The wife he never expected to love

Amira knew something was wrong the moment her mother asked her to sit down. It was late in the evening, and the house was unusually quiet. Her father had already gone to bed, and her younger brothers were in the next room arguing over the television. Her mother sat across from her, both hands wrapped tightly around a cup of tea that had already gone cold. “Amira.” She looked up from the embroidery she had been working on. “Yes, Mama?” Her mother hesitated. That was what frightened her. Her mother was not a woman who struggled to speak. She was usually direct, even when the truth was uncomfortable. Tonight, she kept looking down at her hands. “What happened?” “Nothing happened.” “Then why are you looking at me like that?” Her mother sighed. “There is something we need to discuss.” Amira put the embroidery aside. “Okay.” Her mother reached for an envelope on the table. It was thick. Too thick. Amira stared at it. “What is that?” Her mother pushed it toward her. “Open it.” She did. The first page contained a name she didn't recognize. Prince Zayyan Al-Rashid. Amira frowned. She read the name again. Then she looked at her mother. “Who is this?” Her mother swallowed. “He is from a very wealthy family.” “That doesn't answer my question.” “He is a prince.” Amira stared at her. Then laughed once, because surely her mother was joking. “Mama.” “I am serious.” The laughter disappeared from Amira's face. Her eyes dropped back to the papers. There were photographs, formal documents, details about his family and their business interests. She turned another page. Then another. Her heart began beating faster. “What am I supposed to do with this?” Her mother didn't answer immediately. Amira looked at her. “Mama?” Her mother's eyes filled with tears. “They have asked for your hand in marriage.” The room seemed to become very quiet. Amira stared at her mother. “No.” Her mother closed her eyes. “Amira—” “No.” She pushed the papers away. “No. You can't be serious.” “We have already spoken to them.” Amira stood. “You've spoken to them?” Her voice cracked. “Without me?” Her mother stood too. “Listen to me.” “No, you listen to me.” Amira's hands were trembling now. “You're telling me that some man I've never met wants to marry me, and you've already discussed it with his family?” “He can give you a good life.” Amira laughed bitterly. “I didn't ask for a good life from a stranger.” Her mother looked away. “We are struggling, Amira.” That silenced her. Her mother continued quietly. “You know what this family is going through. Your father's business is barely surviving. Your brothers need school fees. We have debts.” Amira's eyes filled with tears. “So you're marrying me off to solve them?” “No.” Her mother's voice broke. “We are trying to make sure you don't struggle the way we have.” Amira shook her head. “I don't understand.” “He is wealthy. His family is respected. You will have everything you need.” “Everything except a choice.” Her mother had no answer. And that was the answer. Amira slowly sat back down. She looked at the photograph again. Zayyan Al-Rashid. He looked serious. Distant. The kind of man who seemed as though he had never had to explain himself to anyone. She had never met him. Never spoken to him. Yet somehow, her future had already been discussed. Her mother reached across the table and took her hand. “I am sorry.” Amira looked at her. For a moment, she wanted to be angry. Instead, she saw how tired her mother looked. That made it worse. “When?” she whispered. Her mother squeezed her hand. “They want to meet you tomorrow.” Amira looked down. “Tomorrow?” “Yes.” She nodded slowly. “Okay.” Her mother looked surprised. “You're agreeing?” Amira swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don't know what I'm doing.” She looked toward the window. “But apparently it doesn't matter anymore.” The following afternoon, Amira stood in front of the mirror in a simple cream-colored dress. She didn't want to look like she had dressed for a wedding. She didn't want to look eager. She just wanted to look like herself. Her long dark hair fell over her shoulders, and she wore very little makeup. Her mother entered the room. “You look beautiful.” Amira gave her a small smile. “I don't feel beautiful.” Her mother stepped behind her and adjusted the fabric around her shoulders. “You don't have to decide anything today.” Amira met her mother's eyes in the mirror. “Do I?” Her mother looked away. That was enough. The meeting took place at a private residence belonging to the Al-Rashid family. Amira had never seen anything like it. The gates opened slowly, revealing a long driveway surrounded by perfectly maintained gardens. She felt uncomfortable before she even stepped out of the car. Everything looked expensive. Perfect. Untouchable. Her father touched her shoulder. “Be respectful.” Amira nodded. Inside, they were greeted by several members of the household. Then a woman approached them. She was elegant, probably in her fifties, with a warm smile. “Amira?” “Yes.” The woman smiled. “I am Zayyan's mother.” Amira greeted her respectfully. “It is nice to meet you.” Her future mother-in-law touched her arm gently. “Come. Don't be nervous.” Amira almost laughed. Too late. They sat together for several minutes. His mother asked about her family, her interests and what she liked doing. For the first time that day, Amira felt like someone was actually talking to her rather than discussing her. “You're interested in fashion?” his mother asked. “A little.” “A little?” Amira smiled shyly. “I like designing clothes.” “You should show me sometime.” Before Amira could answer, the room became quiet. Someone had entered. She looked toward the doorway. A tall man walked into the room wearing a dark suit. Zayyan. He greeted the older members of the family before his eyes landed on her. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Amira had imagined many things about him. None of them prepared her for how intimidating he was in person. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't rude either. Just... unreadable. His mother gestured toward Amira. “Zayyan, this is Amira.” He nodded. “Hello.” “Hello.” He sat across from her. Their parents began discussing the marriage. Amira listened quietly. Zayyan listened too. Then, unexpectedly, he interrupted. “Can I speak with her alone?” Everyone became silent. His mother looked at him. “Of course.” The room slowly emptied. When the door closed behind them, Amira sat rigidly. Zayyan leaned back. “I want to ask you something.” She nodded. “Do you want this?” She stared at him. The question caught her completely off guard. “What?” “The marriage.” Amira looked down at her hands. “I don't know you.” “I know.” “My family wants it.” “I know.” She looked up. “And yours?” “My family thinks it's appropriate.” She gave a small, humorless smile. “So that's it?” He was quiet. “No.” “What is it, then?” Zayyan looked at her for several seconds. “I don't want a wife who feels trapped.” Her eyes stung. “Then why are we here?” He didn't answer immediately. Finally, he said, “Because sometimes families make decisions before the people involved have a chance to.” Amira looked at him carefully. For the first time since this began, she saw something human in him. Not a prince. Not a wealthy man. Just a man who seemed uncertain about the situation too. “I don't know what I'm supposed to say,” she admitted. “You don't have to say anything today.” She looked at him. “Really?” “Yes.” A pause. “But if you do agree to this, I want you to understand something.” “What?” “I won't expect you to become someone you're not.” Amira lowered her eyes. Outside the room, she could hear their families quietly talking. Her future was waiting on the other side of the door. She took a slow breath. “I need time.” Zayyan nodded. “Take it.” And for the first time that day, Amira felt as though someone had actually given her a choice. Even if she wasn't sure how much that choice would change anything.