. . .

. . .

~

The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said: "Shall I not tell you who will be forbidden from the fire? Every gentle, soft-hearted, and kind person" (Hadith in Tirmidhi)

~

The next day, along with Zoya's cup of tea, Haroun carries a gift in purple wrapping paper. Zoya looks at him quizzically.

He shifts uncomfortably. "Salaam, Ms. Zoya. Um — " He sets the box on her desk. "This is from my mom."

She furrows her brows. "For what?"

"For promoting me."

Zoya laughs. "It was no big deal!" She eyes the gift. "But tell your mom I say thank you! That is so sweet of her."

Haroun nods and is about to leave when Zoya blurts out, "I heard you went zip lining yesterday."

Smooth, Zoya.

He turns. "Yes."

"Did you guys have fun?" She doesn't bother hiding her brashness, having done an in-depth investigation of who had been on the trip the night before: Haroun, Farhan, Bill, and a couple of their other male friends outside the company. Zoya had been searching for a file in her office and asked Sameer to locate it for her, who passed it over while scrolling through Farhan's Instagram. Zoya's eyes had caught a glimpse of a picture – featuring Haroun and the other guys – and she had done a double take.

"Is that Haroun?" she had asked. Sameer smiled and nodded.

Her curiosity piqued at seeing her gentle, kind employee against the backdrop of such a wild adventure. She eyed the longing on Sameer's face. "How come you didn't join them?"

Sameer had given her a bewildered look and simply pointed to her office as if it was obvious. "I'm working."

"Yes, ma'am, we did. Thank you." Haroun's voice breaks Zoya out of her thoughts. What did I ask him again? Zoya nods absentmindedly and Haroun leaves.

As soon as the door shuts, Zoya stares at the gift before grabbing it. "'From my mom,'" she repeats snidely. "Would you die if you pretended and said it was from you? You really know how to make a girl happy, Mr. Suleiman." She rips off the wrapping paper, revealing a large silver-studded box. Inside, atop pools of white satin rest the most gorgeous pair of earrings Zoya has ever seen. Jhumkas and — she lets out a small gasp — a floor length white dress. Pure and soft. She rubs the material between her fingers, astonished at how this woman could have been so familiar with her taste in clothes.

Nestled next to the gifts is a small note card written in tidy print. Zoya reads it out loud.

"'This is nothing compared to what you have done for us. May Allah bless you and reward you. We would love to have you over for dinner on Friday if that works for you.'"

A strange lightness spreads throughout Zoya. Having never seen her own mother after she passed away during childbirth, receiving such a heartfelt message from someone else's mother feels like the answer to a secret prayer.

Zoya mulls over the request. Dinner on Friday.

"Why not?" She shrugs and places the note card back in the box, stowing the gift away.

She shifts her attention back to the tabloid featuring her picture. The headline is "Zoya Zameer — CEO of Zameer Co. — announces international expansion of her multi-million dollar business." Below the bold words is a picture of her from the Desi World fashion show, followed by an article that details her decision, throwing in a few speculations about the sudden announcement.

Speculations rarely bother Zoya since they are an inevitable part of the life she has cultivated for herself. She usually doesn't even bother reading news about her personal life when the media office can do it for her, but one of the rumors in particular grabs her attention. Thrown in between a few lines about her company's victorious appearance at the fashion show are comments about "suspicious motives", one of them detailing a description of her alleged husband.

Zoya locks the iPad screen and settles back in her chair, thoroughly disturbed. Her mind is too preoccupied to think about the meetings she has planned for today.

. . .

The two employees are braced in front of each other, one with flared nostrils and crossed arms, while the other looks like he wants to sink into the floor.

"That's it. I'm sick and tired of this!"

Haroun remains silent in the face of Flora's irate outburst, his head bowed.

"Because you know what? Before you appeared, I was Ms. Zoya's favorite." On a quieter note, she adds, "She did me favors."

Haroun opens and closes his mouth, brows furrowed. "Flora, it's not what you think. There are no favorites — "

"No favorites my foot," Flora snaps, her eyes pooling with furious tears.

"Flora, it really wasn't my intention to hurt you. I'm really sorry if — "

"Oh, please stop with your whole 'holier than thou' attitude. It's phony and it pisses me off!"

"Please, I never — "

"Yeah, yeah. It's clear with the way you carry yourself that you believe you're better than everyone here. Is that what your religion teaches you? To bash others and make them feel terrible?"

Haroun shakes his head, his forehead creased with worry. "No, Flora. Of course not. I don't think I'm better than anyone here."

"Clearly you do. Clearly Ms. Zoya only likes you because you're Moslem and so is she." Several employees who are watching the scene gasp at her words – Flora has crossed a line now.

One of the onlookers leans in to whisper, "She's mad as hell about his promotion" to another.

Haroun presses his lips together and keeps his eyes trained to the floor.

Flora shoves her finger in his face. "See? You think you're too good to even give me answer. Pick your head up and talk to me like a man!"

