Hero01
New Member
Ahsan sucked his teeth, standing at a small rise separating his living room from the long, well-furnished hallway. In fact everything in his large house was well furnished, but for some reason the young master had spent the whole day obsessing over the living room. His servants and maids watched from the sides in silence, inspecting him and perking up at the slightest sign of him deciding to speak (which always ended up just being a false alarm, as he would slouch a bit and continue inspecting the room instead of voicing his thoughts). Although someone who just walked in and had the situation explained to them would assume that Ahsan was trying to make the house look perfect for his new bride, those people who waited on him hand and foot since he was a young child knew better. This was probably the only room he would let his new bride in all alone. Ahsan was very stuck up and had made a list of all the things that his new wife was not allowed to touch. Ahsan's mother became angry with him and demanded he rip up the list and at least try to treat this girl better than the ones who rejected him. This was her last chance at wedding her son, because according to Indian standards after the age of 18 he was too old to be married to anyone worthy of carrying the family name. Ahsan Vashuki was deeply offended by this and about three servants were fired after being asked to step in between his argument with his mother. She won, as usual, and left him to fix up the house for her.
Ahsan nodded once and spun on his heels to face his servants, the tails of his pressed, button down white shirt spinning along with him. One maid played with her dress, itching to fix the shirt for him, but stayed silent as Ahsan finally demanded a group go outside with him to greet the new wife. Following him was a maid, a gardener, the head chef and Ahsan's butler. The idea of sharing his butler and childhood friend with this new girl made him heave a sigh in annoyance, but knew he couldn't do anything about it. His friend rested his elbow on Ahsan's shoulder, something that he did when they were kids and his father was Ahsan's father's butler. He brushed his friend's shoulder aside and blocked out his encouraging words. Whatever he had to say didn't matter. Apparently this girl was poor. While Ahsan was honestly interested in meeting someone who lived life differently from his own, he was also worried. What if she had an opinion about things? What if she didn't know how to clean? What if she was hideous? Of course, Ahsan's mother said he was setting himself up for a loss to begin with since his idea of the perfect wife was a gorgeous, silent one who only listened and cleaned. Neither of those things were necessary because of the amount of people working for the Vashuki family to begin with so that meant...Ahsan shivered....they would have to spend quality time together.
The welcoming party stopped at the front gate of their large manor, only a measly traditional Indian fence blocking his large house from the houses of the middle class families living around him. There was a slight cloud of sand blowing in from the street and Ahsan crossed his arms over his chest to block out the cold September air. "Will she hurry up?" Ahsan muttered, his friend giving him a hearty chuckle.
"We just got here, dosta!" He laughed, holding up his pocket watch so Ahsan could see his reflection. "Besides, I don't think she'll want to see this when she gets here."
Ahsan sniffed, unsure of what his friend meant. He had wavy brown hair that grew out to just above his shoulders and curled every which way. His eyes, which almost looked a dirty yellow color, always had a cold feel to them. It was all topped off with a small, button nose he inherited from his mother (and that he hated being teased about). Besides that he was a pretty average looking fellow. "Speak for yourself." He snapped at his friend, leaning his forehead against one of the fence poles and waiting impatiently for the girl he was supposed to call Mrs. Vashuki from here on out.
Ahsan nodded once and spun on his heels to face his servants, the tails of his pressed, button down white shirt spinning along with him. One maid played with her dress, itching to fix the shirt for him, but stayed silent as Ahsan finally demanded a group go outside with him to greet the new wife. Following him was a maid, a gardener, the head chef and Ahsan's butler. The idea of sharing his butler and childhood friend with this new girl made him heave a sigh in annoyance, but knew he couldn't do anything about it. His friend rested his elbow on Ahsan's shoulder, something that he did when they were kids and his father was Ahsan's father's butler. He brushed his friend's shoulder aside and blocked out his encouraging words. Whatever he had to say didn't matter. Apparently this girl was poor. While Ahsan was honestly interested in meeting someone who lived life differently from his own, he was also worried. What if she had an opinion about things? What if she didn't know how to clean? What if she was hideous? Of course, Ahsan's mother said he was setting himself up for a loss to begin with since his idea of the perfect wife was a gorgeous, silent one who only listened and cleaned. Neither of those things were necessary because of the amount of people working for the Vashuki family to begin with so that meant...Ahsan shivered....they would have to spend quality time together.
The welcoming party stopped at the front gate of their large manor, only a measly traditional Indian fence blocking his large house from the houses of the middle class families living around him. There was a slight cloud of sand blowing in from the street and Ahsan crossed his arms over his chest to block out the cold September air. "Will she hurry up?" Ahsan muttered, his friend giving him a hearty chuckle.
"We just got here, dosta!" He laughed, holding up his pocket watch so Ahsan could see his reflection. "Besides, I don't think she'll want to see this when she gets here."
Ahsan sniffed, unsure of what his friend meant. He had wavy brown hair that grew out to just above his shoulders and curled every which way. His eyes, which almost looked a dirty yellow color, always had a cold feel to them. It was all topped off with a small, button nose he inherited from his mother (and that he hated being teased about). Besides that he was a pretty average looking fellow. "Speak for yourself." He snapped at his friend, leaning his forehead against one of the fence poles and waiting impatiently for the girl he was supposed to call Mrs. Vashuki from here on out.
That is a long intro! Give me a minute...or hour...to reply. I'll try to figure out I should begin)