"Magnificent!" This word managed so hard and escaped out of Fadwa's lips. She couldn't resist the furniture adorning every crevice and corner of this living room. The air conditioner had instantly made her sleepy, and she could forever smell the scent of this bakhoor. Is Umman Nadia sure this house belongs to a guy? Everywhere is as tidy as she could ever make it look.

She wanted to seat on one of the sofas, so she could feel its softness and not make a mistake while describing it to Majida and Ammi about the house; for she would surely gist them. This is the highest luxury level she had ever seen. Not that she has seen many, but she knew this house belongs to a rich mogul.

There were paintings pinned perfectly on the wall, she could see the door leading to where she assumed are the rooms of the house, but the impeccable love she has for paintings outweighs her inner thoughts of being a good maid. She prowled, as silently as she could; until her palm got in contact with the canvas of the first painting. She smiled.

It was an artistic painting of the sunset just above a captivating sea. She smiled and kept tracing every dent of colour on it. How would she explain her love for paintings? It's something therapeutic to her soul.

She was so engrossed in checking out the three paintings and pinning them to the lowest layer of her orbs, that she had forgotten where she is or the silent footsteps of her supposed boss.

Maheer had to stifle the yawn that tried escaping his mouth. Mamitah had called him and told him she had found the maid and he should come out and see her. It was hard lifting up his duvet and getting out of his bed just because of the so-called maid. But knowing so well he has to tell her what to cook for him for breakfast, he couldn't help but wake up.

Upon stepping his feet into the living room, he remembered his new bookshelf filled with new books; and he instantly got thrilled. He yawed his gaze to the right angle of the living room, and there; his gaze fell on a widely smiling lady that has her palms tracing the lines of his paintings. The paintings he didn't spare a single glance yesterday.

"Who the hell are you?!" He thundered. Because seeing her like this freaked him out, he had never imagined seeing a smile on a maid's face, so widely it emotes her undeniable love for his paintings.

She abruptly turned and placed her hands over her chest! The voice sounded as though a thunder before the fall of a heavy raindrop. Her golden eyes sparkled brightly that Maheer doubted if she fixed artificial eye lenses. They were so gold! And then her lips pursed into a natural pout, while she fixed her eyes at him.

"I asked you, who the hell are you?!" He clamoured, scratching his left eyebrow before he put his both hands into the pockets of his denim trousers.

One look at the pale blue colour of his eyes, Fadwa knew she is doomed. There isn't a glint of compassion or pity from his eyes, and she's afraid what she's seeing on her classmate's face is what she's seeing on her boss's face. She prays he treats her like the invisible human being she was used to being treated as. This disgust playing in his eyes was frightening.

"I'm Fadwa Mamman Jalo. Your maid." Her voice was coming out in stutters, and she couldn't hold his gaze, having her eyes fixed on the lushly carpeted floor.

He hissed, looking at the bookshelf again. "From the looks of you, how you were staring at those paintings as if you were going to eat it up. The clothes you have on, your lack of confidence; shows you're nothing but a maid. That's what fits you most." He snarled, moving towards her with eyes fixed on the bookshelf.

Her heart began pounding beneath her chest, and the pout on her lips doesn't leave a minute. She isn't lachrymose, she would've cried her eyes at the words he threw at her face. Yes Mr No name, she knows that she deserves nothing but to be called a maid. She looks like nothing but a poor lady from a wrecked background that deserves to be called a maid.

She was brought back from her train of thoughts when she felt his presence inches close to her, and the pounding in her chest comes back.

"Go away!" He thundered and pointed at a door she thought to be as the kitchen. She immediately moved from his way and went towards that door, watching him as he traced his hands over the books before he finally chose a book.

She instantly scrunched up her face, how can a person read all that? Doesn't he have something more important to do? What's there to enjoy reading a novel? Which has lots of pages and irrelevant stories that might not make sense?

She's in art class, but she has never for once read a book being assigned to be read by their literature teacher. She knew the legitimate reason for not buying any of them was because they don't have the money to buy, but also; a huge part of her mind despised the art of reading a novel.

Maheer noticed the disgusted look she has on the book in his hand. He looked at the title again, and it's a book by Sidney Sheldon. This girl is naturally a psycho, he thought. What baffles him more was how her lips managed to keep the pout without its end unwavering a little.

"Did you came here to keep flashing me a disgusted look or you came here as a maid?" He simply asked, even the hijab she wore is disgusting the living daylights out of him. What a creature.

"I'm sorry. I came here to work, but I don't know what to do first." She was playing with the hemp of her hijab, unable to look up at him. She was supposed to even squat down on the floor, but she's afraid he might say she would dirty his living room. Hence her standing upright.

He scratched his left eyebrow and exhaled deeply. Mamitah didn't know the disgusting human being she found him as a maid right? Which lady in this era act as uncourageous as this girl? What does she said is her name again?

"What's your name?" The huskiness of his voice hasn't left, and it kept unnerving Fadwa that she feels like walking towards the exit door, hailing an okada man and going back home. But she doesn't want to fail her Ammi, she's doing this because of her.

"My name is Fadwa Mamman Jalo."

