Faking It 2
In the fading light of the evening, Aziza was slumped in her chair, after her very last lectures of the day, exhaustion from the day's events weighing heavily on her. The lecture hall was nearly empty now, with only a handful of students lingering.
Her only desire was to go home and put the day behind her. So much had happened, and she was mentally drained.
Just as she began gathering her belongings, her heart skipped a beat when she saw Salim Ali walk into the hall. He was flanked by his ever-present companions, Musa and Jafar, who trailed him like loyal shadows. Their mere presence was commanding, and they seemed to radiate an air of authority and privilege.
Aziza's breath hitched. What are they doing here? she wondered. Maybe they had a lecture in the same venue, she thought, desperately avoiding their gaze.
She looked away, hoping to go unnoticed, and quickly stood up, her hands trembling as she packed her belongings. Her only plan was to escape before their attention turned to her.
But her hopes were dashed when Salim's voice rang out, firm and commanding. "Not so fast. Take your seat."
Her heart pounded in her chest as she froze. Reluctantly, she sat back down, her movements stiff and nervous.
Salim took the seat right next to her, his posture relaxed yet authoritative as he crossed one leg over the other. He turned to face her, his piercing gaze making her feel small and exposed.
Musa and Jafar sat nearby, their eyes fixed on her, as if they were waiting for her to crumble under the weight of their collective presence.
Aziza felt her stomach twist into knots. She wished she could disappear, shrink into herself, or vanish altogether. The intensity of their stares made her feel as if the walls of the lecture hall were closing in on her.
She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her gaze fixed downward. Whatever was about to happen, she knew she wasn't ready for it.
"I gave you an order, but you defied it," Salim said, his voice calm yet laced with menace as he leaned closer to Aziza.
"I didn't do anything," Aziza replied quickly, her voice trembling. She didn't even know what he was talking about.
"You did," Salim insisted, his eyes narrowing. He gestured to Musa, who handed him his phone to him. Salim held up the screen for Aziza to see.
Her breath caught in her throat. On the school blog was a clear post announcing that Hannah had broken up with Salim today. The post was gaining traction, with comments flooding in, mocking and speculating about Salim's love life.
"I swear, I didn't post this," Aziza said, panic evident in her voice. She looked up at him, her wide eyes pleading for him to believe her.
"If not you, then who?" Salim countered, his tone cold. "As far as I know, only you and I were there."
"I didn't do anything! I don't even know how this happened," Aziza protested, her voice shaking as she tried to explain. "I promise you, I didn't—"
"Stop it. Right there," Salim interrupted, his voice stern and final. "I don't want to hear your excuses."
Aziza flinched at the sharpness in his tone. Her heart raced, and tears pricked the corners of her eyes.
"What sort of punishment should we give this girl?" Jafar asked, his tone cold and calculating, his eyes glinting with mischief.
Aziza's heart sank. Her palms grew clammy as fear settled deep within her. What if they actually punish me? What will they do?
"She's just a little girl," Musa said with a shrug. "Maybe we should leave her alone. It's not worth it."
Little girl? Aziza thought, her fear momentarily replaced by indignation. Is that all I am to them? A little girl? She wanted to protest, to say something, but the words died in her throat.
Salim remained silent, his eyes fixed downward, lost in thought. His stillness made the tension in the room unbearable.
Nobody in the school dared to cross them—not Salim and his friends. They were untouchable, their influence unmatched. But here she was, caught in their crosshairs, with no way out.
The silence stretched on until Salim finally raised his gaze, locking eyes with Aziza.
"I have another idea," he said, his voice calm but carrying a weight that made everyone fall silent.
Both Jafar and Musa turned to him, curious.
Salim's piercing gaze remained locked on Aziza as he continued, "Instead of punishment, I think she could be useful."
Useful? Aziza's heart sank, her stomach twisting in knots. She couldn't understand where this was heading, but the intensity in Salim's eyes made it clear that whatever he was about to say would change everything.
"I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend," Salim said, his tone firm and deliberate. "We'll make Hannah jealous enough to come back to me."
Aziza's eyes widened in disbelief. "Me?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper, laced with shock. Her mind raced. This was a trap—a dangerous one. She couldn't do it. No way on earth could she even pretend to be his girlfriend. She cared about Salim more than she was willing to admit, but agreeing to this? It wasn't just impossible; it felt like walking into a death sentence.
"Salim, are you serious?" Musa asked, his voice laced with incredulity. "After everything Hannah did to you, you still want her back?"
Jafar sneered, glancing at Aziza with clear disdain. "And you think this—" he gestured toward her dismissively, "—is going to make Hannah jealous? You're out of your mind, Salim."
