WHISPERS OF ENCHANTÉ

19: sheet of paper

Kaduna State, Nigeria.

Mahmud had been waiting two whole days for that apology letter. At first, it was just a silly game, but as time went on, he realized he was actually expecting it. He wanted her to write that letter, to send it however she could. But she didn't.

Then again, he'd expected that too. And that part of him —the part that couldn't stand being disrespected as the firstborn— was triggered. There was something about messing with the maid that made him itch to do something.

Life had been boring lately, filled only with the strategy of the game and endless flights with his team. He wanted something to break the monotony, even if it was at the expense of a maid in his father's house.

Fun is fun, right?

Besides the game and his teammates, Mahmud didn't have much else going on. And with this season being his last, he figured he might as well squeeze in as much fun as he could before he was shackled with more responsibilities.

After all, he was set to take over his father's company soon. The old man had been on his back about it, reminding him that thirty years of doing whatever he wanted was more than enough. Ahmad wouldn't take up that mantle, so it was all on Mahmud.

Truthfully, Mahmud didn't want Ahmad to leave the team. Ahmad was a vital asset, and more than that, football was Ahmad's whole life. Take that away, and what would his brother have left? Nothing.

Mahmud knew the role he had to play from the beginning: to eventually take over Wambai Group, even though he and his siblings had managed to evade their father's grip for years.

His other siblings from his father's second marriage were too young to step into the business world. And it wasn't like Alhaji Mukhtar Wambai would trust them anyway; he only trusted Mahmud, even if he rarely showed it.

Their relationship might have been strained, but when it came down to it, his father would put everything on the line for his firstborn. Not that anyone knew this, least of all Mahmud.

Rolling out of bed, he took a quick shower. Ahmad had disappeared to God knows where, likely playing around with his usual crew. You'd never find Mahmud with them.

He casually threw on an army-green polo shirt and his favorite sweatpants before strolling out of their apartment towards the main house. He had two things on his agenda: see his mother and find that elusive village maid to make sure she knew her place.

And no, he wasn't just some spoiled rich kid.

Okay, maybe he was, once. But this wasn't about family wealth... was it? No, this was about his ego, bruised just enough to shake his sense of power. And he couldn't have that.

Maybe he just needed to make someone else's life a little miserable to feel a bit better about his own. Maybe this particular person intrigued him for some reason, even though he knew nothing would ever come of it with a maid. A villager, no less.

Mahmud stepped into the main house, asking a few of the staff where his mother might be. It wasn't long before he figured out she was in the kitchen, which made him pause for a moment.

What could she possibly be doing there? He hadn't seen his mother in the kitchen in ages; she usually left that domain entirely to the maids.

Curious, he walked toward the kitchen, the faint clatter of dishes and hurried footsteps growing louder.

As he rounded the corner, he saw her standing in the middle of the bustling room, directing the maids with sharp, precise instructions, her tone carrying that unmistakable edge he'd learned to recognize over the years.