Chapters One: the interview 

I walked down the stairs to find my sister, Ruqayya, and her husband, Umar, murmuring something. "Good morning," I said to them, glancing at the time and considering whether I should stay for breakfast or not. I had an interview at 9 am, and it was already eight.

"Good morning, dear," Umar, my sister's husband, replied hastily, appearing visibly nervous. I found it odd that he didn't join us at the table for breakfast.

"I don't think I have time for breakfast. I'm running really late," I said, picking up a spear of the house  keys and slipping them into my bag.

"Your interview is at 9 am, right?" My sister asked, and I nodded. "Don't worry about it. Just sit, Umar will drop you off. I actually need to talk to you about something," Ruqayya said, sounding serious and conflicted.

"Okay," I replied, pulling out a dining chair and taking a seat.

My elder sister and I had lost our parents in a car accident when we were very young. I was 12, and she was 18. After our parents' death, she took care of me with the help of Umar and his family. 

Umar, our family friend, was already betrothed to my sister before our parents' passing. After they died, Umar's family took us in and cared for us until Umar and Ruqayya were independent enough to get married.

After their marriage, I moved in with them, and together they worked hard to provide for me as if I were their own child.

I watched my sister take a deep breath before she spoke, "Do you remember how you said you've always admired me and Umar, and how you didn't want to go through the stress of dating random strangers?" she asked, and I nodded, trying to guess where she was going with this, but I had no idea.

"And do you remember saying you wanted an arranged marriage?" She asked again, and I nodded, narrowing my eyes as I stared at her.

A smile appeared on her face as she said, "Consider your wish granted."

Confused, I gave her a puzzled look. I had no clue what she was talking about. "What wish?" I asked, wondering what she meant.

"Umar and I have arranged your marriage," my sister said, and my heart sank. "What do you mean?" I asked, glancing at the time. I was already running late.

"I don't have time for your early morning jokes. I'm late for my interview," I said, standing up from the chair.

"I'm serious. You're getting married in 10 days," she said, looking serious, but I had a strong feeling she was joking. She couldn't possibly be serious, I thought, laughing it off.

"Umar, I'm ready. Your wife said you're driving me to the interview," I said as soon as I saw Umar walk into the dining area from the living room. He gave his wife an inquiring stare, and she responded with a disappointed look. I pretended not to notice the exchange of glances between them.

"Let me grab my keys," Umar said, picking up his car keys and giving his wife a peck on the cheek.

"I'm going to see Mr. Mukhtar after I drop her off," Umar said to my sister, who nodded.

My sister got to her feet and approached me, sensing my impatience. All I could think about at that moment was not missing my interview. I had been searching for a job for over a year, and this was my first interview call.

"We'll talk about this when you, get back?" She asked as I nodded

Walking out the door and heading straight to Umar's car, I got into the car and couldn't help but wonder if my sister was serious. Even my parents had sought her consent before arranging her marriage to Umar, despite how close they were.

As I glanced at Umar, I noticed he struggled to put the key in the car ignition. He seemed nervous, avoiding eye contact with me, which made me suspect that my sister's words were true. I wanted to ask him about it, but he was already uncomfortable, and I didn't want to make him feel worse.

"To change the subject, how is Mr. Mukhtar's health?" I asked, trying to ease the tension. Umar had always been like an older brother to me, even before he married my sister. He had always been there for us.

"He is recovering," Umar replied, referring to his boss who was sick.

"He was diagnosed with cancer," Umar continued, driving out of the garage. My heart sank as I heard those words. I didn't know Mr. Mukhtar well, but I had heard he was one of the best bosses. He was a kind old man who treated his workers like family. I had only met him once when he visited my sister in the hospital after her miscarriage. He had generously provided us with financial assistance and paid for the hospital bills.

It broke my heart to hear that he had cancer. "What stage is it?" I asked, hoping for an early and curable diagnosis.

"He has less than a month to live," Umar replied, and my heart sank even further.

"Why do good people die early?" I murmured, thinking about my parents at that moment.

"Look through the map, are we here?" Umar said, parking in front of a tall skyscraper with a billboard that read "Sparks Enterprise."

"Yes, this is it," I said, rushing out of the car. I turned to look at Umar, who appeared conflicted, as if he had something to tell me but couldn't find the right words.

