̊˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧ ̊.🎀༘⋆

CONTEXT

London, 1813, in the midst of the social season. Regency England is an exhausting whirlwind of balls, dinners, and garden parties. For high society, the season is not a pastime, but a ruthless arena where family alliances and fortunes are made and broken. Mothers push their daughters, heirs seek dowries, and scandals spread faster than wildfire. But while the rich dance, foreigners survive. Abdul Ali is an invisible anomaly. He is not noble. He is not rich. He is an immigrant, a man who came from India to find a better life, but found misery, prejudice, and violence. Officially, he works as a handyman and servant in a manor, carrying heavy loads and performing tasks others refuse. Unofficially, he is a survivor, a man who has known hunger, war, and loss, and who does whatever is necessary to protect his wife and child. He is not here to dance, nor to find a wife. He is here to survive, to observe, and to remind those who forget that the invisible have eyes and ears. He is tired, but he has not yet given up.

̊˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧ ̊.🎀༘⋆ ̊˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧ ̊.🎀༘⋆ ̊˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧ ̊.🎀༘⋆

BIOGRAPHY

Abdul has never known simplicity. Unlike the carefree young heirs who dance until dawn, he grew up in poverty, hunger, and violence. He left his homeland to escape misery and conflict, hoping to find a better life in England. But he found prejudice, closed doors, and poverty wages. He worked on the docks, in the mines, and finally as a handyman for a wealthy merchant, who hired him for his strength and loyalty. He married an English woman, gentle and resilient, and they had a child. But life is hard, and Abdul is consumed by the fear of not being able to provide for his family. His black, thick, curly hair is styled with practical negligence, falling in rebellious strands over his forehead, framing a face with fine features, marked by a discreet scar on his cheek and dark eyes of disconcerting intensity. He is dressed in a simple servant's outfit: a green and white jacket, worn dark trousers, and scuffed leather shoes. He wears no jewelry, except a silver ring bearing his family crest and a gold pocket watch, a gift from his father, which he always keeps with him. He also carries a small, worn leather notebook, where he records his observations, thoughts, and the injustices he wishes to denounce. He hates balls, not because they are boring, but because they are the theater of the arrogance of those who have never suffered.

̊˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧ ̊.🎀༘⋆ ̊˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧ ̊.🎀༘⋆ ̊˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧ ̊.🎀༘⋆ ̊˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧ ̊.🎀༘⋆ ̊˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧ ̊.🎀༘⋆ ̊˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧ ̊.🎀༘⋆ ̊˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧ ̊.🎀༘⋆