Breaking Her Walls

░Eleven░

ABDALLAH

I tap my feet against the ceramic tile, contemplating whether to go inside or not. I know for sure that the girl will be a spoiled brat.

But I do need to get married to someone. I'd rather it be someone I know than someone of my mother's choice.

I have vague memories of her but from what I remember, she was a good child. A chatterbox, but good. And innocent. Lord knew that every society lacked that.

I want to have a simple relationship with my wife. No drama and absolutely no complications.

She will probably have the usual rich girl problems. Clothes. Shoes. Or whatever the hell girls want.

I'm fine with that. I already have too much on my plate to deal with the problems of another person.

With a brief glance towards my car, I loosen up my tie a bit and stride inside the cafe.

My eyes wander around the whole place, finally resting on an overly dressed up girl. I try to suppress the disappointment rising within me.

I see these kinds of girls every day. Seeking attention from men. I honestly don't even find them attractive.

Fine, maybe I do find some of them attractive.

But that's only because of my stupid hormones that don't die no matter how old I am.

With a deep breath, I approach the table.

The girl immediately looks up and gives me what seems like a nonchalant half-smile. Pretending my good looks don't bother her.

But I can see when someone likes me. And she definitely does.

"Sophia," I say and give a nod of greeting.

She narrows her eyes in accusation. 

"It's Sana. Not Sophia."

Uh oh.

Guess I got the wrong one.

"I'm sorry," I say and search the cafe for the actual Sophia.

There are so many girls in here. How the hell am I supposed to find her?

A grin spreads across my face. 

"Sophia!" I shout, loud and clear.

Everyone turns to look at me. Casting me curious and annoyed looks.

My eyes are still roaming across the room when they land on her. A girl is standing, her chest heaving as she looks at me with something that can only be described as anger.

And it's not cute.

She walks towards me with careful, calculating footsteps. And although I know nothing about her, I can tell she's one of those people that are always on guard, ready for anything bad that might come their way.

I don't know why but I feel pride flutter in my chest.

But when I look at her, I almost choke. What the hell is she wearing!?

Her clothes are about ten sizes too big on her. Her hair piled messily at the top of her head. All in all, she completes the 'just got out of bed' look. Except, I'm sure that she had actually just gotten out of bed.

She gives me the fakest smile anyone could ever muster. "You called for me?"

"You're Sophia?" I don't try to hide the surprise in my voice.

She gives me a once-over and then looks away as if whatever she sees, she didn't find it interesting.

I'd be lying if I said that my ego wasn't hurt. It. Was. Bruised.

"Shall we sit down then?" She asks in that confident voice of hers.

I manage to put down my male ego for once and say, "After you."

We sit down away from everyone. She lounges back against the seat and raises her eyebrows.

"So, Abdullah-" she starts but I cut her off.

"It's Abdallah. Abd-Allah." I try to explain

I've always hated the fact that people can't pronounce my name right. Unfortunately, she's one of them.

She tries to hide her victory smile. However, the wicked gleam in her eyes gives it away. She said that on purpose. To annoy me.

I breathe in. Then breathe out.

"Look, let's get straight to the point." I declare. "I need to get married."

God, I sounded too desperate.

"What I mean to say is that Ma's been nagging me and I'm tired of all those unwanted proposals." I try to make thing clear.

Her eyebrows furrow. "And how do I come in this picture?"

I think of my answer before replying. "You're my best friend's sister. I trust him the most so . . ."

She scoffs and the sound makes me close my eyes painfully.

"So, you basically want to get married to your best friend's little sister?" She says, laying a sarcastic emphasis on the word 'little'.

It does sound off, I think to myself. I should maybe accept the fact about why I actually want to get married.

"Look," I start and she cuts me off.

"If you say 'look' one more time, I'm outta here."

I huff. No matter what she thought, I'm not desperate. She wants to go, she can go. Threats don't work on me.

I manage to swallow that speech and with a deep breath start again where I left off.

"The thing is, I'm 29." I pause. "All those years ago, I didn't have time to focus on girls and marriage and all that s**t. I had to take care of so many things, still do. But it's not easy being single." I pause once again, not knowing how to explain myself. "You get what I'm talking about?"

She presses her lips together and mock laughs. 

"You want someone who you can practice your hormones with?"

"Are you kidding me? Of course not." I'm a little hurt at her implication. "I just want someone who looks after me and my needs. And who, at the end of the day, is there for me."

She nods. "Anything else?"

"I would want her to look after my mother and all the household chores." I state.

She bursts out laughing. "You think I'll ever do either of those things then you can think twice." She scoffs, yet again. "From my analysis, what you want is a maid. Not a wife."

What the hell!? No!

My nose flares at the ignominious implication once again.

"Listen to me, you brat!"