Chapter 4 Mahjub Al-makki

• Mahjub Al-Makki
• Four years have passed since the day Hope hit me at the entrance of the conference, the day I broke her heart and realized I was doing the worst thing I could. At that moment outside, when I heard her speak and felt the pain she was feeling, I felt miserable for destroying the heart of an innocent girl.
• Even knowing that Hope was being prepared to be my wife one day, I didn’t imagine the depth of it. I imagined that, like me, she would be far from feeling anything for me. After all, if we saw each other three times a year, it was a lot.
• We went to the conference, so I could apologize to her father, but before I could go in, she appeared, coming out of the building. It would have been perfect, but I didn’t count on her reaction. Seeing her eyes fill with tears, I realized.
• Hope was in love. She had feelings for me, the man who was photographed with a different woman every week, embarrassing my parents who had a commitment with her parents. It was the opportunity I needed to just apologize to her for what I had done.
• I didn’t care about my face being full of bruises, since my parents had punished me in a way they never had before. But of all the beatings I received from my parents, the one that hurt the most was the punch I got from Hope. Her hurt look was not what I expected.
• After all, at that time, she was only sixteen years old. Even knowing she was being prepared for a marriage with me, I was sure she must have had some relationship outside of this madness our parents orchestrated. In my mind, I was convinced that Hope must have had a boyfriend at school.
• I didn’t think Hope was unattractive—quite the opposite, she is a beautiful woman. But at that time, I was in a phase where many things bothered me, and knowing that my rebellion would affect my parents was exactly what I wanted. However, all it caused was the end of our engagement and her estrangement from her parents.
• Hope was already a beautiful girl when we were engaged, but now she is stunning—not just because she has become one of the principal ballerinas at the Bolshoi. Hope is the only woman who managed to construct an entire building with a billboard displaying her beautiful face in my mind.
• Her reaction made me realize how foolish I had been, and now I need to win back the girl who lives in my head. Since she left for Moscow and began her performances, I’ve tried everything to find a way to get closer to her, but I haven’t had any chance to be near her and talk.
• Today, I am here in Moscow to watch one of her performances, and coincidentally, it’s her twentieth birthday. It wasn’t planned for me to be here on her exact birthday, but I used my influence to ensure my business took place during this week in Europe. I took advantage of having a friend here and invited her to accompany me to the ballet.
• I can’t deny to myself that on that day, when I received all her anger on my face, she became someone truly special to me. Someone I should not have hurt the way I did.
• But I had a problem on my hands—my family. They became opposed to my attempts to get close to Hope, and the Luca family did everything possible to keep me away from the oil princess. This explains why all my attempts were thwarted.
• I believe it wasn't just Mattia and Alessa de Luca who hindered me from approaching Hope. I'm convinced that someone named Carolina Alcântara Al-Makki is also interfering.
• I sigh in frustration at being obstructed by my own mother. I understand the anger everyone felt when the video of my sexual escapade ended up on the internet. It was hard for everyone to explain why the heir of Sheikh Al-Makki, a Muslim, was in a nightclub with two women practically engaging in sexual acts in full view of everyone.
• As if the video of the woman performing oral sex on me wasn't bad enough, the punch Hope gave me was also filmed, and in less than an hour, it had more views than the clips of major international singers, worsening my situation with my family.
• The incident cost me the trust of my grandparents and especially my father, Hassan, who couldn't accept that I had lost a beautiful girl who was supposed to become my wife. If it weren't for my father, Bruno, I think I would still be treated as the family member who should remain exiled in Antarctica. Babi Bruno made the greatest effort to reunify the family.
• For almost two years, I was looked at with disdain, barely receiving a word from my mother. My father, Hassan, didn't look at me for three years, let alone say anything to me. On my twenty-fifth birthday, he wasn't present. He stayed in Brazil, saying that I didn't deserve his presence.
• Since then, I have sought redemption with Allah and implored Him to make my family forgive me. This process continues, rebuilt grain by grain. I know they will never fully trust me again, but I will do my best day by day. The trust of my father is like the grains of sand in the desert that surrounds our home—there are still many grains to collect.
