Bound to the Don

chapter 3

Salma

Today, I woke up early with a sense of purpose, ready to embark on my job search. Following a brief prayer and refresh, I headed downstairs to find the house empty. I assumed everyone was still in their rooms, so I quickly left the house, eager to start my search.

In my haste, I forgot to seek Mom's blessings, but my focus was on reaching Mrs. Kashmir's household, which would take about 45 minutes on foot. Without a phone to receive calls, I was determined to meet her before she left her house.

As I walked, I thought about Mrs. Kashmir, a widow who had worked tirelessly to raise her two children, Arya and Bahu, after her husband's passing. As a prominent and wealthy member of our community, I hoped to find a job opportunity with her that would help support my family.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally arrived at Mrs. Kashmir's residence, which resembled a grand mansion more than a house. I stood frozen in awe, my jaw dropped in wonder. The sheer scale and opulence of the building exceeded my wildest expectations. Despite feeling increasingly nervous, I steeled myself and knocked on the gate twice. A man emerged to inquire about my presence, and I explained my purpose. He granted me entry into the compound and instructed me to wait outside the imposing double doors.

As I stepped inside, the house seemed even more enormous, and I marveled at how Mrs. Kashmir could live there alone. After a brief wait, the man returned and escorted me to the living room. I felt a sudden wave of dizziness wash over me. The opulent interior left me breathless, and I wondered what kind of business Mrs. Kashmir was involved in. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself, determined not to appear flustered in front of her.

As I gazed around the lavish room, I failed to notice a pair of piercing golden-brown eyes fixed on me with disdain and surprise. My heart sank as I realized who it was: Fatima Khalil, my worst nightmare. I felt a surge of fear, anticipating a hurtful comment or one of her signature hateful glares. Fatima rose from the armrest, her eyes never leaving mine, and strode towards me with an air of confidence and superiority, her hand resting on her hip.

Fatima's voice dripped with malice as she spat out her words. "Smelly Salma? What are you doing here?" I felt a pang of hurt; she still insisted on calling me that, never missing an opportunity to humiliate me.

It suddenly dawned on me that Fatima was Mrs. Kashmir's niece – how had I not made that connection before?

I stood there, too stunned to respond, my nervousness spiraling out of control. Fatima's gaze swept over me, from head to toe. Her eyes lingered on my dress, the same one I'd  worn to school countless times, I knew what was coming. "Your signature dress!" she exclaimed, her tone dripping with mockery. "How can you resist wearing it every time? Oh right, because it's your only dress!" She burst into laughter, clearly amused by her own cruelty.

Fatima's smirk grew wider as she taunted me. "Oh, stinky Salma, you reek today! When was the last time you bathed? I'm sure your parents can't even afford water, let alone decent shampoo." Her words cut deep, but it was her jab at my parents that ignited a fire within me. I found the courage to stand up to her.

"How dare you, Fatima!" I exclaimed, my voice firm. "I don't know what's gotten into you today, but I won't let you disrespect my parents and get away with it. And for the last time, I'm not 'smelly' or 'stinky' Salma! My name is SALMA, and I demand you respect it!" I took a deep breath, proud of myself for speaking up, but my triumph was short-lived. Fatima's expression turned menacing, her eyes blazing with fury.

Fatima closed in on me, her eyes blazing with anger. I backed away, my heart racing, until I was trapped against the wall.

She seized my scarf, and I feared she would tear it to shreds. "You insignificant beggar, how dare you address me in such a manner?" she snarled, her voice dripping with contempt.

"You're here to beg, aren't you? Well, I'll make sure you leave here humiliated, your self-respect in tatters. You're a freak, Salma, and you'll regret ever crossing me!" Her face was a picture of fury, her skin flushed a deep red.

Just as Fatima's anger seemed about to boil over,Mrs. Kashmir appeared at the top of the stairs. Fatima released my scarf, took a step back, and shot me a malevolent glare.

Mrs. Kashmir approached me, inserting herself between Fatima and me.

"Are you the young girl who wanted to see me?" she asked. I nodded, trying to gather my courage. "Salamaleikum, Ma'am... I-I'm Salma Siddiqui. I've come to ask for a favor, Ma'am."

Mrs. Kashmir's expression turned warm and inviting. "Salma, what a beautiful name! Please, tell me, what favor can I help you with?" Her bright brown eyes sparkled with kindness.

I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the anger emanating from Fatima. "Mrs. Kashmir, I've come to ask if I can work as a maid. I urgently need the money, and I'm willing to do the cleaning if you'll give me the chance. I promise I'm trustworthy, Ma'am. I really need this job, please..." I spoke rapidly, my words tumbling out in a single breath. Mrs. Kashmir's piercing gaze made me even more nervous as I awaited her response.

Just as she was about to reply, Fatima interrupted, her voice dripping with malice. "You think Salma can be a maid? That's laughable! She's a thief, Auntie. She can't afford anything, so she steals. And she'll steal from you too, mark my words. Don't believe a thing she says; she'll just manipulate you with her fake tears. She's a dropout, and she's nasty. You can ask her yourself." Fatima's smirk grew wider as she turned to me, her eyes gleaming with triumph at my tears.

I couldn't fathom why Fatima was so determined to destroy me. What had I done to earn her malice? I struggled to find the words to defend myself, but all I could muster was a barely audible whisper: "I am not a thief." A lone tear rolled down my cheek.

Fatima's retort was swift and merciless. "Please, Salma, do you think a thief would ever own up to it? Those tears are as fake as your story, Auntie. Don't fall for it!" Fatima's venomous words left me reeling, and I knew I was doomed. There was no way I'd get the job now.

"Salma, I'm conflicted. While you appear to be a decent and flaw-free young woman, my niece's concerns have made me hesitant. I've learned that judging someone by their appearance can be misleading, and I fear that trusting you might end in disappointment."

Mrs. Kashmir paused, collecting her thoughts. "As a mother and a property owner, I must be cautious. I'm sorry, Salma, but I won't be able to offer you the position. Please know that it's not a reflection on you, but rather a necessary precaution." She gave me a regretful smile.

I refused to give up. "Please, Ma'am, I'm begging you, just give me a chance to prove myself. I won't disappoint you, Mrs. Kashmir," I pleaded, tears welling up in my eyes.

However, Mrs. Kashmir's decision was irreversible. "No, Salma. I'm afraid my mind is made up. Please leave my house." Her tone was firm but laced with a hint of disappointment.

Why did Fatima have to show up today, of all days? And why was I rejected so brutally? I'd arrived early, hoping to make a good impression, and had swallowed my pride to beg for a chance. Now, I'd leave with my self-respect in tatters. Fatima would surely gossip about my humiliation to her friends, and they'd probably envy her for witnessing my downfall.

I couldn't bring myself to ask God, "Why me?" when my parents' struggles far surpassed my own. I regret not seeking Mami's blessings before leaving; perhaps things would have turned out differently. Now, I wandered aimlessly, my stomach empty and my self-esteem battered. I yearned for a better life, and my heart cried out to God.

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Edited: 25/11/2024

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Meanwhile Fatima is so mean .....

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