I slowly make my way to the small improvised bathroom in the corner of the room, doing my best to take care of my hygiene. I tie up my long hair and dress in my usual simple clothes, which are quite different from the expensive and colorful clothes that my stepsister wears.
I leave the room and head to the kitchen, where I begin another day of hard work!
I finish preparing everything, set the table for breakfast, and soon my father, Ursula, and Najla sit down and start eating.
I stand by, as always, until they finish their meal. Then, I collect everything, clean and organize the table, wash the breakfast dishes, and only then do I sit in the kitchen and eat something, usually an Arab bread with tea... my mother loved teas and taught me how to prepare them to extract the best flavor and aroma from the herbs.
I tidy up the kitchen and start the other tasks of the day, since my father and Najla only return at lunchtime, and Ursula goes to her activities with some women from nearby Arab merchants. She says they do social work, but I'm not sure if I trust that.
I've thought about taking advantage of these moments and running away, but ever since my father got into debt, we moved to an apartment above a bakery, and my stepmother locks the door when she leaves.
Run away? Where would I escape to? Live on the streets? I think even living on the streets would be better than living here in this place, being treated this way.
I wipe away the tears that I shed without even realizing it, and quickly go back to my chores.
As I prepare lunch, I wonder what this fiancé will be like. I remember hearing a conversation about the sons of Yousef Harmud. The supposed fiancé is a rude, arrogant, greedy man known for being involved with many women.
Najla doesn't want to be tied down to a marriage, says she has a future ahead of her, and my father doesn't see that she does nothing but spend his money.
I even thought she would get married, because despite the bad reputation, Mr. Harmud's son comes from a rich family, but I heard he's on the brink of bankruptcy because the dowry paid to my father will be given by the Sheikh himself, as the son spent all his fortune on European women... oh God, where will I end up?!
There's no point in lamenting my sad fate, because my father has already decided, and I only have the option to accept this decision and pray to the heavens that this fiancé is not one of those men who rigidly follow the culture and punish their wives.
《••••》
One week later...
"Remember, do not embarrass us in front of the Sheikh Harmud's family, understood Yasmin?!" my father says sternly as we disembark from the plane, already on Arab soil.
"Yes, sir, my father," I reply, frightened by the towering buildings.
In Brazil, we lived in Sao Paulo, but it was in a neighborhood with mostly low-rise buildings, with older facades.
I rarely left the house, except when absolutely necessary, like last week when I had to go for a consultation for the wedding. So I'm not used to so much movement and such large imposing structures.
I look around and tighten my hijab, as my mother taught me from a young age that I shouldn't leave my hair uncovered in the streets.
We leave the airport, but I feel someone pull at my scarf, causing me to lose my balance and fall, immediately covering my head with my hands out of fear.
I look up, startled, and see Najla smirking as she tosses my scarf away.
"Najla! What have you done?" I exclaim in despair, watching my scarf being carried away by the wind and getting caught in a plant further ahead.
"Me?!" she feigns offense. "You're just clumsy! We haven't even arrived and you're already embarrassing our family!" she scolds me.
"Yasmin!" my father gets irritated. "How could you cause trouble like this?! Go quickly, hurry and get your hijab!"
I try to get up but feel a pain in my ankle.
"Dad, my ankle hurts, I think I've twisted it," I say, rubbing the area.
"Stop being a sissy! Do you want your father to be embarrassed to avoid the wedding?! " she discreetly points to Sheikh Harmud's driver, who is watching us. " Go now, you brazen girl!"
As I try to stand up, I see a large hand extend the scarf in front of my eyes, and I quickly cover my face, using my hair.
"I think this *hijab* belongs to you\, am I right? " the man asks\, his voice powerful like thunder\, but it doesn't frighten me.
"Thank you! " I say timidly and I take my scarf, quickly covering my hair and my face.
"Do you need help getting up? " he questions, extending his hand, and I notice a beautiful ring on his finger.
"My daughter will only be touched by her husband, no one else! " my father grabs my arm and lifts me abruptly. " Let's go, clumsy girl!"
"You should be more polite with your own daughter, sir! " the stranger says, and I discreetly look in his direction, but strangely, he is wearing a mask, and all I can glimpse are a pair of intense and deep eyes, which seem to attract and devour you, like quicksand.
"She's the clumsy one, it's not my husband's fault! " Ursula intervenes.
"Then, as the matriarch, the oldest woman, you should have helped her by offering another scarf."
"We don't have to justify ourselves to you! Let's go already! " my father pulls me, and I have no choice but to follow him.
But still, as I get into the car, I look at the stranger, who seems to be staring at me through the closed window.
Besides my mother, no one has ever defended me like this...
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