Hidden : Under the masks ( english version)

Chapiter 3 -Tidiane-

Despite the GPS instructions, I find myself lost in the vastness of this city. The avenues seem to stretch on endlessly, yet I take a certain pleasure in this aimless wandering, enjoying the unexpected drive in the imposing Ford I'm steering. After what feels like an eternity, I finally reach my destination. I park in front of a grand building that the GPS identifies as White Dubai.

Exiting the vehicle, keys in hand, I approach the entrance, presenting my identification to security before stepping inside. Immediately, a wave of deafening music and strobe lights overwhelms me.

Is this a joke? How am I supposed to find them in such a crowd? I wondered as I scanned the sea of unfamiliar faces. There must be VIP lounges somewhere.

Wasting no time, I set off in search of these exclusive spaces, opening each lounge door one by one.

After fifteen unsuccessful attempts, I finally spot them. Salima, standing on a table cluttered with whiskey glasses or some other liquor I couldn't recognize despite their being Muslims, is dancing wildly. In the room, Rashid and his friends are inhaling what appears to be cocaine without any restraint.

Salima, in her black dress adorned with puffed lace sleeves scattered with butterflies of the same color, sways seductively to the hypnotic rhythm of the music. Her long, curly brown hair floats with each movement. She seems lost in the moment, carefree, a radiant smile lighting up her face. Her light brown eyes, rounded nose, and fair skin remind me of the elegance of the Turkish actress Afra Saraçoğlu. I stand there, frozen in the doorway, watching her lose herself amidst the boys' whistles and her friends' applause.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from her, and Rashid, noticing this, immediately called out to me.

"Hey, you! What are you doing here?" he shouted, rising abruptly.

Salima stopped dancing immediately and turned to face me, her piercing gaze locking onto mine. She took a step back and stumbled. Without thinking, I rushed forward, heart pounding, and managed to catch her just in time. My hands firmly grasping her arms, her hair brushed against my face, its intoxicating scent clouding my thoughts. Our eyes met at an unnervingly close distance.

Good God, what a brown!

Regaining my composure, I released her at once and declared in a steady voice, "I am your new driver. Mr. Al-Maktoum sent me. Please hurry, we need to arrive before the guests."

Rashid, now calmed, scrutinized me for a moment before giving me a friendly pat on the back, signaling his acceptance of my presence. He then headed for the exit, closely followed by Salima, who, despite herself, kept glancing at me as if trying to decipher something in me.

What are you doing, Tidiane? Get a grip.

As we found ourselves stuck in traffic, Salima sighed, opened her window, and pulled a cigarette from her bag. I watched her in the rearview mirror and quickly turned my attention back to the road when she snapped, "What?"

"That's right, keep your eyes on the road. Just drive, it's better that way," she added.

Bold. I suddenly like her less.

"Sorry, miss," I retorted.

"Do I look forty to you? Why are you calling me 'miss'?"

"Can you shut up?" Rashid yelled at his sister, elbowing her. "Sorry," he added, looking at me. "She's had too much to drink. You better hope Dad doesn't see you like this."

"Who cares! I couldn't care less," she muttered as she dozed off, the indifference in her voice palpable.

I sighed then, too loudly, in fact. I realized Rashid had heard it and quickly apologized.

"Don't worry, I know how much of a pain she can be."

He took the cigarette from her lips, laid back comfortably in his seat, and placed it between his own. Throughout the journey, Rashid kept questioning me about my life: where I was from, why I wanted this job, and so many other details.

I answered, but remained faithful to the cover story Safiatou and I had carefully crafted.

Mrs. Latifa greeted us at the entrance, her piercing gaze fixed on her daughter, who was still slightly inebriated, though she was beginning to regain some semblance of lucidity.

"Look at you!" she exclaimed furiously. "Go freshen up," she added, running a hand through her daughter's hair with a mixture of disdain and tenderness.

Suddenly, Safiatou appeared, carrying a tray laden with confections and glasses of juice, carefully covered.

"Madam..." she murmured in a soft, soothing voice.

Mrs. Latifa turned around, giving Rashid the opportunity to discreetly lead his sister to her room.

"On that table," she ordered, pointing precisely to the spot.

"Yes, madam," Safiatou replied, obeying without hesitation.

I approached her slowly, placing my hands on her hips with feigned familiarity, my lips brushing against her neck in a calculated gesture, imitating the tenderness of a married couple.

"I hope the drive was smooth," she murmured before planting a light kiss on my cheek.

Mrs. Latifa finally left the room, a bag in hand. She wouldn't be attending the little "party" to come, as she had to prepare to present the nine o'clock news on Al Arabiya.