❤️

~

"So verily with hardship, there is ease. Verily, with hardship, there is ease." (Qur'an 94:5–6)

~

As Zoya finishes praying Maghrib, the hues in the sky disappear and she sits behind her desk once more.

She doesn't realize how late it's gotten until she's yawning and glancing at her clock. Widening her eyes at the darkness outside, she quickly begins to reorganize her desk and pack her things. She stuffs her keys into her handbag and almost trips over her own heels while rushing outside.

As expected, the building is silent and empty save for the security guards. They nod at her as she leaves. "Good night, Ms. Zoya."

"Good night," she says breathlessly, barely even looking at them.

She fumbles for her phone in her handbag as the elevator makes its slow trek down the building. "Note to self," she mutters. "Get the technicians to fix this dumb elevator."

The elevator dings and the doors slide open as Zoya lifts her handbag closer to her face to search for her phone. She turns a corner, not watching where she's going and gasps in surprise when she slams into someone. Her handbag slips and falls to the floor, her heel giving way as she collapses forward.

Her hands grasp strong shoulders and two hands reach out to upright her. The contact sends waves of discomfort throughout her.

Zoya looks up, sees Haroun's dark, intense black eyes.

As soon as Haroun uprights her, he immediately steps away and shrugs himself off. He reaches down to grab her bag and hands it to her. Zoya notices how careful he is not to touch her again, even by accident. "I'm sorry," he mutters. "Are you alright?"

"Yes . . . yes, thank you," she stutters. Where did he come from? She tucks her hair behind her ears and shoulders her handbag. "How come you're still here?"

He points behind him, avoiding her eyes. "Farhan and I were working on the project. I was going to get our UberEats order."

"Oh." Pick your head up, Zoya, it doesn't suit you to be speechless. Zoya straightens and flips her hair behind one shoulder. "Wow. You guys are pretty dedicated."

"We just wanted to get a head start," he replies quietly.

"Right." Leave before you make a fool of yourself any more, Zoya. "Well, I'm — " She gestures to the exit and he nods with a "Salaam", backing away as if he can't wait to get away from her.

As Zoya drives home, Haroun's eyes continue to distract her. So dark, so intense.

"Kya hua hai, Zoya? He's just a man like half of the world is. Nothing special." Someone behind her beeps their horn at her. "Kya hai? Dumb people on the roads these days, I'm telling you." She shakes her head and as the person behind her switches lanes, she too switches to be in front of them. She smiles in the rear view mirror at the middle finger the man is pointing towards her. "Yeah, yeah, go ahead. As if you have any other defense. Paaghal hai sab aaj kal, yaar." The guy switches lanes once more and Zoya allows him. As he drives by, she watches his face — contorted in rage — switch to surprise as he sees her impeccable features.

Zoya flips her hair behind her shoulder. "Yeah, that's right, you have no idea who you're talking to." She drives quietly for a few more minutes, again unsettled by how dark it is outside. She always tells herself to leave work right after Maghrib so that it's not too dark but manages to lose track of time.

Finally, after what seems like forever, her manor approaches and the gatekeeper nods at her before buzzing her in. "You're late today, Ms. Zoya."

She sighs long and loud. "Work kept me."

After Zoya parks, the doorman Aman lets her in, glancing at her with that sad look that always confuses her. She's too tired to argue with him again, though, and is about to make her way upstairs when her maid Mumtaz approaches her. "Zoya bibi, you're late today. Is everything okay?"

Zoya slams her keys down on the foyer table and Mumtaz flinches. "Does everyone need to keep reminding me that I'm late? I know I'm late."

"Bibi, I was just worried because you get — "

Zoya's eyes flash. "I get what, Mumtaz?"

The maid looks down and quiets.

"I thought so." Zoya sighs. "Anyway, I'm hungry. Get the food ready while I shower."

Mumtaz nods eagerly and rushes to the kitchen.

Zoya makes her way upstairs to her room, trying to ignore the shivers consuming her. She steps into the warm shower as quickly as possible and allows the water to relax her shaking muscles. "I-It's okay," she says through clenched teeth, pressing her fist into the wall. The dark, empty night sky continues to appear behind her closed eyelids. "You're okay, Zoya."

Once she's showered and changed, Zoya heads downstairs, tucking wet hair behind her ears. Mumtaz has set the table with some of Zoya's favorite foods; biryani, samosas, dahi bhare, and more. Zoya smiles and digs in. When Mumtaz still hasn't left, Zoya looks up at her. "This is really good," she mumbles reluctantly, and Mumtaz seems to glow with happiness.

The maid eyes her closely and presses her lips together to hold back a laugh. Zoya sets down her fork. "What?"

"Uh, bibi, you still have some mascara running down your cheeks."

Zoya grabs her phone and flips open the camera. Sure enough, dull black lines run down her face just as they appear in movies, when the heroine cries over her pathetic, broken heart. Zoya sighs and closes her phone. "Whatever. Did you guys eat?"

"Yes." Mumtaz replies, a look of surprise on her face at Zoya's usually unasked question.

When Zoya's done eating, she wipes her mouth with a tissue and begins to pick up the dishes when Mumtaz reaches out to stop her. "Bibi, it's okay. I can do it."

Zoya tenses at the contact. "I have hands, too, Mumtaz."

Mumtaz obliges silently at the flash in Zoya's eyes and together they carry the dishes to the kitchen. Then, needing a distraction to suppress her shudders, Zoya washes the dishes while refusing Mumtaz's pleas to do them herself. The entire time, her jaw is clenched, eyes sharply focused on the water and the soap suds to combat the terror clawing up her throat.

Later, when she's snuggled under her soft comforter and her head lies on her black ice memory foam pillow, Zoya can't seem to close her eyes. Her shivers won't suppress even though all the lights in the room are on and the curtains are shut, concealing the darkness outside. The door of her room is open as well, light filtering through the indoor balconies and chandeliers outside.

"Relax, Zoya," she mumbles to herself through shivers. "You're okay."

Then, surprising even her, the image of a pair of intense black eyes flashes in her mind. Her hands remember the strong arms she gripped.

Her eyelids start to close slowly, the picture of black eyes never leaving her. She falls asleep imagining those strong arms around her.

Haroun's arms.

. . .