The next morning, I wake up at 4:38 a.m. I pray Fajr, go back to sleep and wake up a little later to do a few workouts and take a shower. I walk downstairs to make breakfast, but today there is a significant addition. I have to cook for that man, Ismail. I can’t still believe he is living with us.
Today I am making pancakes for the kids while I prepare coffee, eggs, and French toast for Waheeda, Aazim, and Ismail. Everyone comes down after getting ready.
“Good morning, aunt,” Aayan and Eman say, coming down the stairs looking cute in their school uniform.
My sister has her kids in a private school, so they wear a uniform.
Aayan is four years old, has Afro black hair, a light skin tone, hazel brown eyes, and a round face.
“Good morning,” Waheeda and Aazim say while coming down the stairs.
“How was your night?” I say placing their breakfast in front of them.
“It was fine. Won’t you get ready for work?” Waheeda says.
“I will, just after I finish doing this,” I say plating Ismail's breakfast.
“Good morning, slave,” I whisper to Ismail once he walks into the kitchen.
“Don’t call me that,” he whispers back.
“I can call you whatever I like because I am the master here and you are the slave,” I grin.
“Not anymore. Check your phone.” he says with a big smirk.
“What did you do?” I say picking up my phone to check for the pictures, but I am not able to find them.
“How do you know my passcode?” I say, making a mental note to stop using my birthday for my passcode.
“Anyone who knows you can guess your passcode.”
“This is not the last you heard of me. I will find something to use against you and bend you to my will,” I say in a dramatic tone.
“This is the last of you,” he says using a dramatic tone too.
“I can’t believe two adults are acting like children,” Waheeda says watching our interaction.
“We are not,” we both say in unison.
“Do you know how both of you sound?”
“Like adults,” we again say simultaneously.
“Why are you copying me?” we both ask.
“You stop. You stop,” we say again at the same time.
“Both of you stop,” Aazim says.
“Alright,” we say.
“I am going upstairs to get ready for work. Ismail your breakfast is on the table,” I say, making my way upstairs.
“Oh, how lovely of you!”
“Don’t expect it every time, mister.”
“I won’t,” he says with a smirk while enjoying his breakfast, clearly not taking me seriously.
I walk up the stairs to my room. The walls are painted light grey while the ceiling is painted white and has a chandelier in the middle. There is a queen size bed, two white pillows and two light grey pillows with a floral pattern on them. A white blanket with fluffy edges. There are two banana-colored chairs in front of my bed with a little table and a TV on the far wall. On either side of the bed is a white bedside table with flower vases on it. There are two doors in my room; one leads to the bathroom while the other leads to the closet. My room is one of the reasons why I don’t mind living with my sister. It’s everything I wished my room to be.
Today I am wearing checkered black and white trousers, a black blazer, a white blouse, a white scarf to use for my hijab (which is a headscarf), a black bag and a black set of heels. After I have finished dressing and applying a little makeup to my face, I walk downstairs to go to work, but not before eating my breakfast.
I make noodles for myself because my dear family forgot to leave me any food.
“What kind of noodle is that? I have never seen any like these,” Ismail says creeping up behind me.
“Ahh! You scared me, and it’s a Nigerian noodle, the name of the brand is Indomie. It is the best noodles you will ever have,” I say smiling while enjoying my meal.
“Wow, it looks good,” he comments, looking into my bowl of noodles.
“Do you want to taste some?” I say with an evil plan in my head.
“Yes, why not.”
“Here,” I say pretending like I am going to give him my bowl of food, but I pull it back to me.
“Hey! That’s not fair,” he says, whining like a child.
“Do you really think I would be nice to you, mister?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. For a minute I forgot who I am dealing with.”
“Would you go away so I can eat in peace?” I say waving him off.
“Aha! Bye, woman,” he says raising his hands.
“Yes! Bye.”
After I finish eating, I go outside and get into my burgundy G-wagon to drive to the office. I hope the CEO is a nice person because some of the new interns and I will be working closely with him.
I arrive at work on time and walk in to meet my supervisor before the CEO gets here. On my way there I meet Emma. I met her when I came to work here, and we have become friends. Emma is what you would call an American doll. She has rosy-pink skin, big blue eyes, wavy blond hair, and is the same height as me. She is an intern. We have been working together for the past two months. She is friendly and fun to be with.
