Nuha woke to the piercing buzz of her alarm, the faint light of dawn spilling into her room. Her limbs felt heavy, her head clouded with fatigue. Barely two hours of sleep and a night spent hunched over fabric and thread—it was no way to start a Monday.

She sat up, rubbing her temples as she glanced toward the mannequin in the corner. The pastel yellow dress shimmered in the soft light, its silk folds perfectly draped, the delicate beadwork and gems catching the morning glow. It was a masterpiece, but Nuha felt no satisfaction, only the nagging frustration that it existed at all.

At precisely 7:00 AM, she reached for her phone and called Zoya. The line rang unanswered. She frowned, tapping her pen against the notepad on her desk. Zoya’s thoughtlessness was a familiar irritant, but today, it grated more than usual. She’s the one who disrupted my weekend, kept me up all night, and now she won’t answer her phone? Nuha thought, her jaw tightening.

By 9:00 AM, Zoya finally returned her call. Nuha picked up instantly, masking her irritation behind her usual composed tone.

“Good morning, Zoya,” she said evenly. “I need you to come by for the final fitting and to collect your dress. And please don’t forget to settle the payment.”

“Oh, Nuha, thank you so much for calling back,” Zoya chirped, her tone as breezy as ever. “I’ll come by around 10. You’re an absolute lifesaver!”

Nuha closed her eyes briefly, gripping the phone tighter. “I’ll see you at 10,” she replied curtly, hanging up before Zoya could ramble on.

---

By the time Zoya arrived, the dress was ready, perched gracefully on the mannequin. Its cascading hemline flowed like liquid sunlight, while the hand-sewn yellow gems and subtle gold-threaded floral patterns along the neckline added a touch of elegance. The cinched waist and delicate pleats created a silhouette that was both regal and refined.

Zoya stepped into the room and froze, her eyes widening in awe. “Nuha, this… this is breathtaking. I can’t believe you made this in such a short time!”

Nuha stood with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. “I’m glad you like it,” she said simply. “Let’s ensure the fit is perfect.”

Zoya tried on the dress, emerging from the fitting room a few minutes later, her face glowing. “It’s flawless! I feel like royalty.”

Nuha offered a small nod. “Good. Now, about the payment—”

“Oh!” Zoya interrupted, laughing nervously. “I completely forgot to bring cash with me!”

Nuha’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s fine. I have a card machine here.”

Zoya hesitated, then waved her hand dismissively. “No, no, I mean my fiancé will transfer the money later. You know how hectic weddings are. But don’t worry, he’ll take care of it.”

Nuha’s fingers brushed against the edge of her desk, her grip tightening slightly. After everything she had sacrificed to finish this dress, Zoya’s carelessness stung. Yet she kept her tone even, her face a mask of neutrality.

“Fine,” she said finally. “You can take the dress, but I expect it returned in perfect condition by Sunday.”

“Of course! Thank you so much, Nuha. You’re amazing,” Zoya gushed, clutching the dress like it was a treasure.

Nuha gave a curt nod. “I won’t be attending the bridal shower tonight. I have other commitments.”

Zoya’s smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered. “Oh, that’s too bad! But I understand—you’re always so busy. I’ll send you pictures!”

As Zoya swept out of the apartment, Nuha leaned back against her desk, exhaling slowly. Her gaze fell on the now-empty mannequin, and for a brief moment, frustration flickered in her chest.

“Never again,” she muttered under her breath.

Shaking her head, she turned to her laptop, opening her calendar to reorganize her week. The line between personal favors and professional boundaries had been blurred once too often. Nuha silently vowed to herself: next time, her time and effort wouldn’t come so cheaply.

---

Monday morning arrived, and Nuha sat in her office, her expression stoic as ever. Her laptop lay open, a list of candidates displayed on the screen. The HR panel sat beside her, shuffling through their notes as they prepared for a long day of interviews.

The candidates came in one by one, and Nuha’s sharp gaze didn’t waver. Her tone remained professional but cold as she drilled them with pointed questions.

“What are your strengths, and how do they align with the responsibilities of this role?” she asked one candidate, a middle-aged man with a background in administration.

“I’m a quick learner,” he replied hesitantly.

“And can you provide an example where you’ve quickly adapted to solve a problem in a professional setting?”

He stumbled over his words, unable to provide a satisfactory answer. Nuha made a note on her pad, her expression unreadable.

Another candidate, a young woman, confidently answered Nuha’s initial questions but faltered under follow-ups.

“If a client was upset about a delay in service, how would you handle it?”

“I’d reassure them that we’re doing our best and to remain patient,” she said casually.

Nuha’s pen paused over her notes. “And what specific steps would you take to resolve their concern and prevent escalation?”

The woman blinked, unable to give a concrete answer.

By the time the last candidate’s file was in front of her, Nuha’s patience was wearing thin. She opened the folder, reading the name: Nasr Ahmed. Her expression remained neutral as the office door opened.

Nasr walked in confidently, dressed in a crisp white button-up shirt and faded black pants. His shoes were worn, the leather scuffed, but his demeanor was calm and assured. He greeted the panel warmly, his voice steady.

Nuha gave him a brief nod, gesturing for him to take a seat. She decided to push him harder than the others. If he wanted this job, he’d have to prove himself.

“Why did you apply for the secretary position at Libaas?” she asked, her tone measured and detached.

Nasr responded immediately, his voice steady and composed. “I’ve admired Libaas for its innovation and ability to blend cultural heritage with modern designs. I believe in the company’s vision, and I want to contribute by ensuring its operations run smoothly. I understand that the role of a secretary is critical in maintaining efficiency, and I’m confident I can handle that responsibility.”

Nuha gave no reaction, though the answer was satisfactory. She moved on. “What specific skills do you bring to this role that set you apart from other candidates?”

Nasr smiled slightly. “I’ve worked as a secretary in Lahore, managing schedules, communications, and logistics. Additionally, I’ve been handling similar responsibilities at my mother’s restaurant since I was a teenager. From managing suppliers to finances, I’ve learned how to stay organized under pressure. I can bring that same level of efficiency and dedication to Libaas.”

Nuha’s gaze was fixed on him, her face unreadable. “And why should we hire you? What can you offer Libaas that no one else can?”

Nasr’s tone remained confident. “I offer loyalty and dedication. I’m not just looking for a job—I’m looking for a place where I can grow and contribute meaningfully. I’m hardworking and solutions-oriented, and I believe my experience equips me to handle the demands of this role effectively.”

Nuha leaned back slightly, tapping her pen against her notebook. “You mentioned managing your mother’s restaurant. How did that shape you as a professional?”

Nasr’s expression softened, but Nuha’s remained impassive. “It taught me persistence and adaptability,” he replied. “Running a small restaurant wasn’t just about the day-to-day—it was about problem-solving and creating something that mattered. I learned to treat every task, no matter how small, with care and attention.”

Nuha jotted something down, her face giving nothing away. “Thank you, Mr. Ahmed. That will be all.”

Nasr stood, offering a polite nod to the panel before exiting the room.

As the door clicked shut, one of the HR members turned to Nuha. “He was good.”

Nuha’s pen tapped lightly against the table. “He’s the one,” she said simply, her tone neutral.

No one else could tell what she was thinking, but Nuha’s decision was final. Nasr Ahmed had earned his place—whether he realized it or not.