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The house was still when I stepped inside, my heels clicking softly against the marble like an afterthought. The meeting had run late—some over-eager investor from Chicago with big dreams, vague projections, and breath that reeked of stale coffee and unchecked ambition. My blazer smelled like hotel lobby cologne and recycled air. My hijab was slipping. My stomach growled.
I exhaled through my nose, kicked off my heels by the entryway, and padded toward the kitchen, bare feet pressing into cold stone.
The light over the sink was on.
My mother was already there.
Zehira Begović sat at the far end of the table in her robe, reading glasses low on her nose, a steaming mug of tea cupped between her palms like a quiet weapon. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes said she'd been waiting.
She looked up and smiled. "You're home late."
"Investor meeting," I murmured, letting my bag drop on the nearest chair.
"Ah," she said, watching me over the rim of her mug. "American?"
"Midwestern. Wore a navy suit three sizes too big and talked about revolutionizing Balkan freight with AI. I stopped listening when he called the Sarajevo airport 'quaint.'"
"It is quaint, dear," my mother said with a smile.
I shot her a look and opened the fridge, hunting for leftovers. "I know that. Doesn't mean he gets to say it."
I pulled out a plate of lamb and rice, another of roasted vegetables, and set them on the counter. My mother rose to help without being asked, moving with her usual deliberate grace. We fell into rhythm, the kind of silent routine that only exists between people who have lived a lifetime in the same space. Heating food. Pouring water. Pouring tea. No instructions necessary.
By the time I sat down, the plate was full, the water glass set just right, a napkin already folded beside it.
"You're a good daughter," she said, not looking up from her tea.
I glanced over, caught off guard. "Where did that come from?"
She shrugged, eyes fixed on the steam rising from her cup. "I watch you walk through a world your father built for men—and you do it better than most of them ever will. But then I see you come home, rinse off the day, and stand barefoot in my kitchen like you've got nothing left to prove."
I looked down at my plate. The lamb had gone lukewarm, but I took a bite anyway—just to have something to do.
I didn't know how to answer her.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnukapQTZ2g
And I wasn't sure I wanted to try.
She let the silence stretch, then said, almost too casually, "So. How's Ayub?"
I didn't look up. "Why are you asking me that?"
"I'm just wondering how your day went."
"Are you."
She smiled over her mug. "Is it so hard to believe I'd ask casually?"
"Yes. It is. Did you know Babo was assigning him to my team?"
She laughed, soft and unbothered. "Fine. I'm not casual. And yes—he told me."
My brows pulled tight. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"It felt like a let-the-chips-fall-where-they-may kind of situation."
I narrowed my eyes. "You weaponized silence."
She took another slow sip. "I'm a mother. It's my most elegant weapon."
She set her mug down and met my gaze, eyes glinting with a quiet fondness. "So... how was it? Did you torture the poor boy?"
I finally looked up. "I pushed him. Hard. Treated him like an intern, not a man who's worked beside Imran and me since the beginning. I reassigned him under Jasmina like he was still learning how to spell Begović Industries. I didn't even look at him when I did it."
Her smile faded.
"And?"
"And I can't explain why I did it. He didn't deserve that. He's sharp. Quiet. Disciplined. Mama, I always knew he was smart—but he's more than that. Focused. Composed. Exact. I gave him a project to finish before noon and he delivered it early. Perfect. Every line, every number. Clean.
"So why did you do it?"
I stared at my glass. "Because part of me wanted to see what he'd do. If he would push back against me. If he would demand to be given what he knew he earned."
"And what did he do?"
"Neither. He didn't argue. Didn't flinch. Just stood there and took it. Like he expected it. Like I was right to put him beneath someone less competent."
My voice dipped lower. "That made it worse."
Her expression softened. "Because you know you treated him unfairly."
"He is too valuable to be left under Imran's wing, Mama. Or mine for that matter."
She arched a brow. "Maybe the shadows suit him. Maybe that's where he feels most at ease."
I shook my head slowly. "Maybe. But I'm not comfortable leaving him there."
"So what will you do?"
"I'm going to pull him out of the shadows. Piece by piece, if I have to. Until he sees what the rest of us already do."
