Chapter two: the discussion 

I returned home feeling exhausted, irritated, and hungry. All I wanted was to collapse onto my bed and forget about the terrible day I had endured.

As I walked in, I found Ruqayya busy preparing lunch. She looked up and asked, "How was your interview?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I replied, grabbing a plate and heading towards the pot to see what she was cooking. I was famished and couldn't wait to eat.

"I am sooo hungry," I exclaimed, looking at the meal Fatima was preparing. It was "Masa," a traditional rice-like dough dish from our region. A smile crept across my face as I eagerly picked up my plate. It was my favorite.

"We need to talk," Ruqayya said, turning to address me after setting down the last batch of the meal and turning off the gas stove.

"I've already had a long day," I sighed, about to explain further, but then my friend Jidda walked in. Jidda, my best friend who lived just a few blocks away, was unemployed like me. This meant we had plenty of time to spend together and allowed her to waltz into our house whenever she pleased.

"How was the interview?" she asked. I had texted her about it on my way there and had chatted with her about the HR's rude behavior while I was at the interview.

"I think he likes you," Jidda teased. I rolled my eyes. It was our thing to playfully tease each other about people we didn't like. At the moment, the HR of NPC was someone I really disliked.

"Jidda, I'm glad you're here," Ruqayya interjected. "I was trying to talk to her about what we discussed earlier."

I glanced at Jidda, feeling slightly betrayed that they had a conversation without me. "What is it? Tell me," I asked curiously.

Jidda smiled sheepishly at me before saying, "You know how you always said you wanted an arranged marriage."

I looked at Ruqayya, realizing it was the same conversation I had with her in the morning. Was she serious? "Were you serious earlier?" I asked, looking at my sister, who nodded in affirmation.

"10 days!" I exclaimed, remembering she had mentioned my wedding being arranged within "10 days." "Were you serious about that too?" I questioned her, and once again, she nodded.

"That's ridiculous!" I exclaimed, unable to believe what I was hearing. "It's not," Ruqayya and Jidda chimed in unison, trying to convince me. I should have known the moment Jidda walked in that they were going to try to tag-team me.

"Listen, do you remember how Farouk broke your heart and went off to marry someone else?" Jidda tried to remind me of the reason why I had expressed the desire for an arranged marriage in the first place.

How could I forget the heartbreak I had endured? "Of course I remember," I replied. "Remember how frustrating it is when people keep asking about him and try to matchmake you with their weird family members?" Ruqayya added, following Jidda's line of thought.

"That's no different from what you're doing now," I retorted, pausing briefly for a better comeback. "The only difference is that you have already arranged the marriage," I said, still finding it impossible to believe.

It made absolutely no sense to me that such a thing could be possible, let alone happen to me.

"Listen, sis!" my sister Ruqayya said, calmingly moving towards me and holding my hand. "There is absolutely no pressure. Yes, we have accepted the proposal, and due to certain circumstances, the marriage needs to happen urgently. If you don't approve, it's completely fine," Ruqayya said, and a smile began to creep onto my face.

"I..." I began to announce my disapproval before she continued.

"But just keep in mind that this is a dying man's last wish. They are Umar's employers, and remember how much Umar loves and respects this man. If you are absolutely sure you don't want this, then please tell him yourself," Ruqayya said.

I smiled, partly out of shock from the blatant attempt at emotional manipulation. "Are you trying to emotionally blackmail me?" I asked, laughing at the idea.

"She's just stating the facts," Jidda chimed in.

"Which dying old man? What do you mean by Umar's employers?" I asked, and just before Ruqayya could answer the question, it clicked in my mind. Mr. Mukhtar, the man who was suffering from cancer.

"You're marrying me off to that old man?" I asked, feeling a sharp pain in my heart at the thought of it.

Jidda chuckled, "you wish," she said, aware of my penchant for older men.

"No, it's one of his sons," Ruqayya replied, her tone serious.

She went on to explain that it was the dying wish of Mr. Mukhtar, and after meeting me at the hospital, he had developed a liking for me. I blushed at the thought, considering it a compliment. "Why me?" I asked, eager to hear more.

"Perhaps the old man hasn't come across many young women his sons' age. That could be the only reason he thinks you're suitable," Jidda teased.

"Nahh nahh nahh, it's because your friend is spec, wife material a thousand yards," we bantered in the slang of our region, sharing a laugh at the joke. I realized then that Ruqayya had invited Jidda here as a distraction, lightening the weight of such a decision with her humor.

"Stop distracting me," I playfully scolded Jidda, suppressing my smile.

"His son?" I turned my attention back to Ruqayya, who nodded. "Which one?" I asked. I had never met any of Mr. Mukhtar's sons before, but I had caught a glimpse of one giving a speech at his father's retirement party. He was undeniably handsome, but that was just an observation. I didn't mean anything by it; I simply appreciated God's creation of beauty.

"Ibrahim, not the one who gave the speech," my sister clarified, likely remembering my fascination with the speaker. 

"Not that it matters, because I'm not interested," I affirmed firmly. While it was an honor to be considered worthy of being Mr. Mukhtar's daughter-in-law, and yes, they were incredibly wealthy, the idea of getting married in just 10 days seemed unfathomable to me.

"Think about it," Ruqayya urged. "They are coming for dinner.