Aisha adjusted her name tag as she hurried down the hallway, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Room 113. The guest had been adamant—demanding someone come up immediately. She had dealt with difficult customers before, but something about the urgency in his tone unsettled her.
Taking a deep breath, she knocked once before pushing the door open.
Standing before her was a tall, striking man with sharp features and an air of authority. His deep brown eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her momentarily forget how to speak. Dressed in a fitted navy-blue suit, his presence exuded power and confidence.
"You took your time," he said, his voice smooth yet firm.
"I'm sorry for the delay, sir. How can I assist you?" Aisha kept her tone professional, despite the unease prickling at the back of her mind.
The man studied her for a moment before sighing. "The service in this hotel is… slow. But never mind that. My name is Emmanuel. I need a few things taken care of, and I don't have patience for inefficiency."
Aisha nodded, keeping her expression neutral. "Of course, sir. What do you need?"
He walked to the window, looking out into the city, then turned back to her. "First, I need a new set of towels and bottled water. Second, I need a list of business centers nearby. And third," he paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, "I need someone competent to handle my requests moving forward. Can you do that?"
Aisha straightened. "Yes, sir. I'll make sure everything is taken care of right away."
A small smirk appeared on his lips. "Good. I appreciate efficiency."
With a nod, Aisha turned to leave, feeling his gaze linger on her as she exited the room.
By the time her shift ended, Aisha was exhausted. The interaction with Emmanuel had been brief but intense, and for some reason, she couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't just another demanding guest. He carried himself like a man who was used to getting what he wanted.
Pushing the thought aside, she made her way home, her steps growing slower as she neared her street.
Then she heard it.
Raised voices. The unmistakable sound of fists meeting flesh. A crowd had gathered in front of her house. Her heart lurched.
She pushed her way through the onlookers, her breath catching in her throat when she saw the scene before her.
Her father.
Drunk. Bleeding. On his knees as two men rained blows on him.
"Where is our money, old man?" one of them growled, grabbing him by the collar.
Aisha clenched her fists. This wasn't the first time she had come home to find her father like this, but it never got easier.
"Stop!" she shouted, stepping forward. "Leave him alone!"
One of the men turned to her, his expression dark. "You his daughter?"
Aisha swallowed hard but didn't back down. "Yes. Whatever he owes you, I'll take care of it. Just leave him alone."
The men exchanged glances before one of them shoved her father to the ground. "You better. Or next time, it won't just be a few punches."
Aisha knelt beside her father as the men walked away. He groaned, half-conscious, the stench of alcohol heavy on him.
She closed her eyes briefly, fighting back the frustration and shame. This was her life—working tirelessly to keep their home afloat while her father drowned himself in debt and liquor.
With a deep breath, she pulled him up, her muscles straining under his weight.
"Come on, Baba," she whispered. "Let's get you inside."
As she dragged him toward the house, her mind drifted back to Emmanuel.
Two different worlds. Two different men.
And yet, she had a feeling that meeting him was just the beginning of something she couldn't yet understand.