“Hello,” Emma says walking up beside me and handing me a cup of coffee.
“Thank you, how are you?” I say and take a sip of my coffee.
“I’m fine. Are you ready to meet the CEO?”
“I am kind of nervous because I don’t know anything about him, so I don’t know what to expect.”
“I heard he is handsome, young, sexy and single,” she says, smiling while lifting her brows.
“Of course, that is the only thing you would find out about the CEO,” I say giggling.
“What! Can you blame me? I am single and ready for any guy to change that,” she says with a wink.
“Will you ever change?” I smile while shaking my head.
“Not until I find someone to put a ring on it,” she chuckles while pointing to her ring finger.
“I will put you in my prayers.”
“Please do and I’ll see you later. And do tell me if he is really like they say,” Emma says smiling, and walks to her office.
“I will,” I answer and walk to the conference room where we are meeting the CEO.
We all wait for him for a few minutes before he arrives. You won’t believe who steps into the room.
“You!” Ismail and I say at the same time.
“What are you doing here?” we say at the same time, making everyone in the room look at us bewildered.
“Umit, can you step outside for a moment.”
“Yes, sir,” I say cringing while saying it.
“What are you doing here?” we exclaim simultaneously again.
“We need to stop doing this,” we say in unison.
“You go first,” we both say again.
“Ahh! We need to stop this,” we say again at the same time.
“I will speak first. I am the boss,” he says, straightening to his full height.
“I am letting you talk,” I say folding my arms. “I don’t know what you are doing here, even though you just called yourself my boss.”
“As I said before, I am your boss. This is my company, so, Miss, you are the one who should be explaining to me what you are doing here.”
“I work here. I can’t believe this is your company. Why do I see you everywhere I go in my life?” I demand. I can feel a headache coming on from the information I just received.
“I don’t know either, but no one can find out we live together.”
“Do you think I would want to tell anyone that I live with you?”
“Good. Besides, I am amazing to live with,” he declares before walking back into the conference room. I follow back inside shortly after him.
He briefs us on a project to be done in a week and not surprisingly, he made me the team leader. I am sure he did it to see me fail so he can make fun of me later, but I will prove him wrong when I ace this project.
It is lunchtime and I am meeting up with my best friend Fatima in a restaurant not too far from where we both work. I observe Dhuhr (afternoon) prayer before going to meet her. Emma and I arrive at the place before Fatima. We order our food while waiting for her. I order buffalo chicken wrap with homemade ranch salad and a glass of water. Emma orders chicken cob salad with a watermelon smoothie. “So, how is work?” I say and take a bite of my food. Emma and I don’t work in the same department. She works in the administrative department while I work in the programming department. “Work is fine other than the fact that my supervisor can be overbearing at times.” “Sorry, I know how that feels.” “He is so annoying that sometimes, I wish I could knock some sense into him.” “I can imagine you doing that to him,” I chuckle. “Thank God, I only have to work under him for a year.” “That’s right, your internship ends after a year.”
The next morning I wake up and I do my morning routine of prayers and exercise. I am wearing a white crop sweater, grey and white plaid pants, white converse sneakers, a black hajib, and carry a black satchel bag. I am eating cinnamon French toast sticks with coffee for breakfast in the kitchen when Ismail walks in, looking handsome and as arrogant as ever. ‘I wonder what he is doing here?’ “Umit, here is the contract. I just need you to sign it and then we are fine,” Ismail places a piece of paper in front of me. “Why did you not give me these last night?” I ask, grabbing a pen from my bag so that I can sign it. “I forgot to give it to you last night.” “Here, I have signed it. But I wanted to ask, what will happen if I breach the contract,” I ask because I didn’t bother to read the whole contract again. “You will pay me $10,000!” Ismail grins. “I will pay WHAT!” I yell in disbelieve. “$10,000 and also pay for dry cle
I finished work a few hours ago, but I am still at the office because my car won’t start and I don’t know why. I tried everything I can think of to make it work, but it won’t start. I decide to leave it at work and have someone pick it up tomorrow. I walk out of the parking lot to get a taxi and go home. I am at home, cooking in the kitchen when Ismail walks in. “My beautiful lady, I am here to bless you with my amazing hands to help cook this food,” Ismail says walking into the kitchen, back to his arrogant self. “First of all, your hands are not that amazing and second, I don’t need your help.” “I want to help because I believe it might help with co-existing.” “Really,” I say not believing him. “Yes, because we have to learn to co-exist if we don’t want Aazim to throw both of us out of his house.” “Oh, alright, then. You can help me with the potatoes. You can help me peel them,” I say, handing him a bowl of pot
The week has gone by so fast. I can’t believe how much has changed. Living in the same house as Ismail is easier than I thought. We hardly fight, but when we do Aazim is always there to break it up. He kept to his word and had my laptop fixed. I was surprised he did, but it made me understand Ismail is a man of his word. Something I find good about him, even though I dislike him. Today is the day of the presentation of the project I have been working on for the past week. I have been pacing up and down the kitchen this morning making sure everything I need is ready, but I can’t seem to cool down because the way Ismail is looking at me is not helping. He has this boyish smirk on his face as if he can’t wait for me to mess this up so he can rub it in my face. I am so going to prove him wrong today. “Will you stop looking at me like that!” “How am I looking at you, Miss,” Ismail says, smirking more knowing he is getting to me. “I don’t know! Just stop!”