Haroun still doesn't say anything. At that moment, the sound of clicking heels draws closer, and Zoya — having heard the chaos — turns the corner to face her two employees. By now, everyone in the lobby is watching them with bated breath.

"What's going on?" Zoya asks, her voice quiet and deadly. Her gaze snaps between Flora, whose jaw is now twitching with fury, and Haroun, whose hands are clasped before him. Zoya has witnessed variations of this scene repeatedly over the past few weeks, of Flora lashing out at Haroun for one thing or another.

"This man believes he's better than everyone here," Flora huffs.

Zoya raises her eyebrows. "Why do you say that? I don't get that vibe from him." She pauses, then dares to add, "Contrarily I think he constantly humbles himself and believes he's of lower status than everyone here."

Flora glares at Haroun. "See? Of course you would say that, Ms. Zoya. It's because he's fooled you like he's fooled everyone with his innocent and meek façade. But I'm not falling for it."

Zoya turns to Haroun, waiting to see whether he'll defend himself. But he keeps his mouth shut, gaze searing into the floor.

Zoya smiles in satisfaction and turns back to Flora. "Alright, Flora," she says, clapping her hands. The employees exchange anxious looks at the oddly calm tone of her voice. "Let's settle this once and for all — since this is clearly a permanent issue for you. Forget about the majority — if even half the people in this room agree with what you say, I'm firing Haroun. And I swear by the God Who gave me life that I'll do it."

Haroun's head snaps up in alarm.

"Everyone gather round," Zoya raises her voice, and it resonates throughout the lobby. "Join the circus show," she mutters to herself before continuing. "Gather round now. Quickly! I need everyone here!"

Everyone drops what they're doing either eagerly or hesitantly and makes their way over to the three people in the middle of the lobby.

Zoya turns to Haroun and smiles sweetly. "Close your eyes, Haroun."

Haroun hesitates. "Just do it, sweetheart," Zoya insists. His brow furrowing – either at the word sweetheart or the tense situation – he does as she says. Zoya turns full circle to everyone in the room. Flora looks stricken, her face taking on a sickly yellow pallor.

"Alright. Raise your hand if you think that Mr. Haroun Suleiman over here" — she gestures to him — "gives off the vibe that he believes he's better than everyone around him. And be honest. Your integrity is on the line. Raise your hand if you think he displays a — as Flora says — 'holier than thou' attitude." Zoya eyes each employee and waits.

No one raises their hand. Not a single person. Not even Flora's friends, who shoot her apologetic looks.

As expected. "Great." Zoya chirps, turning back to her two employees. "We have a unanimous vote. Not a single person in this room agrees with your statement, so Flora, you're fired." Zoya smiles sweetly at her.

Immediately Flora's head snaps up and her eyes widen. "W-What?"

Zoya nods. "You're fired. Do you wanna hear it in Spanish? Sal de aquí."

Flora's face turns ashen. "No wait, Ms. Zoya. I'm sorry, I — "

Zoya tucks her curls behind her ear, turns around, and begins to walk away. Haroun looks even more worried than before, and Flora throws him one last resentful look before she rushes after Zoya. "Please, Ms. Zoya. It was a mistake. I'm sorry, I — "

"Nobody is allowed to insult my employees, Flora," Zoya snaps, continuing to walk as Flora trails after her. "And I don't tolerate injustice in my company. This world may target the harmless and the innocent, but I won't allow that in my company."

"No, please, please, please, Ms. Zoya. Don't do this. Come on, it's me! It's Flora! I'm the lead designer. What happened to being one of your first employees? Please don't do this to me. It was a mistake. I take it back, I — " Desperately, Flora grabs at Zoya's arm since Zoya continues to walk away, dupatta trailing carelessly behind her. Zoya's sleeve rides up, revealing faded scars lining her arm.

Immediately Zoya shakes her arm out of Flora's grip and looks around hurriedly. To her dismay, Haroun's – and many other employees' – eyes have followed her and Flora.

"Don't touch me," she spits out through gritted teeth, eyeing Flora hatefully. The kind of hatred that – to an objective eye – would seem much too intense for this moment alone. "You can't take things back — you can never take things back when they're over. Once you've done something, the scar of it remains forever, whether you regret it or not." Zoya rubs her arm. With one last glance at the watching employees, she rushes towards her office, but Flora follows her again.

"Please, Ms. Zoya." Angry tears pool in her eyes but Flora swipes at them, attempting to hold herself together. She points to herself. "Please. It's me, it's Flora! I'm your lead designer!"

Zoya turns and gives her a small smile. "I see that, yes."

"So please don't do this to me, Ms. Zoya. Not to me."

A corner of Zoya's lips turns up. "You could be Bill Gates." Her smile vanishes. "And I would still fire you." She turns and walks away, heels clicking against the floor. Flora's tears begin to fall, and Haroun stands there with an even more troubled expression on his face.

. . .