Journey to Hidaya | ✔️

| 03 |

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"Allah does not burden a soul beyond what it can bear." (Qur'an 2:286)
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"Three, two, one, hold still. Perfect. Now turn your face to the side. Beautiful."

Cameras flash, lights dance. The model in front of the green screen places a hand on her hip and turns the other way, the Pakistani shalwar kameez decorating her in bright and vibrant colors.

Zoya Zameer walks around the crew, fanning herself with her favorite flower-patterned fan. She decided to join the shoot after a very long time today, telling herself her decision had nothing to do with the new intern. She struggles to make good on that statement, however, as she steals frequent glances at Haroun Suleiman.

Zoya tilts her head and narrows her eyes, attention momentarily straying from him when she senses something off in the shoot. "Halt," she says, and everyone freezes in their tracks. She points to the model. "We need some of Abeer sitting. Maybe with crossed legs and the dupatta draped across the chaise. It's going to look fabulous," she singsongs.

The crew obeys her command and—when she isn't looking—the photographing lead shoots her a glare.

Haroun stands to the side with a clipboard in hand, noting the breakdown of the photo shoot. Zoya sees an opening and walks over to him, fluffing her hair and shooting him her perfect Colgate-teeth smile. His responding smile is polite but reserved.

Zoya flips her curls over her shoulders. "What do you think?" Her voice is sugary sweet.

He continues to take frantic notes. She notices how he avoids looking at the female model as much as possible, focusing instead on the props around her or flickering his gaze to the male photographer instead. "I'm sorry, about what?"

Zoya grins. "The shoot, sweetheart."

His jaw tightens. Zoya gauges it must be a response to the word sweetheart, which only makes her grin wider. "Oh," he says. "It's very nice."

She raises her eyebrows. "Very descriptive."

"I apologize," he says, looking up from his notes with a tired smile. "I'm just trying not to miss anything."

Zoya lets out a peal of high-pitched laughter. "Week one and already Zameer has gotten you into the nitty gritty of things?"

He nods, continuously glancing at the photographer, who is now focused on a male dressed in an intricately embroidered wedding sherwani. The prop team shuffles around and grabs things to add and take away from the set.

Zoya's eyes trace Haroun's features, and again she is surprised by how attractive she finds him. "So what do you think of this model's clothes?"

"Hmm? Oh, they're nice."

"Just nice?" she challenges. Come on, she pleads silently. I know you've got more in you.

Haroun stops writing and turns to Zoya. He's a good head taller than her, but with her confident posture and bright eyes, Zoya is able to intimidate all.

There is an agitated look on his face, and he seems distracted as his gaze darts around. But to Zoya's surprise, his voice still comes out courteous when he speaks. "It's fantastic, Ms. Zoya."

"Really? That doesn't sound very wholehearted, Mr. Suleiman."

He twirls his pen. "No, seriously, it's awesome. Really. Great job." With the way he's speaking, one would think he's picking cereal flavors rather than designed embroideries.

The lights continue to flash around them. Flora, one of Zoya's favorite and most dedicated workers, walks forward and sets a lamp on the table beside the chaise.