Nina leaned forward, excitement clear in her eyes. "Sorry, but I would love to know. what career are you in? Are you a writer, an artist, or a diplomat?"
Amal smiled faintly, a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. "I am. all of them, in a way. I graduated in International Relations, and I've also been to art school. Most of my income actually comes from my art pieces I create and sell. Writing, that's more of a hobby than a profession for me, though I do write consistently. I even once sold one of my books to be adapted into a movie. It was popular, widely known. But "she raised a delicate hand, "I signed a non-disclosure clause, so I can't reveal the title, and you certainly can't include it in my autobiography."
Nina laughed softly. "Oh, that's fine. But did you ever actively work in any of these professions?"
Amal nodded. "Yes. Remember when I mentioned the au pair program?"
Nina's pen flew across her notebook. "Yes, I remember! Please tell me more."
"fine," Amal said, leaning back in her chair, her tone measured yet inviting. "But before that… Do you want me to start with high school, or jump straight to the au pair? The au pair has let's say, juicier stories."
Nina's eyes gleamed. "Juicier sounds perfect. Let's start there."
Amal's expression softened, almost reminiscent. "Alright. I had just graduated in International Relations, a four-year, eight-semester program. I finished with a GPA of 4.6. After a lot had happened in my home country, I felt ready for a fresh start. That's when I applied for the au pair program. I was taken in by a family in a new country, a family that, on the surface, seemed normal. But the father was a politician whose scandal had ended his career prematurely. He was determined to protect his family, especially his son."
Her lips curved slightly. "I first met his wife, a lovely lady, warm, welcoming. She made me feel at ease. But as you might expect, in any household, appearances can be deceiving."
Nina leaned forward, eager. "Deceiving how?"
Amal's eyes glimmered with subtle mischief. "Oh well, you'll see. There were lessons in trust, boundaries, human desires, and yes, the very delicate complexities of love and power dynamics in a household. Lessons that would follow me into adulthood."
She paused for effect, letting Nina absorb the weight of her words. "That experience, for better or worse, shaped my understanding of people profoundly. It taught me about resilience, observation, and the subtleties of human nature. And honestly, it also prepared me for situations I couldn't have anticipated in my other careers."
Nina scribbled furiously, her eyes wide with anticipation. "This isn't exactly why I wanted to write your autobiography.But every story, every lesson. It's like you've lived multiple lives in one."
Amal smiled faintly, a hint of amusement and reflection mingled in her expression. "Perhaps I have. Or perhaps I've just learned to observe more than most."
I was not a genius, but in our educational system, there was no strict age limit, no rigid pipeline. Some finished early, others much later. By twenty, I had already graduated with a degree in International Relations. That timing made it possible for me to apply for the au pair program through an agency. My application was accepted, and I was placed randomly with a family.
On the surface, the family seemed normal. The wife, who selected me, was a homemaker. In truth, "homemaker" was more of a title than an occupation. She didn't work in any structured way. Her husband, on the other hand, came from wealth a second generation inheritor of an empire his father had built. But instead of embracing the privilege, he spent most of his energy trying to prove he was different from his father. To him, the father was the villain, and he was the misunderstood son, forever trying to cast himself as the good man.
It was a complicated dynamic. He worked in the foundation his father had created and dabbled in the family's factory an operation that, of all things, produced ice. I didn't know ice could be such a business, but apparently, it was.
They lived in a large building that carried both wealth and emptiness. On paper, the wife was the one who had brought me into the home. But in reality, I spent more time speaking to her husband.
Now, here's where the complication begins. I could stand here and defend myself, argue that the wife wasn't the saint she pretended to be. Rumors and whispers suggested she was having affairs. But truthfully, pointing fingers wouldn't change the facts of what happened.
So, was she a nice lady? I honestly couldn't say. She was often absent, physically and emotionally. Despite being a stay-at-home wife, she was rarely around. It was strange, unsettling even. That absence created a vacuum, and in that vacuum, her husband and I found connection.
