Beau Monde ✅

Chapter 11

Nailah Zayed.

Maroudi, Nigeria.

10 Years Ago.

Faiza Kabir.

That's my real name.

Faiza meaning 'victorious' or 'winner'. And Kabir meaning 'Powerful; great'.

The irony here is though, that I'm neither a winner or victorious and my father is nowhere near being powerful or great. Growing up, I learned that people often tend to exhibit or live up to their names. Or at least, that was what my 16 year old brain believed.

Sad to say, reality shattered that belief into pieces hard to pick up and mend whole.

I can't remember when it all started, but I know I'd never been lucky in my life. It was constant bad luck; one after another. The first I could remember was a blurry mess; which I sometimes tend to wonder if it actually happened or was a mere figment of my childish memory. I was standing in front of what seemed the tallest building I'd ever seen then.

I was only nine-years-old then, so like I said, I couldn't remember what actually happened. Eventually, I happened to build up my memories upon that which I was told by the only mother figure I had in my life.

Mrs. Hadiza was her name. And she was the owner of the orphanage I remembered as my first home ever. As I grew older, she told me stories of how I ended up in that place; so that made up fragments of my memories.

My innocent eyes were dilated a bit, not aware of the turmoil that's going on in my life. However, the tight grip I've had on the hand laced with mine showed I was a pretty protective child. My gaze was fixed on the two older women speaking quietly to each other—one of which is a face I recognize, though couldn't remember from where exactly.

And the other being the woman we were brought to.

By we, I mean I and the younger girl clutching my hand back tightly. My younger, and identical twin sister, Yusra. Weirdly enough, I guess our parents deemed we already had everything in common, so our names were nowhere near.

That didn't change anything, not that there was much to differentiate. There wasn't anything you could use to differentiate us, not even the name. Reason being, she answers my name, and I, hers despite already knowing which name belongs to whom.

The conversation went on for a short while, before the woman that brought us turned around and left; never sparing us another glance. And while Yusra's gaze was fixed on the other woman left standing there, my gaze followed the one that was disappearing.

I felt no pull towards her whatsoever, and even as she walked away, I felt absolutely nothing.

From the corner of my eyes, I saw the other woman walk towards us being before she leaned down to meet our height. "Welcome to your new home, kids. I will be your mother from now on, and you won't ever be alone again." And then, she smiled.

I can never forget that smile of hers; it was the closest to a motherly one I'd ever gotten, and somehow, I suddenly felt safe around her; which was weird because from what I was told, I wasn't exactly trusting as a child.

Contrary to my younger sister.

I also don't know exactly how many minutes older I am, we just, had always known I am the older one—and from what others say, I happened to step into the role almost naturally.