CONVENIENTLY YOURS

CHAPTER ONE

Whelp!!

Huda shot upright in bed, heart pounding. Today she was leaving.

The city. The deal. The goodbye.

Sunlight spilled across the ranch like melted gold, but the beauty barely registered. A hollow silence hung in the air, the kind that comes before everything changes.

She threw on her jeans, stumbled into the bathroom. The cold tiles jolted her awake, but her thoughts were already racing.

“Will mom get better?”

“And me, what’s waiting for me in the concrete maze?”

Her mind flashed back to the conversation Mom and Uncle Sam had last week that led to this big decision of moving to the city.

Uncle Sam sat forward in the armchair, his elbows resting on his knees, his voice low but firm.

“Huda is 23 now, she’s old enough to get married,” he said, eyes fixed on her mother.

“Once she’s settled with him, they’ll have the means to cover your treatment. She can take responsibility. It’s time.”

“Him?” Huda’s heart skipped. Who’s him?

From where she stood, she could see only the profile of her mother. Her face was calm, but her eyes gave her away, clouded with worry and pain.

“That decision,” her mother said carefully, “is Huda’s to make, Sam. No one else’s.”

A silence stretched between them, heavy and brittle.

Huda’s breath caught in her throat. She had always known things were getting worse, her mother’s coughing fits at night, the medication bottles that emptied faster each month, the quiet way she pressed her hand to her chest when she thought no one saw.

But she hadn’t known it had come to this.

Mom had leukemia and had been undergoing treatment for five years now, but she seems not to be getting any better and she’s been recommended to the city hospital for treatment.

An arranged marriage. A trade for healing.

Her mother’s voice was gentler now.

“This isn’t how it should be,”tears brimming. “I don’t want her sacrificing everything for me.”

Suddenly, her mother gasped, clutching her chest before collapsing to the floor.

“Mama!” Huda rushed into the living room.

Chaos followed.

Huda knelt, her hands shaking as she cradled her mother. Sirens arrived.

Hours later, the city hospital loomed like a fortress. Sterile, towering and expensive.

Inside the waiting room, a doctor approached with grim news.

“She’ll need immediate, aggressive treatment. Without it… I can’t promise anything.”

Uncle Sam didn’t meet Huda’s eyes. “We don’t have the money for that. We never did.”

And then the words that sealed it all:

Her voice barely carried. “I’ll help,” Huda said softly. I’ll marry this man. I’ll do it.”

The room fell into a silence that felt less like conflict and more like change. Uncle Sam didn’t speak. He only leaned back and stared out the window.

She looked at her mother then, whose eyes shimmered with apology.~

Now, the train clock ticked in her mind like a countdown. The train to the city would arrive in less than an hour, waiting to carry her toward a new life of polished shoes, crowded streets, and tall glass towers.

She put her toothbrush down and gently swept her brunette hair into a loose bun, her fingers trembling slightly as they twisted through the strands.

Huda stepped onto the sun-kissed ranch, where morning mist clung to the earth like a lover unwilling to part.

Orion, her horse, stepped from the morning haze, obsidian coat glinting, mane rippling like a storm about to break. Huda pressed her forehead to his. Tears came fast.

“You always knew, didn’t you?” she whispered.

She tucked a single white rose into the strap of his halter, same rosebush where she used to sit and braid his mane.

“You’re my wild,” she breathed, voice cracking.

As she turned away, she didn’t look back.

If she did, she’d never leave.

At the train station the whistle pierced the still morning like a cry held too long.

Huda stood on the weathered platform, suitcase by her feet, her mother at her side, frail, fading.

Her fingers curled tightly around the edges of her shawl as if it might anchor her to everything she was about to leave behind.

The train thundered in, sleek and polished, like the city itself: loud, cold, unstoppable.

One last breath. One last goodbye.

They boarded.

Just as they made their way to their seats, her eyes stayed fixed on the blur of green and gold outside.

Then a voice broke through and she turned to her mom who had so much sincere sympathy in her eyes.

“You don’t have to do this,” her mother said gently. “Not for me. I’ve lived enough life. You deserve to live yours.” her voice barely audible above the chaos.

Huda’s breath hitched.. “I want to do this mom, and I’m happy doing it”

She held onto her hands, rubbing gently on her skin, as she tried to reassure her mom.

And as the train began to move, her world, the only one she’d ever known, started to slide away.

Huda leaned into the window, her breath fogging the glass, the countryside unraveling behind her like a forgotten dream. Her fingers were still wrapped around her mother’s, warm against the chill in the air.

But her thoughts were already running ahead, fast, faster, toward the unknown man whose name hadn’t yet been spoken.

She turned slowly. Her mother was resting her head against the seat, eyes half-closed but not asleep. She was thinking too. Hiding something, maybe. Huda could feel it, like a shift in the wind.

“Mom,” she said quietly, “there’s something I need to ask.”

Her mother stirred but didn’t open her eyes.

“This man… the one I’m supposed to meet in the city. The one I am to marry. Who is he really?”

There was a pause, long enough for the train to cross a small bridge and for Huda’s heartbeat to grow louder in her ears.

Her mother finally spoke, each word slow, careful, almost reluctant.

“His name is Edward Hawthorne.”

Huda blinked. “That doesn’t sound very local.”

“He’s not. He’s English.”

Huda sat up straighter, eyebrows lifting. “You mean… from England?”

Her mother nodded.

“A British man wants to marry a village girl from the edge of nowhere?” Huda asked, trying to keep the disbelief out of her voice, but failing. “Why?”

Her mother smiled faintly. “Not just any man. He’s a billionaire. Owns a chain of international art galleries. Real estate in Dubai, Paris, London. He’s quiet, private. Powerful in ways you don’t see on the surface.”

Huda’s throat tightened. A billionaire. British. City-dweller.

A man with nothing in common with the girl who still smelled like saddle leather and sun-warmed hay.

“And he wants me?” she whispered.