Words are hung in the air, heavy and cold: "You will go to dinner, will you not, Maya?" This was not a question. This was an order. Maya saw her mother, whose eyes were usually full of anxiety, now shining with a strange, hard bliss. Her father, usually calm, just nodded, a silent compromise for her mother's wish. Maya felt that a shiver takes her spine down. The new television, shining in the dim light of his small living room, looked pulled with a silent danger.
That night, there is no sleep. Maya wakes up, staring on the roof, the image of the unhealthy face of Mr kazeem was burnt in her mind. His words, "all costs," echo in her ears. Was she really being sold? Could her mother actually be ready to make a deal where she would swap her daughter's happiness for a comfortable life? The idea churned her stomach. She missed the peace of her old life, which she made carefully after a lot of pain. She missed the simple joy of being with Ben, where laughter was easy and love felt real, not bought.
The next morning, she went to work, her head heavy, and her heart was painful. She saw Ben for lunch. He noticed right away. "Maya, are you doing well? You look ... tired."
She hesitated. How much can she tell him? How could she explain the golden trap that closes around her? It's my mother. What happened? She's trying to stand up with someone. Some very rich."
The bone smile faded. "Oh. I see." His eyes sought her, a flickering of concern. "And you don't want to?"
Maya shook her head, a tear stinging in her eye. "No. I don't. He's ... he's not like you, Ben." The words were spoken out of her mouth before she could realise she had said that to herself. She saw a warm bright in his eyes, a mild understanding. He stretched over the table, and her hand covered her. His touch was warm and comforting.
"No pressure, Maya," he said gently. "Your happiness means something."
His words were a conditioner for her raw heart, but they also highlighted the impossible choice. Her happiness versus the survival of the family. She pulled her hand away and would not charge him with full weight of her despair. "It is complicated, Ben. Very complicated." She could not bring herself to tell him about the gifts, the contract, the way her mother's eyes shine on the mention of Kazeem Holdings.
The invitation to dinner arrived the following day. A formal card, delivered by a driver in a uniform, for a restaurant Maya had only seen in fancy magazines. Her mother was next to herself with excitement, and already planned what Maya wanted to wear, even though they had no suitable clothes. Maya felt like a doll, and was dressed for a show she never wanted to perform in.
The night of the dinner, her mother insisted that she was wearing her best, a simple dress that felt misplaced among the restaurant's sparkling chandeliers and whispered. Mr. Kazeem was waiting. Mr. Kazeem stood as Maya walked up. He was polite and did smile, but he couldn't hide his surprise. "Maya. "You came," he said. His voice was very calm, and he said. "I knew you would do it."
He pulled out her chair, a gesture of old charm that felt completely hollow. Her parents, who sat with them, looked overwhelmed but excited. Their parents' eyes were wide with awe as they continued to look at the expensive cutlery and sparkling glasses.
At the meal, Mr. Kazeem mostly spoke to Maya's parents. Mr. Kazeem did most of his talking to Maya's mom and dad. He asked a bunch of questions about how they live, what they need, and what they aspire to. He listened patiently, nodding, and sometimes offering "opportunities" or "investments." He barely interacted with Maya, treating her like a prize he won, or a quiet partner in an agreement. When he talked to her, his words were direct, almost clinical. "Do you like your work, Maya? What are your ambitions? Do you have any hobbies?" He collected data and did not have a conversation.
Maya answered in Monosyllables, her voice was close. She felt that she suffocated under the weight of the expensive food, the heavy silence and Mr. Kazeem's waking presence. However, her parents beamed. They ate slowly and enjoyed every bit, and the faces reflect a joy Maya had not seen in many years. This was their dream, posted on a silver platter.
After dinner, Mr. Kazeem insisted on driving them home in his slim car. The trip was quiet, but Maya knew her mother's tension that rays from the seat next to her. When they pulled up to the small, worn house, Mr. Kazeem turned to Maya.
"I liked our evening, Maya," he said, and his eyes stuck." I think we have a lot to talk about. I want to be in touch." He didn't ask. He said.
The next few weeks were a blur of escalating pressure. Mr. Kazeem's "Gester" continued. A new fridge for the mother. A complete renovation of the small bathroom. Money for the father's old debt. Each gift, every generosity, was a tightening of the golden chains around Maya. Her parents, especially her mother, became boldly in her demands.
"He is a good man, Maya! See how he takes care of us?" Her mother says, her voice was with a new right. "Why are you still so stubborn? This is what you need. This is what we need."
Maya tried to protest. "Mama, I don't love him! I can't marry anyone that I do not love."
His mother's face became hard. "Love? What is love when you have nothing? Love does not pay bills, Maya! Love doesn't pay the bills. He gives us a future! A real future!" She indicates new devices, freshly painted walls. "You think your small office friend can give us this? Can he give you this?"
Comparison stung. Ben, with his heart and stable job, could not compete with Kazeem Holdings. Maya knew that. But his heart still hurt him. She started meeting Ben in secret, stealing moments during lunch or after work, away from his mother's attentive eyes. In those stolen moments, she felt herself again, light and independent. He told him more, about the gifts, about her mother's tireless push. He heard, instigated his face with anxiety.
"I can't let them force you." Ben took a deep breath and told Maya. "I can't, Maya."
Ben was anxious. I can't let them force you," Ben said to Maya, his voice tight. "I can't let them, Maya. Please, please don't let them push you around." In the wake of what felt like a game for a hockey player in the latter half, he was covered in sweat. There was a message he badly wanted to tell her, but he felt just as out of place as a giraffe in a carwash.
"What choice do I have, Ben?" She whispered, tears blurred her sight. "They are so happy. Finally, they had hope. How can I take it away?"
Ben squeezed her hand. "You sacrifice yourself. It's not fair to you."
When she was answering, her phone vibrated. It was a text message. A picture. There was a picture of her and Bens, which sat on the park bench, taken from a distance. The message below was short, cool, and polite: "A beautiful afternoon. Enjoy your time, Maya. We must discuss your schedule for the wedding preparation soon. Mr. Kazeem."
Maya is breathed. Her blood was cold. He knew. She looked at them. He knew about Bens. Golden Cage was not just around the family house; It was around her every move. She looked at Ben, her eyes wide with terror.
"He knows," she whispered and showed him the phone. "He knows about us."
Ben stared at the picture, his face pale. The playful sounds from the park faded to a scary silence. They were exposed. Caught.
The next day, a formal letter arrived at the parents' house. It was no invitation. It was a statement. The date of the engagement party has been set. And it was only two weeks away. Her mother, forgot the terror in Mayan's eyes, clapped her hands with joy.
"Finally! Everything is set!" she exclaimed. "You see, Maya? This is fate! Mr. Kazeem is exceptionally good.
Maya felt a scream rising, but nothing came out. She was cornered. The walls of the golden cage were closing in faster than she could ever have imagined. What would Mr. Kazeem do if she refused now? What would happen to her family? What would happen to Ben?