25. Faiz
CHAPTER 25
FAIZ
I draw a heavy curtain back an inch and inspect the front gates. The hordes of leeches — journalists, photographers, citizens who never liked me and are here to watch my downfall — still cling to the front of my property. It’s late in the afternoon, but their numbers have only grown through the hours. I won’t be surprised if, come nightfall, some of them start pitching tents.
“Can we go to the park today, Baba?” Ali’s voice slices through the silence.
I turn from the window, my gaze falling on his hopeful face. He stands there, a small figure clutching a toy car. It’s such a simple request, but of course I can’t grant it to him. Even before today, I wouldn’t have been able to take him to the park. An outing I only allowed once in a blue moon, on account of him being found out, he was always escorted by Amina.
“Not today, Habibi. Another time,” I say, the lie coating my tongue like poison.
“Why not?” he asks. “Is it because of all those people that want to look at our house? Why? Why do they want to look?”
It’s time. Time to let him peek behind the curtain — just a little. I kneel down to his level, taking in his bright face that seems to trust the world and everyone in it. And why shouldn’t he? His whole world has been these grounds, the few people that he knows. He’s never played with any other children, never seen a school or a grocery store. Because he knows so little, he trusts all of it without question.
“You know how sometimes, when we play hide-and-seek, you try to find the best hiding spot so no one can find you?” I start, trying to frame it in terms he might grasp.
“Uh-huh,” he nods, enthusiasm lighting up his features.
“And you remember that I am a royal, yes? And what that means?”
“Yes, like a knight, but bigger!”
“Exactly. Also… being a royal is a bit like playing that hide-and-seek game all the time.” I choose my words carefully, dodging the full weight of our reality. “Some people want to find us too much. They don’t always want to play fair.”
He tilts his head, processing this new information. “Like the photographers?”
“Exactly like them,” I confirm with a solemn nod.
“But I’m good at hide-and-seek,” Ali protests, puffing out his chest slightly. “I can handle the photographers.”
A soft chuckle escapes me. “I know you can, my brave boy.” I ruffle his hair, pride and sorrow mingling within me. “But sometimes, we keep the curtains closed to make sure the game stays fun for everyone, okay?”
“Okay, Baba.” His acceptance is immediate, unquestioning, yet his disappointment is palpable. He is too good. Surely, I do not deserve a son as devoted as him.
“Come here,” I whisper, pulling him into an embrace. His small arms wrap around my neck, and I hold him tight, wishing I could shield him from every shadow that falls across our lives. In his hug, I find a fragile peace, a respite from the heartbreak that haunts me whenever Tara crosses my mind.
Ali pulls back, looking up at me with that way that seems too perceptive for his age. “When can we stop hiding?” His voice is soft, but it carries the weight of a thousand unspoken dreams.
“Soon, my son,” I promise, though I wonder if I’m making a vow I can keep. “Soon.”
“Faiz.” Ahmed fills the doorway. “You have visitors… at the front gate.” He glances at Ali, holding his tongue, and I already know who he’s talking about.
It’s my parents. I’ve ignored their calls, their text messages that have been coming in all day long — all pleas for an explanation. But now, there’s no more hiding. They’re here, so I might as well face the music.
“Who?” Ali asks.
My chest tightens. He knows nothing about his extended family that has been living a few miles away his whole life.
“Amina, take Ali to his room,” I instruct quietly. My heart clenches at the thought of ushering my son away, but it’s crucial he remains unseen until I have had a chance to speak to my parents.
Whatever anger they are coming to my home with, it should be fully directed at me, not at Ali.
Amina nods. With a gentle hand, she guides Ali away, his small form disappearing up the sweeping staircase before I turn to face the entrance.
The doors swing open, and there they are — my parents, regal and composed, with Hamza lurking behind them like a shadow. Their eyes search mine, and I steel myself against whatever judgment awaits.
“Faiz,” my father begins, his voice resonant and strong, yet tinged with something unfamiliar. Concern? Curiosity?
“Mother. Father.” I manage to keep my voice steady, despite the tightness gripping my throat. “What brings you here without warning?”
It’s a ridiculous question, of course. Each of us knows why they are here. I’m not going to be the first to reveal my cards, though, to admit to any wrongdoing. Everything I’ve done — hiding Ali — was for the good of our country.
Their glances sweep the foyer, missing nothing. It’s my mother who breaks the silence, her voice softer than expected. “We want to meet him, Faiz. Your son. Ali, yes?”
Shock jolts through me, a lightning strike to my carefully guarded heart. The walls I’ve built around Ali seem to crumble with her words, leaving me exposed, vulnerable. Yet I cannot deny them this.
“Of course,” I reply, the word a whisper.
Doubt gnaws at me, a relentless tide as I go upstairs and call Amina. I ask her to bring Ali down, telling her that there are some people who want to meet him. I don’t miss the delight pass through her eyes — this is what she’s always wanted. Just like Tara, she believes that I’ve made the wrong decision when it comes to Ali.
I head back downstairs, and seconds stretch into eons as we wait. No one says a thing, Hamza standing to the side with his hands in his pockets and his eyes downcast. And then, there he is — Ali, emerging from the shadows of the upstairs hallway, his eyes wide with wonderment. Amina’s hand rests protectively on his shoulder, but he steps forward, brave and curious.
“Ali.” I clear my throat. “These are your grandparents — my mother and father. And this is Hamza, my brother. He is your uncle.”