She blinked. Then smiled softly. "That sounds like my daughter. Give him a place to stand. And let him decide what to do with it."
I nodded slowly, letting her words settle.
Then she tilted her head, a little too casual. "Of course... if you give him a place, you'd better be prepared for what he does with it."
I glanced at her.
"You know the whole family's already rooting for him, right?" she added, smiling faintly. "Your father loves him. Imran trusts him with everything. I've seen the way he treats you—like you're made of fire and he's willing to burn for it."
I let out a slow breath. "That's what makes it dangerous."
Her brow lifted. "Dangerous?"
I nodded. "You all love him. Trust him. Want him beside me like it's already settled."
"And you?"
"I don't want someone who follows me, Mama. I want someone who can stand next to me. With spine. With voice."8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhPDZz5IYBK
I paused. "I know Ayub is brilliant. I've always known that. But I've never seen him push. Never seen him take space."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "And today?"
"Today I saw a flicker of it. Just enough to make me wonder if it's there—if he can stand outside Imran's shadow. If he can stand in the light and not blink."
Zehira studied me carefully. "And if he can?"
I swallowed. "Then maybe I'll start looking at him differently."
Then I said, almost offhand, "Selma brought lunch to the office today."
Her eyebrow lifted. "Oh?"
"She showed up with takeout and no professionalism whatsoever," I said dryly. "We talked about Ayub. She said his arms look like they were carved by angels and that our future children would be emotionally stable CEOs."
She blinked. Then burst out laughing.
I tried to stay composed. Failed.
"She also called him a walking halal thirst trap."8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjZuU4MwRHw
That sent her into another fit of laughter.
"She's campaigning harder for him than Babo," I muttered.
"I love that girl," she said, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. "No filter whatsoever, but all the right instincts."
"She's a menace."
Zehira leaned in and kissed my forehead. "So are you. But you're mine."
A loud whinny cut through the quiet.
Caesar.
My mother smiled into her tea. "He's been waiting for you. Don't stay out there too long."
I nodded. "I won't."
I moved through the dim house and slipped out the side door into the cool night. The air smelled like wood smoke and damp earth. Stars were just beginning to bloom above the treeline. Gravel crunched under my feet as I crossed the path toward the stables.
Another whinny met me halfway.
"I'm coming," I called. "You're dramatic, you know that?"
He stamped once. Sharp. Intentional.
I pushed open the stable door—and there he was.
Massive. Black as midnight. Gleaming like polished obsidian under the low stable light. His mane wild, his eyes molten gold.
A storm on four legs.
"You're ridiculous," I murmured.
He tossed his head in protest.
I grinned. "You're lucky I adore you."
I moved slowly, hand outstretched, letting him catch my scent. He huffed, then nudged my shoulder hard enough to make me stumble.
"You're impossible."
But I was already smiling.
I brushed my fingers along his flank, over the arc of his neck. He settled under my touch. Still proud, still defiant—but he let me in.
I pressed my forehead to his.
"You're the only one who gives me this much attitude."
He huffed again, as if to say earn it.
And I always did.
I stayed there for a while, breathing with him. Letting the quiet wrap around us like something sacred.
But my mind wandered.
To the kitchen.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwNeFwh3AbQ
To my mother.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3vxSc49V4i
To Ayub.
To the way he stood there, calm and composed, and said it without blinking—Emir had the spot that should've been his
He didn't raise his voice.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLyTFBhf06c
He didn't argue.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXyN8BfblqD
But somehow, the words landed louder than anything else I heard all day.
And I couldn't stop thinking about it.
About him.
And about the part of me that wasn't sure what it meant that I noticed.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡant25l1hN6
Not yet.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡq4GfSgaRlq
8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqcvNxci3bB
~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Lamija would like to formally announce that she is not in love. She is simply observing a longtime family friend with extreme prejudice and minor emotional complications.
She is also not responsible for Selma's commentary, Caesar's drama, or the fact that Ayub suddenly decided to grow a backbone in her office.
Everything is under control.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJ6DNbCpIi9
Probably.
-Ash&Olive
8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVY3VMbvnQW
