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"You are my eldest child, Amir Qasim. You have responsibilities that lies on your shoulders—responsibilities that you cannot ignore." Sultan Muhammad Haroon II stated, his voice firm and his gaze steel like which he fixated on his son, seated in front of his on the Persian rug that decorated the floor of his private chambers.
Amir Qasim kept his head hung low, his lips slanted into a deep frown as a grim line formed between his brows. His heart was raging behind his ribcage, and uneasiness dawned upon him like a shroud. "Baba," He started, his voice low, and foreign to his own ears. He found himself releasing a slightly shaky breath before he then added, "I have never, not once in my twenty-four years of life, disrespected you, or gone against your wishes."
Sultan Muhammad nodded his head in agreement, "That is right," He ascertained, though his tone remained firm, already knowing where this conversation would lead to. "But, Qasim, your responsibility towards me as your father, and that towards your people are two different things. Yanxu, magana nake ma a matsayin Yerima. As the Crown Prince, you should know where your responsibilities lies to your people."
Amir Qasim took in another breath, his heart aching painfully behind his ribcage as he shook his head. "I cannot." He uttered, his voice small.
"Amir Qasim..." Sultan Muhammad warned, his voice becoming colder. "...I am not forcing you to do something out of your reach here." He stated, unable to understand where all these acts and emotions are coming from Qasim. "This is not something new. I went through it with your mother, the other Sultans before me went through it, bawani abu sabo bane."
"Baba, kayi haquri," Amir Qasim shook his head once again, and with every breath he takes, he felt suffocated even more having this conversation with his father. It is not exactly the topic that makes him sick to the core. Rather, it is the people involved in the picture. "Bazan iya ba. I cannot do it."
"Amir--"
"Baba, I am sorry--"
"—QASIM!" Sultan Muhammad's raging voice came, halting the words that were about to escape the lips of the young prince. He has heard those words one too many times, and has tried to understand where those words are coming from but he has come to a realization—it is all futile. It does not matter how soft he is trying to be with the young prince—if he does down that road, he will not be able to get what he wants.