• I finish tying my bow tie, feeling strange not seeing myself in the traditional clothes of my people. But to get close to Hope, I can't be in my usual attire, or she will simply walk away, as she did last year when I went to Paris. When she saw me arriving, she just stood up and left the front row.
• I always try to find out something about her life, but I have a feeling—in fact, I am certain—that my mother asked my cousin Gaia to complicate any way I might discover information about Hope.
• I am even barred from participating in the business dealings with the Oil Company. Only my grandfather continues to communicate with the Luca family, as I brought shame to everyone.
• "Are you still not ready, Mahjub?" I look at Pietra and smile at her.
• "I'm nervous..." I say, passing the prayer beads between my fingers.
• "Stop being an idiot, you are handsome and have matured a lot in the last four years," she says, smoothing the fabric of my tuxedo.
• “This will be the first time that... that...” I stutter, feeling the nervousness threaten to take over.
• I see Pietra laughing at my distress, and I sit on the edge of my bed, trying to control my breathing.
• “Do you want me to call Zara?” she asks, and I shake my head.
• “She can’t do anything at this moment.” I close my eyes and start passing the prayer beads of my masbaha through my fingers.
• Unfortunately, it’s a bit shorter now; I couldn’t find all the beads. But I kept and used all the ones I did find to remake the gift Hope had once given me. Feeling a bit less anxious, I stood up from the bed and took Pietra’s hand, who smiled encouragingly at me.
• “Let’s go; it’s almost time for the performance,” I say.
• I gather all my belongings and lead my sister’s best friend to join me in watching a performance by the ballerina whose heart I broke and who I am now in love with.
• We head to the theater, which features a huge billboard of Hope in her performance attire, balanced on the tips of her ballet shoes, announcing that this would be the final performance of the season.
• Pietra was wearing a dark dress, making her look lovely, but not nearly as attractive as Hope. I manage to enter with her through a more exclusive entrance, which provides us with a bit more privacy, away from the lenses of the paparazzi.
• I glance around, silently praying to Allah that no one recognizes me. I don’t need another headline with my name splashed across it. I don’t want to disappoint my parents again.
• As we enter the theater, my thoughts wander to what I had prepared for her earlier. I had arranged for a bouquet of white flowers and a card to be delivered to her apartment to celebrate her birthday, just as I had done in previous years.
• I have been doing my best to make amends, and each year I send a bouquet of flowers to her apartment, hoping she receives and appreciates them.
• With Pietra's arm linked through mine, we managed to enter the box without attracting the attention of paparazzi or others who might recognize me. I thank Allah for this.
• “Calm down, your masbaha will lose its color with how much you’re passing the beads through your fingers,” she teases, as I pull out a chair for her to sit.
• We were seated right in front of the stage. I knew that if she focused on me, she would recognize me, and that’s my intention—for her to see me, to allow me to get a little closer so we can talk.
• “Do you think she received the flowers?” I asked my friend.
• Pietra usually has a sense of humor and patience that I only see in my grandfather, but I know that today, if she could, she would hit me with a chair. As a good friend, she just rolls her eyes and hands me the program for the performance.
• With the program in my hands, I study the schedule for the evening. It will be a performance of Swan Lake, and she will be in every act, as she is the lead character. The theater lights dim, and I begin to look at all the boxes closest to the stage. I notice that in the first box, her mother is smiling and waving to someone in the audience.
• Pietra notices too. I see her stretching her body to look for someone who might be a familiar face, but like me, she can't identify anyone and sits back down.
• My heartbeat quickens at the sound of the overture. The curtains open, and the performance begins with Hope appearing beautifully on stage, her costume immaculate for her presentation. I smile at the girl who has become the center of my universe over the past few years, the woman I let slip away due to my immaturity and my enormous ego, thinking I was all-powerful because of who I am.
• Hurting the girl who was chosen for me had a profound impact on my life and my family. I had to accept that I could only watch her from afar, getting to know her through the eyes of others, which was more difficult and painful than I had imagined.
• Each new photo I received, seeing her smile at gifts that should have been mine to give, at declarations that should have been mine to make, was a torture far worse than what my family did to me. I was a fool, irresponsible, and an idiot. I know my father feels ashamed of what I did to the daughter of a business partner...