Aziza's cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger. The disdain in Jafar's voice stung, but she didn't dare retort. Despite her fear, the insults were hard to swallow. Yet, she kept quiet. She knew better than to challenge them openly, even as her pride screamed in protest.
Salim's gaze flickered between his friends and Aziza, unwavering. "It doesn't matter what you think," he said coolly. "This is my decision."
"No, I can't," Aziza said firmly, rising to her feet with shaky resolve.
Salim's gaze darkened, his voice low but commanding. "Did I ask you to leave?"
Aziza lowered her head, avoiding his piercing eyes. "No, junior master," she murmured softly, her voice trembling. "I'm sorry. Please permit me to leave."
Her words stunned Salim. Junior master? The title struck a chord, a name only few people used on him. His brows furrowed as he studied her, trying to place her face within the fragments of his memory.
Without waiting for a response, Aziza clutched her bag tightly and walked toward the door, her heart pounding. She tried to escape, but his friends, Musa and Jafar, stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
"Let her go," Salim said abruptly, his tone colder now.
Reluctantly, Musa and Jafar moved aside, allowing Aziza to pass. She walked out quickly, her steps hurried and unsteady.
____
Aziza had just arrived home and spotted her mother, Amina, bustling around in the kitchen. Dropping her bag and removing her hijab, she hurried over to help.
Mrs Amina was a chef for one of the wealthiest women in the city, the renowned Hajiya Aisha Ali—Salim Ali's mother. She was not just any chef; she was the most trusted and loyal worker in the household, tasked exclusively with preparing meals for Hajiya Aisha, Salim, and their important guests.
"My dear, you're back," her mother greeted warmly, her face lighting up at the sight of her daughter.
"Yes, Mom," Aziza replied, offering a tired smile.
After exchanging greetings, Aziza began to assist with the cooking, but her mother gently stopped her. "No, dear, you don't have to. Sit down, I'll serve you something to eat," Amina said, ushering her toward a chair.
Reluctantly, Aziza obeyed, and soon her mother placed a plate of food in front of her. As Aziza began eating, footsteps echoed into the kitchen, causing her to glance up.
It was Salim.
This was the first time he had ever come into the kitchen, particularly in her presence.
Aziza's heart skipped a beat as she immediately turned away, her eyes fixed firmly on her plate. Her mother had always emphasized the rules of working in Hajiya Aisha's house: no young staff members were to interact with Salim under any circumstances. The last thing Aziza wanted was to draw his attention, especially now.
Salim's eyes scanned the kitchen, surveying the space, before landing on her. Aziza quickly averted her gaze, her pulse quickening.
"Good evening, Junior Master," her mother greeted him warmly, as though his presence was nothing out of the ordinary.
"Evening," Salim replied, his tone casual but curious. "Who is that girl?"
"Oh, Junior Master, that's my daughter, Aziza," her mother answered, smiling with pride.
Aziza's stomach churned as she tried to remain composed. She kept her head down, praying silently that this encounter would end without incident.
"Is the food ready?" Salim asked her mother, his tone calm but expectant.
"No, not all of it yet," her mom replied politely.
"Okay, then. Give Aziza whatever is ready and have her bring it to me. I'll be waiting at the dining table," Salim said casually, turning to leave.
Aziza felt her breath catch in her throat.
"Forgive me, Junior Master," her mother interjected quickly. "But Aziza is in no position to do any of that in this house."
"Yes, I know," Salim responded without hesitation. "Don't worry, ma'am. I'll take care of it." With that, he left the kitchen, not sparing Aziza a single glance.
Aziza's heart raced with unease. She couldn't forget the last time a house help had been caught speaking to Salim—the poor girl was not only flogged but also sent away immediately by his mother. Hajiya Aisha was one of the strictest women Aziza had ever known.
Her mother hesitated but eventually handed her the food. "Take this to him," she said softly.
Aziza's hands trembled as she carried the tray to the dining room. She saw Salim seated at the table, engrossed in his phone, his expression unreadable.
Carefully, she placed the food beside him, trying to move quickly and avoid drawing attention. She turned to leave, her steps hurried, but his voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Wait."
Aziza froze, her heart pounding as she slowly turned to face him.
Salim stood up, pulling out a chair beside him. "Sit," he said firmly.
Aziza hesitated, staring at him in disbelief. His tone didn't leave room for negotiation. "I said sit," he repeated, this time more softly. Reluctantly, Aziza lowered herself onto the seat, her discomfort evident in the stiffness of her posture.
He returned to his seat and leaned back, studying her closely. "So, what's your answer to my request earlier?" he asked, his voice calm but pressing.
Aziza avoided his gaze. "No, Junior Master. I can't," she said quietly, her words firm but tinged with unease.
