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"Oh, darling. You can't fix yourself by breaking someone else."
Every young woman wants to marry Aryan Sheikh, the young, handsome Prince and a self-made businessman. His eyes are set on Yasmin Omer, the girl who has re...
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Wessam Castle – 3rd December 2014
"NOT AGAIN," Aryan Sheikh complained as he trembled for five seconds with each thunderous boom.
Purple and neon white lightening cut across the black sky glistening the furniture like disco ball from time to time. The blusterous rain drummed against the slider windows while the wind howled like wolves on a full moon night. It started since early evening and had been continuing for the last two and a half hours.
If there is sunlight tomorrow, the extending lawn in front of the castle will become lush green where the colorful flowers would pop up. If not then puddles of water will form small lakes across the green grass where the servants' kids would play with paper boats.
Aryan Sheikh though is far from being a pluviophile.
Sitting on the plush velvet rug, he raised his hands for supplication after the last prayer of the day. It started with the same: grant a robust health, prosper the businesses, add some sense and humility into his arrogant family and never let a female cousin fall in love with him. It is acceptable in his religion. But Aryan will never be able to marry a cousin. He'll rather elope from home and live as a nomad than call a girl he once considered as a sister, my love.
Tonight however he requested an additional plea.
"Ya Allah, I cannot get Yasmin out of my mind and I seek forgiveness for she is not related to me. I have met no one like her. The only way for everyone to accept her as mine should be public. Grant me the courage to put the idea forward and let them accept it. Ameen"
He did not move for another few minutes, contemplating and shivering from the sound of thunder. He has always been scared of it. As a child he would have hugged his parents. As a twenty five year old respectable man, he preferred to hide his weakness in the enclosed contemporary master bedroom.
He got up and walked towards the window. The weather had no prospects of becoming better and the lightening almost blinded his eyes. He pulled the curtains and roamed in his spacious walk-in closet.
After changing into a Ralph Lauren sweatshirt and comfy black pants, he took the elevator to the ground floor. At the 'U' shaped dining table, his extended royal family of thirty people seated in their respective places, chattering about the day or indulging in useless gossip.
On every face appeared a suave smile as the maids systematically lay down the various tasty dishes cooked by two and three Michelin Stars Chef. Being health conscious, Aryan always stick with Greek salad, boiled food with an addition of olive oil and a glass of chilled water.
Before the first spoonful of food reached his mouth, his father, Zayed Sheikh's voice stopped him.
"We need to talk."
Silent yet it screamed authority. A few pairs of eyes wandered on Aryan as he nodded once. He already despised this upcoming stale conversation.