"See you at home," I said to him, and he nodded. I walked through the doors of the building and headed straight to the receptionist. "Good morning, I am here for an interview," I said as soon as I greeted her.

"What position?" she asked, and I replied, "Marketer."

I watched her type a few things into her computer before she said, "Can you go to the next building?" She pointed to a twin building opposite the one we were in. I nodded in response.

Walking out of the door and crossing the narrow road between the buildings, I was relieved that Umar had dropped me off. My heels were definitely not made for commuting by bus. As I made my way to the other building, a sudden horn interrupted my thoughts. I looked to the road and saw a C-class car dangerously close to me, its driver wearing a smirk on their face.

"What rubbish!" I thought, quickly rushing away from the street and towards the other building.

The entrance of the other building had no receptionist. It was a large space with an elevator in the middle. I looked around, hoping to find someone who could guide me. If I had known, I would have asked the receptionist in the previous building for directions.

I walked towards the doorman and politely asked, "Excuse me, good morning. I am here for an interview. Where should I go?" The man by the door seemed as clueless as I was.

"11th floor," a man walking through the door replied. I looked in the direction of his voice and realized it was the same man who had almost hit me with his car.

I gave him a disapproving lookII gave him a disapproving look, murmuring a curt "thank you" before walking to the elevator. He asked me to hold the lift, and reluctantly, I let him join me. Pressing the 11th button, I moved to the back of the elevator, standing quietly.

"Sorry about earlier," the man said, turning to glance at me. I couldn't pretend that it hadn't scared me. "It's fine," I whispered, unable to force a smile. Frankly, I didn't think I needed to.

"Are you here for an interview?" he asked, glancing back at me again. All I wished for was the elevator to open without having to engage in a conversation with this man.

"Yes," I whispered, and just as he was about to say something else, the elevator doors opened on the 11th floor, and I quickly jumped out.

Saved by the ding, I thought, walking towards the receptionist on the floor. "I am here for an interview," I said to the receptionist, who nodded in acknowledgment.

"What's your name, please?" she asked, and I replied, "Fatima Farouk." "Okay," she said, typing my name on the computer.

"Alright, please hold on. The HR is just walking in," she said, looking past me at someone approaching from behind.

"Good morning, sir," she greeted the person, forcing me to turn around. To my surprise, it was the man who had almost hit me earlier.

My heart sank as I realized that he was the HR. I quickly tried to recall if I had been rude to him in any way.

Without even acknowledging the receptionist, he walked past us and headed straight to his office. "Rude," I thought, sitting on a bench beside the reception area and waiting for him to call me in.

I sat there for almost an hour, waiting to be called in. The receptionist occasionally glanced at me, as if she felt sorry for the delay caused by the HR. 

"I could remind him that you're here," the very polite receptionist offered, walking towards his office. Just as she was about to knock on the door, it swung open, and the man inside said, "Tell her to come in." She smiled at me, and I got to my feet, entering his office.

"Good morning, sir," I greeted him as I entered. He glanced at me briefly before returning his attention to the computer in front of him.

"Please, have a seat," he said, his focus still fixed on the screen. I found a place to sit, but he remained silent for over a minute. He seemed engrossed in his computer, making me wonder why I was asked to come at 9 a.m. if the HR wasn't going to be ready.

I started to feel irritated by the HR's behavior, especially since I could hear the sound of Candy Crush coming from his obviously fake earphones.

"Was he testing my patience?" I wondered, observing how he deliberately wasted my time.

Glancing at the time, I noticed it was already approaching noon. I had wasted two hours without any meaningful interaction. 

Suppressing the urge to walk out, I reassured myself that patience was a virtue. Finally, he raised his head from the computer screen and said, "Tell me about yourself." His action felt condescending, and I took a deep breath before responding.

"My name is Fatima Farouk. I am a graduate of social psychology, with honors, from the University of...," I began, but he interrupted me.

"We'll get back to you," he stated abruptly, without allowing me to finish my statement. I found his behavior rude and annoying. Without saying a word, I promptly stood up and walked away. I was almost certain I wouldn't be offered the job, and despite my initial desperation, I couldn't help but feel relieved.