. . .

. . .

~

"When a thing disturbs the peace of your heart, give it up." (Prophet Muhammad)

~

Zoya makes sure no one is around Farhan when she approaches him. "I want hydrangeas for the Desi World fashion show, Farhan. Freshest ones. In every single color."

"Yes, Ms. Zoya." He copies it down onto his clipboard.

"And get that ridiculous gel out of your hair." She gestures to his spikes, and he self-consciously pats his head. "I don't want my employees looking like reckless bike riders."

"Uh — yes, Ms. Zoya."

"Phir with the stuttering?" she huffs, stomping away to her office.

Two hours later, Zoya pages her receptionist. "Sarah," she says when the woman walks in. "I have a task for you. Give these magazine clippings of carnations to Farhan and tell him these are the flowers I was talking about. Tell him these will decorate the stage."

Sarah nods and takes the folder from Zoya. "Anything else, Ms. Zoya?"

"Nope." Sarah nods once more before leaving.

Zoya leans back in her chair and taps her chin with a pen. A corner of her mouth lifts. "Sorry, Mr. Farhan. Unfortunately for you, you've become a pawn on the chess board of Zoya Zameer's life. A piece in the game."

At this moment, shouts erupt from outside her office door. Zoya furrows her brows before standing and exiting her office to witness the commotion.

Flora stands before Haroun with a clenched jaw. His eyes, as usual, are trained to the floor. But this time they are focused on the spilled coffee around Flora's feet.

"Can't you watch where you're going, Haroun? Just because you're now Ms. Zoya's favorite doesn't mean you can go around doing whatever the hell you feel like." Flora rubs tissues over her pant leg, which has a dark brown stain on it.

He looks genuinely confused when she says favorite. "I'm really sorry, Flora. I — "

"Just get out of my face."

"Woah, woah, woah," Zoya laughs a little. Her heart begins to beat faster and her cheeks flush as she realizes she's angry. Heels clicking loudly against the floor, she approaches the two of them. "Flora, what's the problem?"

"He doesn't have eyes is the problem."

"Excuse me, Flora, but I don't appreciate my employees bickering with one another." With a sardonic laugh, she adds, "That's my job."

Flora narrows her eyes, the expression looking strange on her face, especially when the opponent is Zoya. "Well, we follow by example, don't we?"

Zoya snorts, rolling her eyes. "You're lucky you don't piss me off, Flora."

Flora doesn't say anything, just continues rubbing her leg with the tissue. Haroun leans down and places tissues over the spilled coffee, pushing them around to soak the liquid into them.

Something about seeing him bent on the floor, his lips pressed together and dimple creased in concentration, swirling tissues around in dirty coffee sets Zoya's heart beating erratically. "Sarah," she yells behind her. "Call the janitor here."

Sarah obliges and disappears down the corridor.

"Leave it, Haroun," Zoya says, tucking her curls behind her ear. Look at me, she wills silently.

He continues to clean it. "It's alright, Ms. Zoya. I made the mess, so I'll clean it."

"Damn right you will," Flora says angrily.

Zoya turns to her and raises her brows. "Flora," she says, batting her lashes. "Excuse yourself from my sight. Now."

Flora widens her eyes at Zoya, clearly surprised by her attitude towards her before she spins on a heel and stomps away. Zoya turns back to Haroun, expecting him to be pleased by this but he's quiet. Eyes filled with shame. With a last look of disappointment, he turns around and walks away.

Zoya stands there, confused.

Flora plainly and openly insulted Haroun, the guy everyone in this company bonded with very quickly due to his calm and welcoming nature. And although Flora is one of the few people who doesn't piss her off, Zoya dismissed her for insulting Haroun. He should be happy that he's experiencing the nicer side of Zoya Zameer.

Yet he's managed to awaken in her the emotion she felt only around her father. The lingering, the constant expectation for something more.

Zoya shrugs, mystified, and turns around. Sarah is back with the janitor in tow, but Zoya turns him away and pulls Sarah to the side. "Go do what I've asked."

Sarah nods. Zoya walks back to her office slowly, still thinking of Haroun's wounded eyes.

. . .

When Sarah finds Farhan pacing around with a clipboard in hand, she hands him the file. "These are the carnations Ms. Zoya wants on the stage."

"Carnations? But she told me she wants . . . hydrangeas."

Sarah shrugs. "She gave these to me."

Farhan knits his brows in confusion. "Carnations . . ." He mumbles under his breath, momentarily perplexed. "Well, alright then."

Haroun joins Farhan and the two begin working together on the design of the stage as well as role designation. Farhan keeps eyeing Haroun, finding his quiet attitude bizarre.

"Yaar, what's up with you? Did Ms. Zoya say something?"

Haroun shakes his head. "No."

"Then what happened? I heard there was some ruckus upstairs. That's where you were, right?"

Haroun smiles, but it seems forced. "Nothing, Farhan. I'm okay, really. Just a bit tired. No need to worry."

"Hm." Farhan doesn't look convinced. "Well, alright, then. We'll take a coffee break."

At the word "coffee", Haroun's eyes fill with shame. Farhan bites his lip and narrows his eyes. "That yelling upstairs. That was at you, wasn't it? But what could you have done to piss anyone off? Did you accidentally walk in on one of Ms. Zoya's secret meetings or something? What happened?"

"I don't — it's not her fault. I was walking quickly and accidentally spilled coffee on Flora. Hot coffee."

Farhan sucks in a breath. "Ouch. So that yelling was Flora?" He pauses, lips pressed together before he blurts out, "But she's always really nice."

A dejected expression takes over Haroun's face. "I don't think she likes me very much. She said something about being Ms. Zoya's favorite."

"Can't deny that." Farhan shrugs at Haroun's bewildered expression. "What? I told you this before. She favors you over everyone else."

"That's not true," Haroun insists.

"Yes it is. But since you're not very fond of this topic, let's focus on what order these models will walk the runway."

Haroun nods, still looking sullen. They spend the rest of the afternoon working on the logistics of the fashion show with the rest of the team. Farhan sighs happily, leaning back to stretch and then snapping back into a more professional position as Zoya walks over to them. Immediately, Haroun busies himself with the magazine clippings of the carnations.

"How's it going, boys?" She adjusts her dupatta over her shoulders.

"Great," Farhan replies animatedly.

Although she had asked both of them, Zoya's eyes are trained only on Haroun. "Mr. Suleiman?"

"Yes?"

"How's it going?"

"Good."

She nods slowly. "I don't expect it to go any other way, with someone so qualified leading the project."

Farhan's eyes widen as he takes Zoya's compliment as directed towards him. But he misses the way Haroun flinches at the statement.

"Excuse me for a moment, please," Haroun murmurs politely. He stands and walks away.

Zoya's eyes follow him and she bites her lip, face screwed up in concentration. Farhan eyes her carefully, monitoring the way she continues to stare at the space Haroun disappeared into even a couple seconds later.

Suddenly she turns back to him and adjusts her dupatta. "What?" she snaps.

Farhan stares at her indignantly. "Nothing, Ms. Zoya."

"Get back to work," she orders, turning on her heel to walk away.

Farhan sighs. "Yes, Ms. Zoya." When she's out of sight, he murmurs, "Right after I finish my HR complaint."

. . .