"Bags packed; wear the best of perfumes; you don't know who will like you." That was what the queen was telling the princes, using the native language of this country. I understood, as one of the guards interpreted it for me. I had actually started learning some of the letters and pronunciation, but I did not expect it to be as complex as this; it was quite complex indeed. That time of the month, the beginning of a new year, a new calendar in the Arabian nations, mostly those who believe much in the Islam religion and followed its teachings as their guide.
Today, it was not about wearing the red-striped cardigans. I was given the same garments as Amir, but it seemed he understood how they were dressed; of course I wouldn't know, for this is a new culture, and their way of life is quite unfamiliar to me. We wore a pure white cardigan, cream white trousers, a black shirt with golden stripes at the collars, long dashling black boots, and a white head gown with red, golden, and white lace to attach the gown to the fitting of one's head. Checking myself in the mirror, I looked more like a member of this culture; my now-grown hair fitted perfectly on the head gown, for the gown hid even my ears, and all one would see was the perfection of my face and the beards that were developing, and not to be forgotten, my dazzling, shiny blue eyes. I never really knew how to describe my lashes, but I can tell you that I had quite a small head in comparison to Amir's, for his cap was quite bigger than mine; it couldn't fit on me unless I adjusted it to fit my head. The person who helped me wear was the helpers, I guess the maids in the house. Since my troubles, I have had the shyness of calling someone a maid, a peasant, or any demeaning word, for I came to realize that not everyone has had the opportunity to live a better life. Ezron was the first man who made me change my attitude toward people. The more I saw him struggle to be understood by people, the more I saw him wonder what his life was like. The way I saw his mother struggling made me really stop seeing people via classes, but seeing each and every human being as someone adjacently trying to find a way to maneuver into the highs and lows of this world despite the harsh localization and yearnings of society. I have also been hurt by society, but I thank God. I thank God; he saved me right before I was eaten by the fates of my kind. Maybe one day I will change those hefty and harsh yearnings of society. I still wonder what my problem was, as in, what was I to do? Was I to face a fate that I did not even take part in and that I did not have any knowledge of? I just have those thoughts most of the time, and they break me sometimes. I don't have some sight of care at most times, but when I am alone, in solitude, when I start thinking of life and I start having an introspection of me and my life, that's when those feelings really come by. The feelings of being an unwanted person, the feeling of living in a society where your name was tarnished even before you were born; Of course, I do think of these statements, these words, and these things; I sometimes think of why the King treats me so well; I sometimes think of Amir; and I just go back to my family. I think of how happy they are. "Hey, Willock. Let's get going." As I think about all this, I place the expensive watch I was offered to wear on my wrist. England never had watches; at least I had never seen them. Yes, they had, but not for everyone; it was the father of the house who carried the family's watch, maybe to make sure that all his timing was right. But here, it was different; they seemed to be on another level of wants; they had the golds, they had gold braces, and women wore golden necklaces, which actually made them much more beautiful. I don't know if I would ever come to marry from here, but the moves the princess and I have been making are quite obscene, and I am quite skeptical about them, for I know that even as much as she would want to be with me, I am not in a good position to provide her with everything she desires. She is of the Islam religion, and her conversion will be something opposite to the wants of this culture, unless I decide to evade the norms of my culture and be the first man to follow the cultures of his respectable wife, something that I have never heard of happenings back home. After the watch, I follow Amir downstairs as I observe the different looks of the princes and princesses. In comparison, the princesses dresses were quite dazzling and made them appeasing, showing off their long, slender necks, and with the addition of the silver necklaces and large earrings, with the wrists filled with other golds and bracelets, a Persian culture embracement was what I would guess the wear embraced, but I was never quite the historian of clothing; even Egyptians had a wearing of that kind. I knew I was looking at Hasmin all through, and I seemed to not stop staring at her when Amir knocked on my stomach on the arrival of the King and Queen, who wore just as they should, with the crown on their heads. The king then made an announcement using the Iraqian native language, which I did not understand, but I assume he hoped the day would go great, and then they left with the carriages, as the princesses were set to leave first, and then we entered another as the other princes entered another.
"You have a liking for my sister?" Amir asked as the carriage started its way.
"I.. eehh,... Amm." I did not have words to say to him; I knew what he meant by those words. The seriousness in his words and the look he gave me made me even more tense before even making any speech.
"Don't give her hopes you can't fulfill." Amir added. "She should be married by now; make the move." I wasn't,… I did not want her that way. I was; she is beautiful, of course, but my wants for her were never a like or statement of liking; no, it was just a sex drive. I feel I lusted for her more than I would say I liked her. Amir was quite the person who would force anyone to do something he did not wish for. He had given me the heads on, and I believe, inside his pretty made-up mind, he already had the answer to his question, 'Who shall marry my sister' I hope I was not what he thought; I would. How would I come to the pact that I am marrying when I myself am not even familiar with my feelings, my wants, what I am, and who I am?
"Amir,… Don't do this to me."
"Do what? You are my friend."
"Amir, you know what I mean; I can't."
"You can't what? The way you look at her and the way she treats you—that's what I want for her. To be loved by one she loves."
"She doesn't…"
"She does." Amir said, smiling. And I knew the word'she did' meant more than that; it was some temptation. I am not as crazy as I was with the princess of England, and I am not crazy enough to wonder when the next ball dance will be so that I can maybe have the chance to have a dance.
"Don't tell her. Let me figure it out; she is your sister, whom I respect."
"Then respect her boundaries; if you have options resonating with your wants, but if she is of liking to you, well, I have no choice, brother." Amir stated, and there was silence all along the way. I knew what happens in this land when a man makes a woman fall but is afraid of the commitment; the latter could surpass the run but could never surpass the wrath of betrothal. I am a British, an English man, with the palest white, blemishless skin, and she is an Arabian blessed with the most silky hairs and brown skin. The question is, What am I to offer her? The ride was quite a journey, as expected. The occasion was to be at the hotel where I used to work. Its name is complex and well written in Arabic, and, being non-Islamic and not understanding the writings, it just became a hotel of my working. I looked forward to arriving at the place, as at least I would meet Ezron and maybe talk out, understand how his stay has been, and maybe help him with some of his waiter duties, for I had not yet returned my working clothes to the management; they were still in the room. The letter I wrote my father on that day, I burned it just the other day, when I realized maybe moving on was the best idea one would ever ask for.
We arrived at the hotel just later than everyone else. As the little music could be heard from far away, a new pianist had been found...., Maybe. I thought as I left the carriage, as we were welcomed into the hotel. I had not realized how dazzling it was when working here, but today it sure felt large, huge, and well decorated. I am sure many beings were here as I saw the King seated on the largest platform, serving all the guests entering the hotel. It sure was a royal hotel. I should have known—how stupid of me—but I needed to see Ezron real quick, but now was not the timing, as we were directed to the first floor to maybe have some rest and take something. I did not even know how to look at Princess Hasmine. I felt obligated; I felt no man enough for her.