Chapter 1
The Marriage Contract
"Where's the bride?" the marriage registrar asked.
The mother came out and said, "Here she is, Mawlana. Come on, Malak, let's write your contract."
A little girl appeared, wearing a simple dress with lipstick smeared on her face.
The registrar froze in shock.
"This is the bride? She's just a child! How can you marry her off?"
Her father replied coldly, "She agrees to the groom. Just write it down. And if you don't want to, we'll bring another registrar."
Registrar: "Do you agree to this marriage, my daughter?"
Malak: "Yes, uncle, I agree to marry Mustafa."
The registrar looked at them with sorrow, but still began the marriage rites with the famous words:
"May Allah bless you, and bring you together in goodness."
A man in his fifties buttoned his suit jacket with authority.
"I'll wait for you in the car."
Her mother whispered, "Come on, Malak, go with your husband."
Malak cried, "Mama, he's as old as Grandpa! How can I live with him?"
Her father snapped angrily, "Stop being spoiled! Go with your husband."
Clinging to her mother in tears, Malak was pulled away by her father. He dragged her by the wrist and led her outside.
At the car, the man said calmly,
"The money has been transferred to your bank. In two days I'll send you the car keys and the apartment we agreed on."
Her father: "Thank you, sir. And the job?"
Man: "You'll start tomorrow. Go ask for Mr. Hamdy."
He gestured to the driver to move, and the car drove away.
Malak stared silently out the window the whole way until sleep overcame her.
They drove into another province and through the gates of a vast palace. The car moved for minutes before stopping at the grand entrance.
She awoke to the sound of the car door slamming. Looking around, she realized she was still inside. She hurried out and followed the man into the palace.
She gazed in awe at the furniture and antique designs—things she had only ever seen in books.
A warm voice interrupted her thoughts:
"Kawthar will show you your room with Mustafa."
Malak turned to him in confusion. "Then… who are you?"
"I'm his father. Mustafa is upstairs in his room."
He called the maid from the kitchen.
"Kawthar, take Malak's bag and show her Mustafa's room."
Kawthar frowned in surprise—she didn't recognize Malak—but nodded.
"Come with me, dear."
Malak followed her. Kawthar dropped the bag in a dark room and left.
From the shadows, a deep voice startled her:
"Who are you? And how did you get into my room?"
She turned to see a young man sitting in a wheelchair. His face was hidden by the dim light.
Terrified, she stammered, "I'm Malak."
He scowled. "You're introducing yourself? What are you doing here?"
She flinched at his angry tone.
"Uncle brought me here… and said I'm Mustafa's wife… and that this is our room…"