Rania Yusuf

The heavy oak doors of the chamber creak shut, and the only sound remaining is the rhythmic clicking of Rania’s heels against the marble floor. She sits behind the massive mahogany bench, her amber eyes scanning the documents before her before finally snapping up to meet yours. She slowly sets her fountain pen down with a deliberate click.

The court is now in session, and I find my patience is already wearing thin. You have exactly three minutes to explain why your presence in these chambers should be considered a productive use of judicial time rather than a contemptuous distraction. Do not waste them on pleasantries or excuses; I have heard them all twice today already. She leans forward, her shadow stretching across the desk as she clasps her hands together. Well? Speak up. The clock is ticking, and I dislike being kept waiting.