“Grandmother? Grandfather?” Ali laughs in delight, and I watch as something remarkable unfolds.
My parents’ faces soften, years of rigid expectation melting away in the presence of this young life. There is no scorn, no outrage, only a blooming joy that lights up the chamber like dawn breaking.
“Ali,” my mother breathes, moving towards him with arms open wide. My father follows, a rare smile creasing his weathered features as they envelop my son in a warm embrace.
“Hello, little one,” my father murmurs, his tone filled with an affection I’d never anticipated. Ali giggles, delight dancing in his eyes as he meets the grandparents he never knew he had.
I stand back, a spectator to this tender reunion, feeling something akin to hope flicker in the darkness that has so long held my heart captive. They’re not looking at him with judgment or disappointment; they’re seeing him — their grandson — with love.
“You came to visit me!” Ali says. “I can show you my room! I have lots of toys.”
My father looks over Ali’s head at me. “We would like that very much, Ali, but first we need to speak with your father. Perhaps you can get your room set up for us, hmm? And then we will be there shortly?”
“Sure!” Ali sprints up the stairs, and Amina follows after him. Ahmed, sensing that a private family conversation is about to unfold, also makes himself scarce.
I feel naked without Ali’s presence, his innocence a shield now taken from me. It’s time to face the adults, to speak bluntly about all that has been and about what comes next.
“Faiz.” My mother’s voice sounds more hurt than anything else. “Why did you keep this from us for so long?”
I swallow hard, meeting her gaze. “I thought— I feared it would bring shame upon us all,” I confess, the words tasting of bitter truth.
My father sighs, the sound heavy with disappointment but not anger. “We could have been a part of his life, watched him grow.” His eyes hold a sorrow that cuts deeper than any reprimand.
“Nothing will change how we feel about you,” my mother adds, reaching out to place a comforting hand on mine. “You’re our son. But Ali… he deserved to know his family.”
I nod, the truth of their words settling like a stone in my stomach. They are right; I let fear guide me, and in doing so, I stole time from them — precious moments they can never get back. My heart aches with the guilt of it.
“Even if it means scandal?” The question slips out, a whisper of my deepest fear unveiled.
“Scandal fades,” my father says firmly. “Family endures.”
The silence that follows is profound, filled with unspoken forgiveness and the promise of new beginnings. It’s a fragile peace that shatters when Hamza clears his throat, drawing our attention to his brooding figure by the window.
“Have you considered the implications?” he asks, his tone edged with something darker than concern. “The tabloids are already feasting on this, and the people…”
“Times are changing, Hamza,” my father interjects with quiet authority. “If we cannot adapt, we fall behind. Our people will understand in time.”
Hamza’s jaw tightens, and I can see the play of emotions across his face — disappointment, resentment. He had hoped for a different outcome, I realize, one that might have catapulted him closer to the throne.
The air crackles with tension, and a revelation slices through the fog of my combined shock, relief, and distress.
“Hamza.” I swallow hard, but there’s a thick lump in my throat, formed from budding anger. “You knew about Ali long before today, didn’t you?”
His eyes, dark mirrors that look so much like mine but yet are so different, shift away momentarily before filling with reluctant defiance. “I did,” he admits, his tone grudging, a trickle of guilt seeping through the cracks of his composed facade.
I take a step forward, driven by an urge to understand. “Why?” The question is simple, but it carries the weight of years of brotherhood, now frayed at the edges.
I could ask “how,” but that’s so much less important. He’s the one who revealed Ali’s existence to the world — not Tara. I know it as clear as day, looking at him now.
He lets out a bitter chuckle, the sound the result of years of jealousy. “I noticed you and Tara were getting closer. I dug a little deeper… It didn’t take long, not with the best private investigator in town.”
The sharp edge of realization cuts deeper, drawing forth the truth in crimson clarity. He knew about Ali and saw an opportunity in the shadows of my secret. It wasn’t just a leak; it was a calculated exposure meant to undermine me.
“Juicier than an affair, right?” I say, the words laced with coldness.
“Exactly,” Hamza responds, a shrug lifting his shoulders as if to shake off the gravity of his actions.
“Hamza.” Our father’s face reddens. “How dare you do this to your brother? To our family? To our country?”
Hamza’s head drops like a puppy scolded. Clearly, he did not properly think this plan through. Our people might be disappointed in me and, consequently, prefer him as their next ruler, but there are enough legal loopholes to enable our parents to block his ascent to the throne. Even if I am run out of Zahrania.
Right now, though, my future as sheikh is not of the most importance, and neither is my scheming younger brother. It’s Tara. I accused her of stabbing me in the back when I had zero evidence — and why?
Because I was scared. I had never been so happy as I was with her, so when the news of Ali broke, I assumed she had to have done it. Of course an unhappy ending was destined for me.
My hands clench into fists at my sides. I must fix this. I’ve allowed my fears to build walls around my heart, and Tara — kind, straightforward Tara — became collateral damage in a war she never signed up for.
“We can talk about this later,” I say carefully. “Right now, I need to find Tara.”
“Faiz.” My mother shakes her head. “She did not tell you? Tara handed in her notice. She’s planning to leave for the States soon.”
Panic, sharp and immediate, slices through the haze of my thoughts. I can’t let her go, not when so much has been left unsaid, not when my heart whispers her name in the quiet spaces between beats.
“Thank you,” I murmur, panic clawing its way up my chest. “I still need to see her. Now.”
Not just see her, but fix this. Fix us.
Somehow. Some way.