The Untamed Sheikh (a Fazza novel)

Chapter 15: Pros and Cons

***

Hurting one's feelings is more painful than the wounds of betrayal. If that is something normal for you, then you have nothing to do in my life.

Even if you forget about me, I won't forget about you, even if you were inhuman.

You are cruel when you speak. You don't know what compassion is when you tear me down with your bitter words. You don't know what tenderness is, or its meaning, because when you are wronged you blame me instead.

When did you become unkind? What made you go down that path?

Patience has its limits and mines has come. For love is alive within me but I can never show it to you because your cruelty is bigger than love.

***

I sat in my room and continued with my poetry. Most of the poems I wrote were mostly directed toward my mom. She never knew about it and nor did my sister know, though she was aware I loved writing poetry.

Sitting on the floor, barefoot, and trying to refine my latest poem, I got up and stepped out into the terrace that overlooked the entire palace's property. From afar I could see the Dubai skyline, the Burj Khalifa skyscraper standing out.

My phone started ringing and it was Piper, but I decided not to answer. I sat down on the bench and took off my tank top and let the warm air circulate all around me. I had a feeling my skin was getting tanner by the second because the Dubai heat was intense – more intense than L.A. weather.

My dad showed up, wearing gray sweat pants and a white Nike t-shirt. I half expected him to be in a Kandoura like most Emirati men but this time he was casual and did not appear like he had the entire weight of the world on his shoulders. Then it hit me that as the son of the crown prince of Dubai, that responsibility would likely fall on me. And that was where the con in this whole situation came.

I was not prince material and I still felt the stinging wounds of this crown of thorns that was forcefully put on me.

"Habibi, what are you doing here alone?"

"Nothing" I said, closing my notebook where all my poems were written. "Just thinking."

"About?" he sat next to me. "And what you got written in that notebook?"

"Nothing important" I said, feeling somewhat scared now because it was dawning on me yet again that my dad was an important figure and I would in some way always be in his shadow like I was in my mom's.

"Are you sure?" he chuckled. "Cause it seems like you're guarding it like a prized possession."

"I just write personal stuff."

"Like?"

I looked at him, staring into his big dark eyes. "They're poems."

"Can I read them?" he asked, excitedly.

"No, I don't think they're quite as good as yours."

"Come on, I'm sure they're good."

"Knock yourself out" I tossed the notebook and he caught it swiftly and smoothly. "Wow, that was a nice catch."

"What can I say, I love sports" he smiled.