"There's no need for a woman writing. Who will read your books? Absolutely no body. Your mother and I are not educated to read them. Get married Aziza,get married and secure your future for that is the only thing you can hold on to as a woman"
Baba's words echoed in Zara's head as she recalled what he had told her months ago before the accident.
She had been outrightly stubborn then, and like most educated girls her age who were opportuned to go to school,saw her father's words as him trying to impose the residues of old philosophies on her,despite his wealth.
She had believed then that he said those to her to get her to marry one of his business associates. Silly her. Now she wasn't even getting married to any of them, she was marrying the prime minister. A worse choice to her father's fancied business associates. But as a girl and her father's only child, what was she to do. This was her last option.
Ayman wondered what went on in the ladies mind. Her eyes were so bright like a shinning light in the dark of night. And when she smiled, it touched his soul. She looked like a piece of art. Little and yet so fragile, as it made him wonder where he father might have found her,for him to possibly wander off to too,to find a precious gem like her, a woman embroidered in feminity, yet so powerful in her voice, like she had been in her book.
A gentle breeze began to blow and Ayman knew he was supposed to leave her alone. But yet,a part of him tugged him to stay back.
He was a hopeless romantic and possessed a heart full of glee, what was he so scared about happening that he wanted urgently to leave her presence?
There was no way he would fall for her. He just admired her works and her, but not the idea of what she had come to do,not the idea of his wife getting a bride young as she was.
He was impudent in his thoughts, yes and he didn't mind. He had overheard his father telling his mother about his new marriage idea and lie most women who were charged with accepting whatever their husband's said, she had accepted,but never in Ayman's one life had the thoughts crossed his mind that Aziza Ali, his favorite writer was going to be his father's new wife. And now that it did,there was nothing he could do. It's not as if he could do anything anyway.
"Madam?" A voice cut him short from his train of thoughts.
Zara stared around her for the "madam" being called and when she saw no other female in sight, she turned to the lady and held her chest asking if she were the one she was referring to.
She wore a kimono with a head tie that covered all hairs on her head, even her whole body had been covered by the kimono with the exception of her hand covered in black henna designs and her feet that had been dyed red. And Zara wasted no time to identify her as a worker in the house.
Not just because of her work out clothing,but from the simple henna mask on her hand. Daughters of the high class carried exquisite and beautifully laid out ones while their workers had to wear the simpler ones.
Staring at her own bare hands, she wondered what category she belonged to as she had neither a simple henna dye nor a more complex design on her.
"Yes madam, I have been sent to welcome you to your room before diner will get served"
She replied while bowing to Ayman who stood before her.
Ayman smiled at her as she did and Zara wondered why. Was he flirting with the lady? Sons of high class were usually not receptive to their maids and wasted no time commanding them or even belittling them and their social status at whatever instances they got. Why did Ayman appear different though?
But she didn't ask him this. Instead,followed the woman dutifully as she led he to a corridor, and then began to walk down the long hall that houses plenty doors.
Opening one that was a room away from the outside,Zara saw her belongings already inside.
The ruckus with Ayman must have made her not notice when the drivers that had brought her took her belongings to the room they had been directed to,she thought.
"You are very beautiful,madam" the lady said as she closed the door behind her after Zara entered.
"Please stop" Zara laughed it off,not wanting to join in her cajoling.
She had heard enough about workers like her. Even her moral governess had told her a lot. They always praised their madams with sugarcoated words in order to gain favours from them but then at their backs were always quick to betray them. She had been instructed to be careful while dealing with them,this lady here seemed like the perfect example of what she had been told to avoid.
"You wear the veil outside but when inside,you are not mandated to keep on wearing it" she corrected while pointing at the veil Zara had still covering her head.
It took a few minutes before Zara took off the veil. Though she was still skeptical about what she had been told. Her governess had told her to always have her veil on regardless of where she was and now this lady was coming with a new rule, just which one was she to follow?
But nevertheless,she did as she had been told. If the lady was lying to her in order to land her in trouble,she would definitely make sure to get her punished. She might be older than she was and might have stayed more years with the Fahads than her who was just joining them today, but what use were the testimonies of workers against that of their owners?
Her governess had said that workers belonged to their owners in Fahads part of the world,so that meant that this lady before her was hers and would be at her neck and call till whenever she would decide to betray her.
"Ya Mashaaa. You look so beautiful madam" the lady continued but Zara was displeased with how she went on complimenting her looks, as well as the nadam she kept on calling her.
From her study of her and her body build, she looked like she was well in her twenties,ages older than she was,so what was the use of continuing to refer to her as a madam. She was just opportuned to be born to a richer family unlike her who didn't and had to work to earn a living, but seriously,there was nothing that made her different from her apart from that.
"What is your name?" Zara asked, giving in to her instincts take on the woman that was before her.
"Ahhh no madam, the madam doesn't learn the name of her worker. It is the job of the worker to learn the name of her madam ma. You can call me whatever you want to. The young mistress opposite your room calls hers a dalmatian dog because she is always telling her father to buy one for her but he doesn't want to"