"I asked only for your name! What concerns me what the poor excuse of your father?" He hissed and placed a bookmark in his book before looking at her again. She was shivering, and the pout she has on her lips would make a baby's pout envy!

"You have to come as early as possible every day. Sweep, mop and make sure every crevice and corner of this house is sparkly clean. Don't bother yourself about the courtyard, the gateman does that.

Make sure to be in the best form of your tidiness while in this house, because I wouldn't ever tolerate any single act of dirtiness coming from a poor and disgusting lady like you.

You have to always cook the three main dishes for me; breakfast, lunch and dinner before you call it a day. The rooms always should be cleaned, the toilets, everything and everywhere. I hope I'm understood?"

She has questions to ask, she doesn't understand some points he mentioned. She's never the one to question even in school, but today; being in the middle of her job and school made her find that habit within her.

"Sir..." her voice was tentative, unable to sound clear and confident.

"What?! Look if you don't have anything to say, go in and start preparing for my breakfast." Maheer grumbled and fixed his eyes back on his book, not flashing her another look again.

She dabbed her palms over her face and gulped down the lump that formed in her throat. "Sir, you said breakfast, and I'm going to school on weekdays. I'm sorry but I don't know what to do, and we will soon start our waec." Her lips were trembling, and they were pursed into a pout; which was infuriating Maheer more than she could ever imagine.

"Must you pout like a child? Which links a poor and disgusting lady like you with a pout? Perhaps you saw it in a movie? And what bothers me with you going to a school? Just know that I eat my breakfast at 11 am on the dot. So deal with it." He was tired of her annoying self, so he took his book with him and motioned for her with his hand to go away.

Fadwa stood there clueless of what to do. Does he have to put an insult in whatever it is he says? Doesn't he have an iota of humanity within him? Just because she's a poor lady and works as his maid doesn't mean she doesn't have a life she lives. She's a daughter of someone, just like he feels he's a pampered child of his parents. She has siblings that cared about her and what others would do to her. She's sure if she came with Majida here, they would have been long back home by now.

The worst thing is that she doesn't know where to start. Where could she even get the broom? The cleaning towels or anything? An idea popped in her brain, and she entered the door she thought was the kitchen. But god! The kitchen was freaking more spacious than the whole of their house.

He has all the means to be arrogant, she thought to herself and opened the first door in the kitchen. There was the store, which has all the groceries in excess. She closed it and opened another, and there she heaved a sigh out of relief when she found all she needs in cleaning the house of the arrogant boss.

She first cleaned the kitchen, not that there was something to clean, but she did nonetheless. She cleaned the cabinets and all that needs to be cleaned before she proceeded to the living room. She cleared, cleaned, mopped and did all it takes to make an already sparkly looking living room sparklier.

She spotted a class made cabinet housing different jars of bakhoors, so she lit up the whole house. It's still not yet 9 am, she couldn't make breakfast let he comes and say it's cold. Fadwa could remember him saying she should clean the rooms and toilets as well, and she muttered few supplications beneath her breath before she walked towards the door he disappeared earlier on.

She was stuck on the corridor, not being able to choose the room to enter first. She knew he must be inside one of these rooms, and she couldn't make the mistake of entering the one he's in. She spotted his bookmark laying on his doormat, and she knew he was in the room on the left side.

Lifting her broom and moping bucket, she turned the doorknob of the other room and entered, but her heart stopped beating the instant she fell her eyes on the furnished room. Everything was Yellow and Maroon. She's in love! She thought, a wide loving smile playing on her lips.

Who furnished this room? Does he know she has no colours she loves more than yellow and maroon? If she could see this person, she could've rewarded him or her one of her best smiles.

Her eyes began scanning the room, and her smile doesn't waver even for a second. The air conditioner wasn't on, and she felt beads of perspiration forming on her forehead and her whole body. She's afraid of opening the windows, afraid she could make the exquisite maroon curtains dirty.

She took off her knee-length hijab and her veil slipped on its own. The long black and sleek hair rolled on her back like a rivulet, and she shook her head out of amusement. Whoever the designer of this house is, he surely loves nature. For there were framed pictures of nature pinned on the wall.

•

Maheer had his bath and became bored of his room, he prays this poor girl would never come anywhere close to where he would be. He remembered Mamitah telling him to tour the rest of the house, and the first room he is to start with was the room directly opposite his.

He took his book in his hand and opened the door, staring at his reflection through the contour mirror, he smiled. The kind of smile he makes, knowing so well that no girl could glance at him once without falling for him.

He turned the doorknob and there; he found a lady. Swaying and humming a song in her grace. She has a long black hair Maheer saw swaying on its own on her waist. She wore a skirt and a blouse, but he could see the sharpness of her curves and cleavages. She couldn't be his maid.

She proved his instincts wrong because she lifted from where she was cleaning the frames and turned to look at him, making some parts of her hair to flow around her chest, covering a part of her face. Her eyes bulged out, and the gold in them flicked that Maheer almost thought he was staring at one of the most expensive gold rings of Mamitah.

Their eyes met, and he could swear he saw the pounding of her heart, while she swiftly, and perfectly held the end of her hair and rolled it into a bun without using a ribbon and briskly put on her hijab, not minding her black veil laid on the bed.