Chapter Eighteen: The Aybaz Family Strikes Again
726 Words
Seynurr had barely taken her second sip of tea when she felt it.
That strange, familiar tension in the air the kind that arrived before unwanted guests, uncomfortable conversations, and her mother’s overly calm voice.
“They’re coming again,” her aunt whispered from the doorway, eyes wide with a mixture of dread and fascination.
Seynurr slowly lowered her cup. “Who is they?”
Her aunt swallowed. “The Aybaz family.”
The spoon slipped from Seynurr’s fingers and clinked against the saucer.
“Again?” she echoed. “Did they lose something? Their dignity? Their memory? Their basic understanding of the word no?”
Her mother exhaled deeply, already bracing herself. “They wish to… clarify intentions.”
Seynurr stared at her. “Clarify what? I was very clear. Crystal clear. Historical-documentary clear.”
Before anyone could answer, the doorbell rang.
Right on time.
Mahsen entered with his parents, carrying trays of sweets, wrapped gifts, and expressions so hopeful they bordered on delusional.
They smiled politely, sat carefully, and spoke as if nothing awkward had ever happened between them.
Mahsen cleared his throat. “I… respect your dedication to studies,” he began gently. “But I thought perhaps now that you have graduated you might reconsider.”
Seynurr leaned forward, folding her hands with perfect politeness.
“Brother Mahsen,” she said sweetly, “if I reconsider, it will be reconsidering why anyone would ask me twice after my first answer.”
Her father choked on his tea.
Her mother pinched her arm hard.
Mahsen’s aunt tried one last time, voice coated in false wisdom. “A woman settles eventually.”
Seynurr smiled soft, calm, and devastating.
“Yes. With her destiny. Not pressure.”
Silence fell like a dropped plate.
Mahsen nodded slowly, finally understanding. “That… seems fair.”
And just like that, the Aybaz family retreated slightly wounded, deeply confused, and fully aware that Seynurr Mejri was not a woman to be negotiated with.
---
Far away, in the quiet halls of Almara Palace, Seljuk unfolded Seynurr’s latest letter.
His eyes moved calmly over the lines about her studies, her friends, the wedding, the chaos until one sentence made his breath still.
“…marriage talks included.”
He read it once.
Then again.
Murat, seated nearby, noticed immediately. “You’re gripping that paper like it offended you.”
Seljuk folded the letter slowly. “A proposal was made.”
Murat raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“And she declined,” Seljuk replied.
His voice was steady.
Too steady.
Murat smiled. “Good.”
Seljuk shot him a look. “This is not amusing.”
“But you’re relieved,” Murat said gently.
Seljuk didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Later that night, Seljuk stood alone on the palace walls, staring into the darkness beyond the horizon.
“She is not a woman to be rushed,” he murmured.
“And neither am I.”
Yet something had shifted.
The world had reminded him that waiting was not neutral it was a choice. And every choice had consequences.
---
Meanwhile, in another corner of Almara…
Boran sat with his family, unusually silent.
His mother watched him closely. “You look like a man preparing for war or confession.”
Boran cleared his throat. “I wish to speak.”
Everyone turned toward him.
“I would like,” he said carefully, “for you, Father… to ask for a princess’s hand in marriage.”
The room froze.
His mother gasped. “A princess?!”
Boran nodded. “Fatma Sultana.”
His father studied him for a long moment, then asked, “Do you understand what you are asking?”
“Yes,” Boran replied without hesitation. “Honorably. Traditionally. With patience.”
A slow smile spread across his father’s face.
“It seems our princess has grown up… and so have you.”
Boran lowered his gaze, respectfulbut his heart thundered.
His mother wiped her eyes softly. “She noticed him before he noticed himself.”
In Egypt, Seynurr laughed louder than usualhiding thoughts she hadn’t yet named.
In Almara, Seljuk trained harder his mind quieter, his heart louder.
The Aybaz family retreated… for now.
Boran stepped forward, ready to speak the language of tradition and courage.
And destiny no longer whispering cleared its throat.
Something was about to happen.
- Writer
