*Chapter 1: Two Stories*
One Evening at the Abbas Mansion
The dining room of Mr. Abbas Ahmed's mansion was filled with the soft clinking of cutlery against porcelain, yet an air of unease lingered. At the head of the table, Mr. Abbas, a man in his mid-fifties, sat observing his children—Anaya, 19, and Rayyan, 30. His sharp gaze flickered between them, his heart heavy with disappointment.
Anaya sat comfortably, eating with one hand while scrolling through her phone with the other, her face lit up with excitement over something on the screen. Rayyan, on the other hand, sat motionless, his untouched food growing cold. His expression was distant, almost as if he were physically present but mentally elsewhere.
After four years of separation, Mr. Abbas had finally reunited with his children. They had been living in the USA with their mother, from whom he was long divorced. He had expected them to return matured, responsible, and deeply rooted in their faith and culture. Instead, he felt like he was looking at strangers.
Anaya's outfit only deepened his disappointment. She wore a black palazzo trouser and a matching shirt, her head barely covered with a loosely tied scarf that did little to conceal her flowing hair. The modern, Western look she had brought back from America clashed with everything he had raised her to be. A pang of regret struck him—had he made a mistake sending them abroad?
Clearing his throat, he broke the silence. "So, Anaya, now that you've completed your degree, what are your plans?"
Without looking up, she responded casually, "I wanted to work on the project you promised me, but now, Dad, it seems like you don't believe I can handle it." She finally glanced at him before returning to her phone.
Mr. Abbas sighed. He had promised Rayyan the company and Anaya a major project, but now, seeing them, he questioned whether they were truly ready for such responsibility.
After a brief pause, he asked, "Have you ever thought about marriage, Anaya? Do you have someone?"
Anaya's head snapped up in surprise. Even Rayyan, who had been uninterested the entire time, shifted his attention to their father, as if trying to figure out where this was coming from.
"Not anytime soon, Dad," Anaya answered, her tone firm.
"Why?" Mr. Abbas pressed.
Anaya let out a small sigh, setting her phone down. "It's the 21st century, Dad. I have things I want to achieve before getting married."
"21st century," Mr. Abbas muttered again, shaking his head.
He turned to Rayyan. "And what about you?"
Rayyan, just as intelligent as Anaya, had recently completed his doctorate abroad. Every time he earned a new degree, he would return home, hoping his father would finally make him the CEO of the company. But each time, Mr. Abbas refused.
"Nothing, Dad," Rayyan said flatly. Then, under his breath, he muttered, "Seems like I wasted my time coming here."
He thought his father wouldn't hear him, but Mr. Abbas did. The words cut deep, but he chose to ignore them, despite the sting they left behind.
"How about marriage?" Mr. Abbas asked, his voice steady.
"No, not anytime soon," Rayyan replied without hesitation.
"Why?"
Rayyan exhaled slowly. "Dad, I'm not yet stable."
Mr. Abbas frowned. Stability? What kind of stability was Rayyan still searching for? He had completed his education, was already working, and even when Mr. Abbas had offered him a position, he turned it down—because he didn't want to be just another employee. He wanted to lead, to be the CEO.
It frustrated Mr. Abbas. Both his children seemed either greedy or unwilling to take real responsibility. And he couldn't let things continue like this.
Mr. Abbas set down his fork and looked straight at Anaya. "I'm giving you one month to bring me a grown-up Nigerian man for marriage. If you don't, I will find someone myself and get you married to him."
Anaya nearly dropped her phone. The air around the dining table felt suddenly heavy, the scent of jollof rice and grilled chicken now meaningless. She looked up at her father, searching his face for any sign that this was some kind of twisted joke.
"Marriage?" she whispered, as if saying it too loudly would make it real.
Rayyan, who had been sitting quietly, finally spoke. "Dad, why are you doing this to her?" His voice carried a rare note of frustration. Even he found this unfair.
Mr. Abbas turned his sharp gaze to him. "Not just her. You too."
Rayyan stiffened. "What?"
"You heard me," his father said firmly.
Rayyan let out a bitter chuckle. "Dad, this is not possible. What has gotten into you?" He didn't like where this conversation was going.
"Watch your tongue, young man," Mr. Abbas warned, his tone unwavering. "Find someone, or I will find someone for you."
"No, Dad, I'm not ready!" Anaya protested. "I have so many things I want to achieve first."
Rayyan shook his head. "Dad, you're making a mistake. You can't make this decision for us."
"If we had known this was why you called us back, we wouldn't have come," Anaya muttered under her breath, crossing her arms.
Their voices overlapped as they continued complaining, frustration thick in the air. Mr. Abbas listened in silence, allowing them to vent. And when their protests finally died down, he rose from his chair, his face unreadable.
"My decision is final."
Without another word, he walked out of the dining room, leaving his children behind—still arguing, still regretting ever coming home.
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This chapter may be brief, but I assure you the next one will be longer, In Shaa Allah.
To be updated tomorrow.