Finding Love in the game: My soulmate story

Chapter Seven

A few days had passed since I spoke with Muk about the wedding. Deep down, I hoped he wouldn’t agree. If he refused to get married, it would spare me from a lifelong torture I already dreaded.

It was a Sunday morning, and with COVID restrictions easing a bit, we could finally do some shopping and buy food outside. Muk’s message lit up my phone. I looked at it.

**“Get ready. We’re taking my mother out to the shops.”**

I groaned in annoyance. Muk’s mother wasn’t a nice lady—that much I’d figured out in just a few encounters with her. She acted sweet and kind in front of her sons, but as soon as they left, her true self emerged: a careless woman who thrived on her sons’ sympathy. She rarely cooked for her family, her house was always filthy, and she constantly bad-mouthed other people. I wasn’t her biggest fan, and worse, Muk seemed to have inherited her tendencies.

I got ready and waited for them to arrive. About 20 minutes later, I heard Muk’s car pull up outside. Grabbing my bag, I sprinted out to meet them.

“Good morning, Mummy,” I greeted his mother as I stepped into the car.

After meeting her for the first time, she bluntly told me to call her “Mummy.” The times I didn’t, Muk reacted as though I’d committed some horrible offense.

“Oh, hi, habibi,” she said, her tone sugary sweet.

“How are you today?” I asked politely as I buckled my seatbelt.

“I’m good. How are you? I missed you,” she lied.

This was her favorite line: **“I missed you.”** She said it every time, but her actions never matched her words.

“Oh, I missed you too,” I lied back.

With that, our conversation ended. The rest of the drive was filled with her and Muk speaking in Arabic, a language I didn’t understand. I stared out the window, silently bracing myself for the day ahead.

When we reached the grocery store, we all got out. I walked over to Muk, hoping to stick by his side, but he gently pushed me toward his mother, making my annoyance grow.

We strolled through the aisles as she picked up her groceries. When we passed the chips section, I grabbed a bag I liked.

“Oh, you want this?” she asked, glancing at the bag in my hand.

“Yes, I eat it at night,” I replied casually. Before I could blink, she snatched the bag from me and tossed it into her basket.

“Okay, I’ll buy it for you,” she said, continuing down the aisle.

The chips were only a few dollars, so I didn’t argue. I just reminded myself not to grab anything else while she was around.

At the checkout counter, I realized Muk was nowhere to be found. I quickly dialed his number, and he answered after the third ring.

“Where are you, baby?” I asked, trying to keep my tone calm.

“I’m outside meeting a friend. You and my mother can handle the groceries and meet me at the car,” he said, hanging up.

I turned to his mother. “Muk is outside. He’ll wait for us by the car,” I said.

We started scanning the groceries, and when the total was announced, I noticed she made no move to pay. Feeling utterly embarrassed, I tapped my phone to pay for her groceries, even though they weren’t mine.

“Pay for your own food, lady,” I muttered under my breath, loading the bags into the cart and walking away.

Outside, Muk was chatting with a security guard. When he spotted me, he ran over, grabbed the bags, and loaded them into the car.

We drove to his house, unloaded the groceries, and walked inside. The moment I stepped in, a disgusting smell hit me.

“Oh, come in! I was so busy today, I didn’t get a chance to clean,” she excused herself.

As we moved further into the house, I noticed dishes piled high in the sink from the night before. It was obvious she hadn’t cleaned in at least a week.

“Do you want a drink?” she asked as she started unloading the groceries.

Looking around at the house’s condition, I respectfully declined.

Muk came out of his room and whispered in my ear, “Go help my mum,” before plopping down on the couch.

Annoyed but not wanting to cause a scene, I rolled up my sleeves and went to the sink. It was disgusting. Dried food and grime covered the inside, making me gag. I piled the dirty dishes in one sink, scrubbed the other with heavy-duty detergent, and cleared out the filth. Once the sink was clean, I moved to the counter, which was just as bad—sticky, moldy, and stained. My hands stuck to the surface as I worked.

After thoroughly scrubbing everything, I washed my hands and sat down. As I watched her cook, my stomach churned. She wiped the counter with a dirty cloth, then used the same hand to cut vegetables.

“Well, I’m definitely not eating that,” I thought to myself.

A part of me wanted to scream at her and Muk for putting me in this situation, but I stayed quiet. I knew this was just a glimpse of the life I was signing up for if I married Muk—a life of constant cleaning, being disrespected, and dealing with his mother’s antics.

As the day went on, I grew more and more resentful. By the time Muk dropped me back home, I had made up my mind: I couldn’t go through with this marriage.

Once inside my house, I sat down and reflected on everything. Muk’s mother was a nightmare, but Muk was no better. He constantly prioritized her over me, and he didn’t see how toxic she was. I didn’t want to spend my life in a household where I was treated like an outsider, a servant, or worse.

I turned on the shower and stood under the cold water, letting it wash away my frustration. When I got out, I felt a sense of clarity. I didn’t deserve this. I deserved love, respect, and a partner who treated me as an equal—not someone who expected me to clean up after his mother and tolerate her disrespect.

That night, I made a decision: I would break off this relationship. It was better to face the temporary discomfort of ending things now than to endure a lifetime of misery.

As I climbed into bed, I felt a sense of peace for the first time in weeks. I knew I was making the right choice, and I vowed to put myself first from that day forward.