I arrive at the restaurant before anyone else. I am waiting for them at the front while waiting for a table. To my utmost surprise, Ismail walks in. ‘I wonder why he is here. I hope he did not follow me.’ “Why are you here?” I ask. “I thought you said you are not talking to me.” “Are you following me?” I say totally ignoring what he said. “Of course not, I am here to eat.” “Oh, good for you,” I say. He doesn’t say anything but shakes his head. “Are you guys ready to take your seat? We have an empty table,” the lady from the front desk says. “No, I am waiting for someone,” we both reply. “Alright, no problem.” A few minutes later Fatima and Udar walk in and they are talking but stop when they see Ismail and me waiting. Do they know each other? I can’t remember ever telling Fatima about Udar, maybe she does. “What’s going on? Did you guys come together?” Fatima asks while coming to stand beside me
Today Fatima and I are meeting up after work to talk about her and Udar’s almost marriage. I am still shocked she almost got married and I am just finding out about it now. Today I am wearing white high waist wide leg trousers, a black top, white swing coat, black stiletto heels, a black hajib, and a black handbag. I perform my Asr (late afternoon) prayers before going to see Fatima. I just finished at the office, and I am on my way over to her place. I park my car and walk out to meet Fatima. The home has a black cast iron gate with lovely flowers all around the front porch. It’s a two-story building. I ring the bell three times before the maid opens it for me. I make my way straight to Fatima’s room. The entryway is as lovely as the front porch; there are grand staircases with black bannisters leading to two separate parts in the house, and a big crystal chandelier. “As-salamu Alaykum,” I say walking into her room after knocking. Fatim
I am about to leave Fatima’s to go home when I am pulled from behind into a big hug from Abeela. Abeela is brown skinned and 5 feet 5 inches tall. “As-salamu Alaykum, kiddo.” “Wa- Alaykumu Salam, how are you, aunt Umit?” she says stepping in front of me. “I’m good, how are you?” “I am fine too, how is work?” “It’s a bit stressful but okay. How is school?” “It’s amazing. There is so much I want to tell you about school, but I am on my way out,” she says. “You are going out looking like that?” I say taking a good look at how she is dressed, and I am disappointed to say this is no way a Muslim girl should dress to go out. She is wearing a very short skirt that stops mid-thigh and even though she is wearing pantyhose, it’s still too short. “Yes, what’s wrong with it?” she says like she doesn’t know. “What is wrong with it?” I say in a stern voice. “Aunt, what’s wrong with it? This is how everyone dresses now
The week has gone by so fast. The game made by my group and me has gone viral in a week. I am so happy that words cannot describe it. I am working in my office when Emma barges in, looking like she wants to kill someone. “Hey!” I say confused as to why she walked in like that. “I can’t believe she is back,” Emma says, pacing up and down my office. “Who is back?” I ask. “That slut!” she growls angry. “Which slut?” I say totally confused. “Anna Huston,” Emma says with disgust. “Who is that? And why are you calling her a slut?” “She is the slut Austin cheated on me with.” “Wait! He cheated on you?” I say, guessing that’s why they broke up. “Sorry, I should not have brought my problem to you. I should go,” she says walking toward the door. “No, no it’s fine, I am here to listen,” I say, walking towards the door to stop her from leaving. “Thank you.” “Why don’t you sit down and calm do