At first, it was innocent. Conversations about the foundation, about the weight of legacy, about the ice business that neither of us could quite romanticize. He showed me his frustrations, his vulnerabilities, and yes, his needs. They weren't looking to hire a nanny out of fear or mistrust, I never knew but there were still children, still shelves to be filled, still emotional gaps that lingered unaddressed.
I remember the first time he and I had a deep conversation. It wasn't planned. It wasn't dramatic. It was simply two people, left alone too often, filling the silence with words that went deeper than they should have. That was where the problem began.
Because in that silence, an emotional connection formed. And from emotional connection, the lines blurred. And from the blurred line everything went down the drain.
Nina: "So was that the first time you had a sexual relationship?"
Amal: "Oh no. Things started before then. It wasn't like some sudden lightning strike. We had already crossed small lines, conversations that went too deep, glances that lingered too long. The first real time was actually on his birthday. He had quarreled with everyone, the wife wasn't around, even the children had gone out, and I decided. I don't know if I should give him what I thought was a gift."
Nina: "A gift?" (she raises an eyebrow, skeptical almost mocking)
Amal: "Yes. You see, he wasn't a monster, at least not to me. I didn't see him as a predator. I saw him as a man broken by his own choices not his, and I was the nearest person in his storm. When his wife wasn't present, I was what he leaned on. Maybe I mistook vulnerability for love."
Nina: "And was he a good man?"
Amal pauses: "Good? That's a big word. He was human. He had needs, flaws, anger, tenderness too. Maybe I met him at a point when he wasn't sure of himself anymore, and I became the easiest answer."
Nina: "I'm not trying to judge you, Amao. I know religion makes a big thing of this — sin, guilt, purity. But what about you? Did you feel guilty afterwards?"
Amal: "Not exactly. People expect guilt to crash down like thunder, but it never did. I didn't feel holy, I didn't feel condemned. I felt chosen, I guess. Not by God, not by fate, but by someone who noticed me when I was invisible. If there was any guilt, it came later, when I realized how fragile the children were impressionable, vulnerable. And the wife, People like to say she wasn't as beautiful anymore, but beauty wasn't the problem. It was a presence. She was rarely there. That absence created space, and I filled it."
Nina: "Do you think religion failed you there? That women are placed at a disadvantage?"
Amao: "Maybe. Religion, at least the way men wrote it was never for women. We're followers, shadows, while men decide what holiness looks like. But I'm not here to debate theology. For me, it wasn't about commandments or dogma. I just wanted something for myself. Nothing more, nothing less."
Nina remains curious but never outright condemns.
Amal's tone is reflective, showing she's not trying to excuse but to explain.
It happened on a holiday. a day when schedules shift, routines are broken, and emotions feel heightened.
The wife has taken the kids on a family-friendly trip visiting her mother, or going out shopping with friends, maybe even a church retreat, but Amal has stayed back at the house because she wasn't invited, or because she needed to help with chores.
The house is unusually quiet and spacious, which did feel strange to Amal.
The man comes back earlier than expected. Maybe he was supposed to be with his father at the factory or with political allies, but something canceled, and he returns home looking tired and bitter.
Amal notices his mood; there's something about his frustration with the world that makes her lower her guard. It's not about lust, but about vulnerability meeting vulnerability.
They talk not immediately about attraction, but about life disappointments, betrayal, the feeling of being second place, then she realizes it was his birthday. Amal connects because she felt the same way in her own young life.
There's an innocent gesture where she serves him tea, then they sit on the balcony while he vents
He thanks her looking subtly at her not formally but deeply in a way that makes her feel seen.
That moment becomes a pause. He reaches to hold her hand, not roughly but as if asking for permission. She doesn't pull away.
Internally, Amal debates "If I walk away now, nothing happens. But if I stay"
Instead of her being "taken," she chooses to stay. That choice is what makes the whole thing weightier.
The intimacy that follows is not explosive or dramatic; it's gentle, quiet, and dangerously comforting. She allows it because, for the first time, she feels like her presence alone is enough to soothe someone.
The silence after is heavier than the act itself. They both know they crossed a line.
He then says something light to cover guilt, "You don't know how much I needed this."
But Amao doesn't laugh. Instead, she thinks, "This wasn't about him. This was about me not being invisible for once."