirmish moment with my stepmother. "Well, we all are monkeys; monkeys evolved to be you," I affronted, snorting triumphantly.

My father couldn't hold his laughter, and it came out of his mouth, his shoulder jumping up to the rhythm of his laughter.

"Safeenah," my angry mother cautioned, and I maintained silence — entering into my trance, the only place I can think loudly without being policed.

"You two should stay together, me and your mothers will go greet the sheikha now. After the sheik is done with his guests, I'll notify you," my father said, tapping my shoulder and kissing my little brother's forehead before walking off with our mothers.

"Don't think I'll be stuck with you. I have plans," Rayhan blurted out.

"You wish," I mocked, walking away from the spoiled brat. I also had a plan, a plan to search for an Arab-Korean who stole my heart.

"You better don't get pregnant!" Rayhan yelled, laughing like a maniac.

"Are you not ready to be an uncle?" I inquired, suppressing my anger as I walked away from him.

The search for my Mr. Darcy was a long one. I took many turns and curves before I finally saw him — alone — he sat at the iftar arena operating his phone and being handsome — something he's good at. I waited behind an overgrown flowerbed so I could steal glances before walking up to him. I could pay a thousand AE Dirham to continue shepherding his body with my eyes — thank Allah I was on my period — if not, my fasting would have been vague.

Hiding was one of my many flaws; he spotted me, and the oxytocin too was pumping through my veins, numbing my leg, making me fall inside the flowerbed.

Dawood stood from where he was seated, affectionately — or maybe with care for a human — he rushed down to help me. His hand extended to my front, and he expected me to grab it.

It was like winning the lottery to me. I gave his impeccably immaculate hand a glance before grabbing it as if I'd never let go. With a pull, I was out of the flowerbed and against his chest. I could hear his heart beating as fast as mine.

In a moment, he let go of me. I realized he wasn't on his period equals he is fasting.

"Hi," he began.

I dusted off the leaves that were stuck to my hair. "Hi," I waved.

"So, what are you doing here?"

I smiled at him. He was trying to start a conversation with me. If that's not a sign of love, then what is? "I'm here to greet my grandparents and eat iftar with them," I explained, ready to ask him what he was doing here, but I was cut short by him.

"My dad has secured an apartment for us here in Dubai, and I'll be enrolling in your school," he told me the good news.

I was head over heels. My stomach was jumping as I had become a kaleidoscope of emotions. My brain was sending me signals, signals that made my heart feel lighter — warm positive vibes surrounded me as I tried my possible best not to make it obvious that I was on cloud nine. As hope and love intertwined in the depths of my stomach, I could sense happiness and fulfillment, making me feel as though I was overflowing with affection.

"Alhamdulillah," was all I could say.

"And I've been meaning to tell you something," he added again, this time he was bright red, and his head was looking at the grass.

"What?" I feigned ignorance.

"I think I like you, Safeenah," he confessed.

My heart melted, jumping in a way I couldn't describe. A wicked and sweet flame burned brightly inside me. I was speechless for some minutes, before I had the courage to talk back. "I think I like you too," I said it.

The two of us were speechless, and we just stared at one another, emitting the amazing aura of joy intertwined with love.

That was the beginning of our love story!