Blood Dirhams Loss of Innocence

Ch.1

I couldn't shake the feeling that something deep down was wrong. I pressed by cheek to my sisters and heard the clicks of the camera before stepping away and out of frame. I should be celebrating after all my 30th birthday was only weeks away and I was just wrapping up the photoshoot for my much anticipated cosmetics launch. This is what I've worked hard and sacrificed so much for, so why was I feeling this way? I watched Mona as I waved an assistant off  taking a bottle of water from her. My beautiful baby sister Mona...at 24 years old a successful high fashion model in Dubai, UAE. The camera loved her as she posed and primped taking a gloss from the collection and applying it while making doe eyes the director snapped away singing his praises. Everyone always loved little Mona I thought ruefully she had a quiet shyness that was often praised by aunties and strangers alike... "Why am I thinking about this" I angrily grabbing my phone from bag and walked to the balcony. Mona watched me go and unreadable expression on her slim face as she turned to the side to look over her shoulder her gaze softening for the camera. 

Despite being sisters we were honestly like night and day. Where Mona was tanned petite and tiny never gaining a pound, I was fair and curvy. I pulled at my thin strapped dress and went to get some air. "Miss Ali, the car will be here in an hour we just need some solo shots of Mona" my assistant called out and I nodded. I had no reason to feel uneasy I was a highly respected sought after makeup artist. I lived in a tower apartment and had drivers, so why do I feel this way?

I know Mona has been hard at work planning my "30th Bash" and would be crushed if she knew that I found out, but Mona can't hide anything from me after all I'm her big sister. I tried to let the impressive view of the Burj Khalifa cheer me up as I stepped into the hot blast of air a contrast from the coolness of the air conditioning. Anyone would kill for this view for this lifestyle... Sighing as I took a seat in the shade crossing my legs and sipping my water. I'd take the burning humidity over depressing grey skies and smog anyway, I'd had enough of rain to last a lifetime...I scoffed at myself why do I keep thinking about that? I leaned back in my seat as my musing were interrupted by a musical chime indicating a new iPhone message. It's probably my just my manager but she usually uses WhatsApp I thought lazily checking my screen. The menacing +44 and trailing number made my stomach clench instantly. I-I don't speak to anyone in the United Kingdom these days I frantically wracked my brain for who it could be. All of my friends are expats in Dubai and the surrounding countries and they all use WhatsApp. 

I slid a shaking finger across the screen to copy the number and past it into google. The search brought up nothing of use so I took a deep breath and opened the message. It was a picture taken of a picture. An old photograph that had been ripped up and hastily tapped together with masking tape. The curled frayed edges and creases looked as if it had been kept in a wallet. A tall striking looking young man stood proudly faint stubble peppering his chin in a deep maroon salwar kameez hand stitched made of glossy chiffon worn for special occasions. The boy had his arm around a shorter fair girl with long dark waves dressed modestly in an aqua saari and with a matching veil round her shoulders. The boy in maroons fingers were dug into the young girls arm in a bruising grip, the pale fabric crinkled under his fingers. A heavy thick pinky ring glinted in the photo of his curled hand. I rubbed at my arm unconsciously as if I felt a phantom pain. The girls face was obscured by furious pen scribbles and had been ripped and retapped. 

"F-Faysal", I practically choked on his name after having fought so long to forget. The girl in aqua in his cruel embrace was me. I could smell his heady cologne in my nostrils musk and smoky amber and I fought a memory that slammed into me. His smirk as he blew a smoke ring and his eyes obsidian much like the stone in his ring. Memories of run down council housing, the smell and grim of the tube, the familiar sounds and streets of Birmingham. Far from the luxurious veneer of a life I carefully crafted here in Dubai. It all began Eid Al Adha in 2013 the day that fractured my life.