ECHOES OF DEFIANCE

chapter 33

I grabbed my luggage, my mind in a whirlwind of emotions, and headed to the airport, desperate to leave Qatar. But when I arrived, I was hit with the crushing news—I wasn’t allowed to leave the country until next month. I felt my world closing in on me.

After causing the biggest scene of my life, shouting at airport staff and demanding explanations, I had no choice but to return to the palace. The weight of frustration and anger was suffocating me.

I walked into the grand sitting room, where my grandfather sat surrounded by his sons, including my father. They were deep in conversation, but the second I entered, all eyes turned to me.

"Billah lan ata zawwaj Mahra!" I yelled, my voice echoing through the vast room. *By Allah, I will not marry Mahra.*

My grandfather raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he responded in Arabic, "And we won’t have an African for a queen."

That one sentence tore through me, igniting a fire I could no longer contain.

"I don’t want the damn throne!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, the anger shaking my voice. My gaze shifted to my father, who had been watching me ever since I walked in. His expression was unreadable, but I could feel his conflict beneath the surface.

"Abba," I said, my voice thick with emotion, "do you really want me to suffer the same fate as you? Do you want my wife to end up like my mother? What has Farhana done to deserve this? She didn’t ask for any of this! She tried to walk away the moment she realized who we are, but you—*you*—went and asked for her hand from her father! Now you expect me to abandon her?"

I was breathing heavily, the frustration and heartache consuming me. "I cannot love anyone else, Abba. I cannot just marry another woman like she means nothing to me. Farhana makes me happy. What is wrong with her being African? She is my heart, my soul. *She is everything.*"

I could feel the exhaustion seeping into my bones, the weight of the last few days pressing down on me. "Amma is sick, not Farhana, even I am supposed  to be there and I deserve to be by my wife's side during this trial period! But I can’t leave until next month. What do you people want from me?"

The room fell silent. My body felt like it had been wrung dry, the energy drained from me. I hated that they were making me talk this much—forcing me to defend the love that has been my only source joy.

"Baba, let him go," my father finally said, his voice steady as he addressed my grandfather.

My grandfather opened his mouth to argue, but my father spoke again, firmer this time. "I won’t let my son live the life you forced me to live. He lost his mother when he was just two months old. I refuse to take away his happiness the way mine was taken."

I saw the dissatisfaction etched into my grandfather’s face, the lines deepening with his disapproval. But he was old, and his desire to hand over the throne to my father had weakened his control. He knew my father no longer cared about the throne either.

"Go," my grandfather finally said, his voice clipped, "but I will not cancel the wedding."

I didn’t even look back at him. Without another word, I stormed out of the room and headed straight for the airport once again.

The flight back to Korea felt agonizingly slow, like time itself had conspired against me. Each second was a step further away from Farhana. But despite the frustration, a part of me felt a sense of relief knowing I would soon see her. I closed my eyes, willing the memories of her smile, her laughter, to soothe me. But the thought of Amma sick and weak, gnawed at my heart.

Three years ago, when we first discovered Amma had cancer, it had nearly destroyed Farhana. She had spent every single night at the hospital with Amma, even though she had school in the morning. She refused to leave Amma’s side, no matter how exhausted she was. I remembered watching from a distance, how she looked so fragile, so sick with worry herself. Back then, we weren’t close—I couldn’t comfort her like I should have.

But this time, it would be different. This time, I would be there for her. I would hold her through it all, never leaving her side.

I leaned back in my seat, feeling the weight of exhaustion pull at my eyelids. I hadn’t slept in 57 hours, but the thought of her kept me awake, my mind racing with all the ways I would take away her pain, fill her life with joy, and make her heart feel safe.

As I finally closed my eyes, I let the image of her, radiant and beautiful, fill my mind. The woman I loved with everything I had. The woman I was willing to fight the world for.

And when I woke up, I prayed we would already be landing in Incheon, so I could run back into her arms, where I belonged.