~
"In the name of Allah, the most Gracious, the most Merciful." (Qur'an 1:1)
~

"Ms. Zoya?"

Auburn curls fly. A pretty face turns and jhumkas dangle from her ears. A sequined dupatta adorns soft shoulders, and the bangles on her wrist jingle merrily as she flips through the papers in her hand in frustration.

"This better be really important, Sameer."

The guy pauses, and the helicopter blades in his ribcage can be heard even from a distance.

"Uhh—"

"Stop stuttering and tell me what you want." Zoya slaps the papers onto the table. "And where the hell is this stupid file?"

After a moment of calculated silence, Sameer says, "Which file?"

"The one with the new designs and blueprints for the sherwanis and lehengas!"

"Where did you put it?" he dares to ask.

"On my head!" she shouts, glaring at him. "If I had known that, Sameer, why the hell would I ask you where it is?"

He stays quiet, knowing full well not to interrupt his boss in her rage.

Zoya sighs, closes her eyes, and pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. She takes a deep breath. "You have two seconds to tell me what you disturbed me for, Sameer."

Sameer rushes forward. "Ma'am, there's someone here for an interview."

At this, her eyes fly open. She narrows her gaze. "Send him to Bill, as we discussed. And get me some chamomile tea, please."

Sameer turns to leave, then dares to run on knives and turns towards his boss again. "Ms. Zoya, are you alright? Why don't you take a little break?"

She flips her hair behind her shoulders and places a hand on her hip.

Once, Sameer's heart used to beat faster around her. And not out of fear. But whose heart hasn't and doesn't at least once beat irregularly around stunning Zoya Zameer?

"I'm okay, Sameer," she says, fanning herself with her dupatta. "Breaks can't be afforded. Especially not now, when the industry is booming and the demand for Pakistani clothes for Fashion Week and bridal occasions and so forth is higher than ever. Can you believe this? Dreams are coming true." She makes a grand sweeping gesture with her arms.

Sameer smiles and leaves it at that, exiting her office.

Zoya Zameer returns to searching for the black file.

~

The man behind the large oval desk clears his throat.

"I'm Bill Krenak, the senior manager here," he says, rifling through the file in his hands and pausing to eye the interviewee in front of him. "Haroun is your name?"

"Yes, sir."

"Am I pronouncing it correctly?" Bill asks. At the flash of surprise on Haroun's face, Bill chuckles. "As I'm sure you've noticed, Zameer is a very diverse company. We celebrate people of all backgrounds and value our employees' comfort here."

Haroun nods. "Yes, sir, thank you. You're pronouncing it correctly."

"Awesome. Do you have a preferred name?"

"No, sir."

"Tell me about yourself, Haroun."

"What do you want to know, sir?"

Bill raises a brow, intrigued. "Surely you're well acquainted with what interviews are supposed to entail? Considering you've come for one of the largest businesses in North America, correct?"

Haroun smiles. "I didn't realize interviews were supposed to be so thoroughly scripted and rehearsed."

Bill leans back and presses his lips together, staring Haroun down with an unmistakable spark of interest. "Perhaps not. But I'd like to know about you."

As Bill questions him, Haroun gives minimal responses, as if using too many words is exhausting. When the senior manager asks about his previous jobs, Haroun taps the desk with four fingers, the sound resembling hoof beats. A fissure appears between his brows, as if he's contemplating how best to word his next sentence. He seems to reign a sigh when he murmurs, "Have you seen my résumé?"

Bill raises another brow but quirks his lips. "Of course. That's why you're here. But I'd prefer hearing directly from you than from a file."

Haroun nods shakily. "Right. Sorry, I understand. It's just . . ." He trails off, eyes growing dark.

Bill scrutinizes him, a sympathetic expression coating the senior manager's features. He's seen many nervous interviewees, but something tells Bill that the man in front of him isn't trembling from nerves. "You know what, let me ask you something else." Bill closes Haroun's file as an attempt to put him at ease. "I'm curious; I've looked extensively through your CV and attempted to understand, but I've come up empty." Bill tilts his head. "You certainly have the experience and work ethic, given your recommendations, to pursue a higher position. Why are you interviewing for the position of an intern?"

Almost imperceptibly, Haroun's breath catches. Bill notices and leans back, eyebrows knitted.

Haroun takes a deep breath. "I understand your curiosity. It must seem strange . . ." He pauses. "The truth is—"

Just then, Zoya barges into the office and sets a black file on Bill's desk. She pulls strands of hair away from her face and says breathlessly, "What is this, Bill?"

Bill steeples his fingers and stares at her. "Surely this can wait?"

"No, it can't."

"I'm conducting an interview right now."

Haroun makes a small noise, holding back a smile. His shoulders have relaxed since Zoya's abrupt entry—he seems to be grateful for the interruption.

Zoya turns to him. "Who is this?" she asks in a friendly voice. She smiles sweetly at Haroun and bats her eyelashes, to which he replies by looking away.

"This is Haroun. I haven't gotten past too much yet, so if you would please—"

"No, I would not please. This file was supposed to be sent to the media office days ago. Why hasn't that been done yet?" As she speaks, Zoya continues to sneak unabashed glances at Haroun. Her eyes sparkle with uncharacteristic warmth.

Bill's eyes narrow at the expression on the CEO'S face. "I had spoken to Rana about it," he says, gesturing to the file. "He said it was sent to the media office for reviews and it wasn't accepted."

Zoya's momentary lapse in attention disappears, and she turns the full force of her gaze on Bill. "Wasn't accepted? What do you mean?"

"Meaning the designs were rejected."

Zoya laughs mirthlessly. "Okay, Bill Nye. I don't have time for your silly little games."

"I'm not playing games with you."

Zoya slams her palm on the table. Haroun flinches, but Bill is unfazed. "Tell them to come to the CEO of this company and give a valid reason as to why the designs were rejected." She slaps the table once more before she turns—hair flying—to stomp out of the office.

Bill sighs. He cannot even be annoyed with her because her anger is justified—the designs were magnificent and would surely have popularized their campaigns and further expanded their reach—but the media office rejected them. Bill and his team are all baffled.

He looks up at his guest. Haroun hasn't moved an inch and is tense with what may be anxiety.

Bill cocks his head. Considering Haroun's CV and what Bill has gauged from observing the man himself, needless to say he's both impressed and intrigued. He taps his fingers on the desk, mulling over a couple things, before he comes to a resolution with a smile.

"Welcome to Zameer Co. Meet your CEO, Ms. Zoya Zameer."

~

Assalamu 'Alaikum (peace be upon you) :)

Thank you so much for taking out the time to read this. It means a lot to me.

Translations:

Jhumkas: South Asian cultural earrings

Dupatta: Cultural (and often religious) scarf or stole

Sherwani: Formal South Asian clothing for men

Lehenga: Formal South Asian clothing for women

What did you think of the first chapter? Please don't forget to vote, comment, and share and let me know your thoughts in the comments below or message me privately. :)))

Wa 'Alaikum Salam.