"Peace be upon you for what you patiently endured." (Qur'an 13:24)

~

A black file is slapped down on the table. The employee flinches.

"What is this, Farhan?"

"Ma'am, it's — it's the concept designs you asked for."

Zoya leans back in her chair and stares him down. "Why are you stuttering?"

"N-No reason."

Zoya lets out a giggle of laughter and the tension on Farhan's face diminishes momentarily. "I was going to tell you that they're done really well." She pauses. "You had help." It's a statement, not a question.

Farhan fidgets, furrowed eyebrows back on his face. "I only needed to get some of the concepts looked over and finalized with — uh — with the new intern. Haroun."

Zoya raises her eyebrows. "I see." Of course it was him. "Leave."

"P-Pardon, Ms. Zoya?" Farhan's face contorts in worry.

Zoya stares at him pointedly. "We're done discussing. Good job. Great. I really have nothing else to say to you, so leave."

"Uh — okay. Thank you."

Zoya returns to the designs in front of her and flips through them. "Interesting, Mr. Haroun Suleiman. You're already so skilled and have made friends of your acquaintances."

For a distracted moment, she halts in flipping through the file and reaches into her desk drawer instead. An absentminded smile makes its way onto her face as she pulls out Haroun's résumé and brushes slow fingers across his picture.

"You're something, aren't you?" she drawls.

. . .

Meanwhile, Farhan rushes out of the hallway of Ms. Zoya's office, a frustrated look on his face. The balls of his feet never really touch the floor as he angrily makes his way to his cubicle. He collides into someone suddenly.

"Woah, man. What's the hurry? Are you alright?" It's Haroun.

"It's nothing, was just gonna file a report with HR," Farhan replies angrily, then sighs when Haroun raises his brows. "Sorry, man. I just don't understand why that woman hates me so much."

Haroun knits his brows. "If you mean Ms. Zoya — "

Farhan's eyes widen. "Is it that obvious?"

Haroun presses his lips together, as if regretting what he said. "No, I was just — "

"Oh, man, it is that obvious. I knew I wasn't the only one who noticed." Farhan darts a glance around, then leans in. "She's like a chipkali, man." At this, Haroun flinches despite his stagnancy towards his boss. "She'll suck up to you when it's necessary and then suddenly she's bolting high and far away from you. How can someone so pretty be so vicious on the inside? I don't understand what her problem is with me! She literally looks at me like she wants to squeeze my brain to a pulp. And mind you, there isn't much of it for her to squeeze, anyway. This job has made me lose my entire prefrontal cortex, the logical area of my brain. Now I act on my emotions, my amygdala, thinking in fear, 'Oh, no, what will Ms. Zoya say?' And God knows what top secret mission she's conducting in her office nowadays. She's having secret meetings with business contractors of other companies and international agents or something. If someone so much as walks by, she snaps at them."

Haroun seems thoroughly confused. "Business contractors and international agents?"

"I don't care, man!" Farhan says agitatedly, blowing out a breath. "She's a ruthless one. And you know what — "

Haroun places a hand on Farhan's shoulder. "Farhan, relax. I don't think you should talk about her like that, no matter how much you don't like her — "

"No, no, let him continue." An amused voice says. Both guys turn their heads quickly to see their CEO leaning against the end of the hallway, arms folded and posture relaxed. Her eyes are bright and she starts tugging at the bottom of her hair, pulling loose strands out. Farhan looks as if he's going to pee his pants as his eyes widen in fear.

Despite the tense situation, Haroun holds back a laugh from his friend. His amygdala is probably going haywire right now.

"Chipkali, huh? That's pretty creative, I gotta tell you," Zoya says, wrapping loose hair around her fingers and throwing it in the trash can near her. Haroun eyes a large circle of fallen hair and furrows his eyebrows. "Snake, I've heard. Witch, I've also heard. But chipkali? Now that deserves an award." Zoya flashes her pearl white teeth and begins to laugh and clap her hands, and Farhan's face turns a nasty ashen color.

"N-No, Ms. Zoya. I wasn't talking about you — "

Zoya turns her face to Haroun and rolls her eyes as if to say, Can you believe this guy? "Farhan, save it. Can you please come to my office?"

Farhan looks as if he would rather pour hot tea all over himself. "I—Is that necessary?"

"Yes. You can say all those things to me in my office." She spins on her heel, then turns back around. "Oh, and you too." She points to Haroun, then turns and walks back to her office.

An indent appears between Haroun's eyebrows. "Wait, why me?"

Zoya turns back around and raises her eyebrows. "I want to talk to you guys about something."

Haroun and Farhan follow her to her office, the latter of whom clenches and unclenches his fists in angst. "I'm dead. I'm finished, bro. After Ms. Zoya fires me, my mom is gonna make me work at her brother's IT company and I swear I'm gonna plummet into depression after staring at all those computer screens for days. I'm gonna lose what's left of my freaking mind, I'm telling you. You know how much I hate comsci, right?"

Haroun chuckles lightly, his dimple flashing. To alleviate the tense situation somewhat, he says, "Get ready to code in Python."

Farhan elbows him. "You're the worst, man!"

Zoya turns around when she's at her desk and winks. "I hear Java isn't too bad."

Farhan gulps and the CEO rolls her eyes. "Relax. I'm not firing you." And for the fleetest moment, her eyes flick to Haroun, but she looks away so quickly he thinks he may have imagined it. "But I need you as the lead for this new project."

Now Farhan looks extremely confused. "What project?"

"We've been offered a place in the annual Desi World Fashion Show, and I want you to lead the project. Put together a team, figure out finances, meet with the designers, and finalize models. I want a presentation with the logistics in two weeks."

