Journey to Hidaya | ✔️

| 04 |

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"Allah, the eternal Refuge." (112:2)
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Zoya Zameer isn't one to display her weaknesses—being the CEO of such a successful company has taught her that valuable lesson—so when Haroun witnesses the end of her panic attack, a fire ignites within her.

For the next few days, she settles all her angry focus on him. Although he's only an intern, she gives him tasks that are quite above the expectations of his job description. And on top of these absurd tasks, she summons him for tea every morning. Her behavior is a combination of merciless and flirtatious. It's precisely the latter reason that causes Haroun to purse his lips when she bats her lashes and asks for more sugar in her tea.

"I added five packets, Ms. Zoya."

"Mmm." Zoya taps her chin, pretending to be immersed in thought. "Add six next time."

Haroun nods after a beat. "Yes, ma'am." A moment of silence later, he turns to leave.

"Oh, by the way," Zoya beckons with her index finger, the laughter already bubbling inside her in anticipation of his reaction. "I want you to see this."

He walks forward tentatively, hands shoved in his pockets. The way he carries himself amuses Zoya, as if he constantly believes he needs to be prepared to defend himself against potential attack.

On Zoya's desk lies a blue file. It consists of designs for the clothes of the next bridal shoot. She flips through the designs and stops at one particularly striking sherwani.

"You're wearing this."

Haroun's black eyes seem to darken further. "What?"

Zoya revels in the pleasure she feels at riling him up. At the tensing of his shoulders and the tightness of his jaw. She's never experienced this kind of thrill before, and it feels heedy and intoxicating.

"Yeah, you're going to be the model for this part of the show," Zoya says.

"But I don't even—I'm just—why do I have to model for it?" She can see the effort it takes him in reigning his anger in, and replacing it with polite indignation instead.

Zoya raises an eyebrow. He's too respectful to be outright rude towards her, but the storm beginning to swirl in his otherwise passive eyes is unmistakable. "Because I asked you to." And I enjoy it far too much when I get under your skin.

"But I'm an intern." Haroun holds his hands out, confused. "Besides . . ." he hesitates. "Is the company allowed to force me to do something that wasn't in the job description?"

She hears the additional, unspoken sentence. "Are you allowed to force me?"

Zoya leans back in her chair. Her gaze flicks to his hands, then to his face. His choice of words intrigues her. Is the company allowed to force me? Which tells Zoya he seriously sees this as a threat, a realization which only further fascinates her.

"Your concern is justifiable," she drawls, examining her nails. "But I'm assuming you're staying in this job for the long run?"

"I—" he seems too flustered, too lost for words, to form a response.

"Besides, did you read the company policies document in its entirety?" she dares to bluff.

Haroun furrows his eyebrows.

Check. He's taking the bait.

"Well, no . . ." he murmurs quietly, but rushes to continue at the triumphant expression on Zoya's face. "But Ms. Zoya, who ever reads the company policies document in its entirety? It's like the terms and conditions on an iPhone."