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Naira was just about ready to strangle her grandfather for his vague, unclear, and immensely cryptic instructions. Anger and frustration coursed through her veins, a heated poison blinding her with rage as she wandered the city, seething a mental list of the long lecture she'd give her ever so lovely grandfather.

Calm down, she told herself, exhaling a slow breath and adjusting her glasses. This is fine. Grandpa is a busy man, maybe I called at a bad time.

She sighed, holding her brown, leather handbag closer to her body. The streets bustled with civilians, people who were distracted by the phone calls that demanded their attention or the perfunctory tasks their daily lives enforced. Men and women crowded the sidewalk, silhouettes towering over each other as the reflective, intimidating buildings bore its shadow on their small frames, outlined by the yellow glow of a midday sun.

Within those walls laid the hard work of countless people, the dreams that never vanished from their line of sight even when their paths intertwined with a tragedy or a series of heartaches. Those people carried on, striving to reach their true potential.

Naira paused in front of her grandfather's building. Muller Incorporation, read the silver, metallic letters above the doors, the building standing proudly in the middle of their economically successful city.

Her dark eyes stared through the crystal glass. Ya Allah, help me be as successful one day. Ameen.

With a small breath for courage, she pushed the doors open, swiping a security card at the next interval before she was verified access to be let in. This was where her grandfather's instructions differed.

He told her a mumble of words in an attempt to direct her, yet she could barely make out his sentences when he was shouting orders at his secretary.

Glancing at the running business folks  as a stack of papers and hoard of voices spoke over each other, she finally understood why her grandfather was so distracted. Phone calls were running rampant throughout the building and sheer panic was written across the front desk.

A few stares went her way as her appearance stood out to her grandfather's employees. Though they were buried under some chaos, curious looks stared right at her.

Subconsciously, she smoothed the small crease on her long dress, a lavender gown loosely cinched at her waist as ruffles seamed the bottom of the dress and the ends of her sleeves, cuffing at her wrists. On her shoulders, a few hibiscus flowers and daisies were gently woven in, but her soft, pastel, pink hijab covered those designs.

She knew she stood out. She knew some whispered about her father and mother. She knew they questioned the validity of her lineage. She knew they wondered how Naira could be the granddaughter to a CEO like her grandfather, a non-Muslim, white man who had the world of business at his mercy due to his success.

Cladded in modesty and head held high, she tried her best to ignore the stares. The more she stepped into the pond of the Muller legacy, the more she began to understand why her father left the company behind to chart his own path.

Her arms hugged herself, folding over her stomach as she stepped aside.

People already started to whisper about her identity. She'd only been there a few times in the past, but by then rumors about her family already spread and so did the vast majority of opinions.

Many thought Naira's mother forced her father out of his rightful stake in the business, that she lied and manipulated him to fall in love with her and their religion, and that Naira and her brother were as vicious as the rumors.

They were wrong.

Her parents were faithful in Allah, and they spent every day of their lives teaching her about the value of love, of family, and of faith. They left the business behind to salvage their happiness because a world like this wasn't meant for them.

But Naira was determined to make it hers, to change those mocking gazes and morph it into respect for everything her parents endured to raise her. Muslims were just as capable as anyone to be greater than what society deemed them to be.

Her parents taught her that, and she'd make them proud. In Shaa Allah (if God wills it).

The ice formed around her heart again, strength flushing color back into her cheeks as she straightened, meeting their gazes harshly.

Of course, the universe plotted against her.

Her body was roughly pushed to the ground, her handbag falling off her shoulder and sliding across the marble tiles. Even her glasses rested in a crooked position and halfway off her face.

She fell hard on her side, groaning at the slight pain as the man responsible for the accident tripped beside her.

"Ouch," he mumbled to himself.

Naira adjusted her frames again, quickly checking to make sure nothing was cracked. She breathed a sigh of relief as she reached for her bag and her phone that fell out. A lingering pain taunted her hip, and she knew a bruise would form.

"Don't you have eyes?" she hissed, gathering her bag as her eyes scanned the contents inside to see if anything was missing. "Watch where you're going next time."

"Listen, lady," he started to say as he helped Naira clean up her stuff, his hand grabbing her phone. Before he could make a snarky remark towards her, his eyes lifted meeting her frazzled state, her eyes frantically searching for her phone. "Here," he whispered, handing it to her. 

Naira's head snapped up. "Thanks," she said as she took the last of her things, standing up. 

Unknown to Naira, the boy before her was too immersed in her presence to realize she wanted nothing more to escape from the watchful eyes of the company and the slight pink to her cheeks that coated her embarrassment in a hue of bright colors. 

"I'm Rayan-" the man began to introduce himself.

She scowled, dialing her grandfather's number on her phone. "And I don't care. Now, if you'll excuse me." 

Her back was turned to him, focus already drifting away from the young man. His memory and the entire incident slowly dissipated to the back of her mind, abandoned and forgotten, a simple task for her to ignore any irrelevance in her life. Naira had a job to do, and she didn't have time to waste on pleasantries. 

Though Naira barely spared him a glance, her appearance was already engraved in his.


Y'all why is Zoom so annoying? Virtual programs are making me scream.

Yeah, that was an awful first author's note, but you know I like using these notes to complain about my life XD Anyway, yes this is how our heroine and hero meet. 

Go ahead. Attack me for being cliche. I AM OKAY WITH IT. 

Love at first sight?

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