"You call me master, but you still defy my order?" Salim questioned, his brows slightly raised in challenge.
Aziza remained silent, staring at her hands as she fidgeted nervously.
Salim leaned forward, his tone softening. "Aziza, what do you want? What would make you agree? Whatever it is, I'll give it to you. After all, it's just pretend. You only have to fake being my girlfriend—that's all."
Aziza finally looked up, meeting his intense gaze. "No, I can't," she said, her voice steady but resolute.
Salim sighed, the patience in his expression slowly fading. "Think about it," he said, his tone now sharp. "It's either this or punishment."
Aziza didn't flinch. Instead, she looked him straight in the eyes. "Just punish me," she said firmly.
Agreeing to Salim's request would spell disaster for Aziza and her mother. The rules of the house were strict, and any hint of impropriety would endanger her mother's job, if not worse. Moreover, pretending to be close to Salim would only deepen her feelings for him—a dead end she desperately wanted to avoid. But rejecting him wasn't without consequences either. Punishment was looming.
"You want punishment, right? Okay, good," Salim said, his tone cold and indifferent.
Before Aziza could process what he meant, the sharp clacking of heels announced the arrival of Hajiya Aisha.
Aziza's heart sank. She quickly stood up from her seat, her face pale with shock.
"What am I seeing here?" Hajiya Aisha's voice was ice-cold, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the scene. Dressed in an elegant lace gown, her veil draped casually over one shoulder, she exuded power and authority. Two bodyguards flanked her, their presence making the room feel even more oppressive.
"Who is trying to seduce my son in here?" she demanded, her voice ringing out.
Aziza opened her mouth to explain, but no words came. Her legs felt weak as Hajiya Aisha turned to one of the staff. "Call the discipline master," she ordered without hesitation.
Panic surged through Aziza. Her wide eyes darted to Salim, silently begging him to intervene, to remember his promise to her mother. But Salim didn't even glance in her direction. He was already scrolling through his phone, his expression as calm as if nothing was happening.
In that moment, Aziza realized the depth of the trap she had fallen into. She was utterly alone.
Aziza's knees felt weak, and she could barely hold back the tears pooling in her eyes. She had already begged for forgiveness, yet Hajiya Aisha remained unmoved. Her voice echoed in her ears as she commanded the discipline master, "Flog her and send her out of my house!"
Aziza's heart pounded, her gaze darting toward Salim as he casually escorted his mother out of the room, speaking softly to her. She wanted to believe he would intervene—he had promised to protect her, after all—but his indifference shattered that hope.
She collapsed to her knees, bracing for the punishment she didn't deserve. The discipline master stepped forward, cane in hand, raising it high.
But before the cane could strike, Salim's voice rang out, sharp and authoritative as he clutched the cane. "Not so quick."
The discipline master froze, and Aziza's head shot up in surprise.
"Let me talk to her first," Salim added, his tone calm yet firm.
Aziza scrambled to her feet as Salim motioned for her to follow him. Her heart raced with fear and anger, but she knew she had no choice. She trailed behind him, biting her lip to stop herself from crying out in frustration.
Once they were out of earshot, Salim turned to face her. "Is it my mom you're scared of? Don't worry—nothing will happen to you. I promise. Just accept my request."
Aziza's eyes widened in disbelief. "Junior master, you are wicked," she said, her voice trembling.
Salim smirked slightly, though his eyes remained serious. "Yes, I know. Just say yes, and you'll be safe from punishment."
"And if I don't?" Aziza challenged, her voice barely above a whisper.
Salim's expression darkened as he repeated, "Else…" He glanced back toward the cane still clutched in the discipline master's hand.
Aziza clenched her fists, her anger boiling over. "You're a monster," she hissed.
Salim didn't deny it. "Yes, I know. But I'm asking you nicely. Please accept," he said, his voice softening just enough to unsettle her further.
Aziza's chest tightened as the weight of the decision pressed down on her. There was no winning in this game—not for her.
"Fine, I accept," Aziza said, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face.
Salim's expression softened just slightly as he replied, "Good My Fake girl. Now stop crying. It's not that bad. Once the job is done, we'll have nothing to do with each other, Aziza. Then you can rest."
Aziza wiped her tears, but the bitterness inside her only grew. As she watched him, seemingly satisfied with her compliance, her mind raced.
He knows I'm not the one who trended that news, she thought. He's desperate, and I was just convenient—someone easy to manipulate into doing this for him.
The realization stung. She had nothing to do with Salim or Hannah's drama, yet here she was, forced to play along with this farce.
So because of their problem, I have to suffer for nothing? she thought angrily, clenching her fists. But deep down, she knew there was no escape. For her mother's sake, and her own, she had to endure.