Farhan's eyes almost bug out, testifying that this is probably not what he was expecting.

But Haroun, observing from a more objective view, gets a bad feeling. From the little I know of him, Farhan cracks under pressure. Does she know he might screw up? "Ms. Zoya, may I give a suggestion?"

She turns her full, intense focus on him, but despite his lowered gaze, Haroun is steady. Resolute. "Why don't I co-lead? Farhan will have some support and I'll learn what it's like to get the full Zameer Co. experience. It'll be a beneficial learning experience."

Zoya brings a nail to her lips and contemplates his words. She cocks her head to the side. Farhan's breath hitches, and Haroun turns to see the surprising warmth in his friend's eyes. "Hmm." She pauses for a few seconds, then says, "Seems like a good idea. Why not?"

Haroun nods and looks at his relieved friend. "Thank you, Ms. Zoya."

"Koi baat nahi. You guys may leave now."

They exit and Farhan grabs Haroun's arm. "First of all, what the hell? She's in a good mood suddenly. Second, she just gave me such a huge opportunity. And third, you literally saved my life back there. I would not have been able to do this on my own. Fourth, what the hell is your effect on her, man? She turns into an angel when she sees you." He halts and stops Haroun. "What's going on? Koi chakkar chal raha hai?"

Haroun's face suddenly gets serious. "No, man."

Farhan shrugs. "Yeah, you don't seem like the type to me anyway."

Haroun furrows his eyebrows. "The type?"

"You know, the type who would start anything premarital. Especially not with someone like her."

Haroun tenses and reaches up to run his hand through his hair. "Yaar, Farhan, I really like you. Please don't say things like that."

His eyes widen. "What did I say?"

Haroun's tone is soft, eyes apologetic. "Assumptions about her character. We never know the state of anyone's heart."

Farhan opens and closes his mouth, unsure of what to say. "Sorry, yaar. You took it to heart."

Haroun sighs. "No, it's not about me. Or you. I just — " He shakes his head suddenly. "Never mind."

Farhan reaches up and pats Haroun's back. "I get it, man. You're right. You're the kind of friend my mom would be proud I have. For once."

Haroun's eyes darken. "I'm not — "

"Oh, Mr. Suleiman?" Zoya approaches them from the end of the hallway. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Farhan bites back a smile and nudges Haroun on, the latter of whom gets a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. Especially when he remembers her previous request: You're going to be the model for this part of the show.

He follows his boss to her office.

. . .

Once in her office, Zoya turns around, her curls bouncing around her face. "Close the door." Haroun gives her a strange look. "Please," she adds.

He does as she says and stands a few feet away from her awkwardly, leaning against the wall. Zoya fights off the laughter rumbling in her chest at his posture and clears her throat. "Choosing you as co-lead was a conscious decision. I didn't do it because you requested it."

Haroun shoves his hands in the pockets of his black pants. His eyebrows scrunch together and he smiles slightly. "Okay?"

His smile reveals the dimple in his left cheek. Zoya halts in twisting a curl of hair around her finger and eyes him brazenly.

Haroun looks away.

"I just wanted to let you know," Zoya says simply. She takes a few steps forward and Haroun visibly tenses. She cocks her head to the side, a grin making its way onto her face. "Although I first appointed Farhan as the lead for this project, I think you're the much better choice for it."

"Then why appoint him?" he asks casually, twisting his watch around his wrist and avoiding her eyes. Then, realizing how that might sound, he rushes to add, "I mean, if you weren't happy with him leading the project. Not that I want to lead it."

Zoya moves even closer and smiles. "Meri marzi. I don't feel like I need to tell you that."

"Okay . . . so is there something else you called me for, Ms. Zoya?" he says politely and rubs the back of his neck, seemingly nervous.

Zoya takes a few more steps until she's directly in front of him. She ducks her head a little to try to look into his eyes. He's actively avoiding her gaze, and it baffles her. After all, he had called her noteworthy and eye-catching — even if he seemed to have immediately regretted it. So were those all simply passing observations? Words he'd heard others say about her?

"Why won't you look at me?" she says softly.

Haroun looks up and around the room at the wall decorations, shifting so that he's not directly in front of her and instead at a considerable distance. He sighs and Zoya can practically feel the tension emanating from him. "You were saying, Ms. Zoya?"

Zoya grins slightly, intrigued by his behavior. He's still avoiding her eyes. "The point is, I want you guys to work together but I want you to have the upper hand. Clearly, you're already so practical and skilled in these organizational matters as represented by your résumé."

Haroun finally looks at her, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. As if he wasn't expecting her to have read his résumé, let alone think him capable. "You read my résumé?"

"Jaan, I'm the CEO." She winks and he quickly looks away again. "I know everything that goes on in this building, in this company. About each and every employee.

"So you're secretly leading. And" — she snorts lightly — "Farhan could use your help. Someone like you, who is so skilled and" — she pauses and dares to move closer, but Haroun has seemed to reach his breaking point. He steps away hurriedly.

"Uhh, anything else, Ms. Zoya, before I . . . ?" He gestures towards her door with his thumb, slowly stepping away to create even more distance between them.

Zoya flashes her brilliant smile at him. "No, dear. You may go." He exits quickly and she is left standing in her office with a strange smile on her face, eyes contemplative and curious.

Giggles begin to erupt out of her.

"I'll figure you out, Mr. Suleiman, I will. And if not" — she shrugs and throws her hands up in the air, bangles clinking against each other — "I'm not Zoya Zameer."

. . .