They gave me her conference room.
That alone should’ve made me nervous.
And it did— just not the way it used to.
My palms were dry. My notes were clean. But there was a tightness in my chest I couldn’t ignore—like a held breath that hadn’t found its release yet.
I had exactly thirteen minutes before the clients were due to arrive. Two of them. One older, seasoned—rumored to be brutal behind closed doors. The other was younger, leaner, sharper. New money, hungry, and probably twice as eager to prove something.
And me?
I hadn’t done this before.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqgvU9HLjR8
Not like this.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwAUmJ8Kvmb
Not alone.
But Lamija had made sure I’d be ready.
She’d drilled it into me. Rewritten half the deck. Torn apart my delivery, rebuilt it from the bones. Told me to stop performing and start owning the room.
This was the push.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbGJIqGkbBr
Out of the nest.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1PIzewSjhV
Into the fire.
And I was going to stand in it.
No matter how hard my heart was beating.
I stood at the head of the table.
The room was sharp—like everything Lamija touched. Slate-gray walls, matte black table, tall windows filtered through white blinds. Clean. Controlled. Her kind of space.
My notes were clean. Slides ready. Every figure double-checked, then checked again. Water bottles lined the table. Screen lit. Jacket pressed. Tie straight.
I’d run the pitch three times this morning.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdl4uzSX7Jk
Twice with Lamija—sharp, fast, unforgiving.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3tcFp82y2x
Once alone.
That time, I’d whispered it under my breath like a prayer.
Ya Allah, grant me steadiness in my words. Let the truth be clear, and my intentions clean. Let me honor what she taught me. And if I fall short—let me fall with grace.
Ya Allah, give me steadiness. Give me clarity. Let them hear what matters. Let me carry it well.
Simple. Quiet. Enough.
She was here, of course.
Back right corner of the room.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXgGlboQKa1
Not seated—perched. One ankle crossed over the other, tablet in hand, posture effortless but alert. Her blouse was ivory silk, collar sharp, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal a gold watch that caught the light every time she moved. Her heels were navy—deliberate. They matched the lining of her blazer. She didn’t do anything halfway.
Her hijab was pinned smooth, no flyaways, no adjustment needed. Cream, with a cool undertone that made her skin look sharper. Colder.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaMov7bxV97
Like marble.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. Just watched.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡukQ0mF6DId
Like the room wasn’t happening without her permission.
And I still couldn’t tell if that made me want to impress her more—60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8yNmQ3tzP7
Or breathe less.
Emir sat two seats down from her, flipping through a hard copy of the deck but not really reading. He didn’t need to.
This was mine to run.
Eight minutes to go.
The door cracked open again.
I turned—expecting a client, maybe a coordinator.
Imran.
Of course it was.
He stepped inside like he hadn’t just told me last night he wanted to “bring popcorn and watch me crash.”60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYEqoxA6syp
Now here he was, arms crossed, face unreadable, posted up like he was the damn panel judge.
Great.
He nodded once to Lamija, once to Emir, and then looked at me.
Said nothing.
Just moved to the back of the room and leaned against the glass wall, all quiet authority and well-timed chaos.
Lamija’s face changed—only slightly. The corners of her mouth twitched, the kind of near-smile she saved for him. No tension. No irritation. Just that particular warmth she never wasted on anyone else.
She hadn’t known he was coming. But she was still glad to see him.
My chest tightened for half a second.
I didn’t know if it was the nerves or the feeling of being cornered on three sides—her eyes, his silence, Emir’s calm.
Either way, I forced myself to breathe.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLyHQ8C6jJf
Straightened my spine.
Focused.
Two minutes later, the clients walked in.
Mr. Mehanović—older, grayer, with a reputation for eating junior execs alive.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvam2YHpSok
And Mr. Kovač. Jasmin Kovač. Younger. All tailored edges and calculated charm.
Lamija greeted them first—calm, poised, perfectly measured. “Mr. Mehanović. Mr. Kovač. Welcome. We appreciate you making the time.”
Imran stepped forward next, extending a hand to both. His handshake was exactly what you’d expect from him—firm, steady, unreadable.
“This is Ayub Selimović,” Lamija said, turning slightly toward me. “He’ll be leading today’s presentation.”
Simple. Direct. No qualifiers.
I stepped forward and greeted them both—firm handshake, steady eye contact. Direct without posturing.
“Gentlemen,” I said. “Thank you for coming in.”
They nodded, cool but curious. Mehanović sat like he owned the place. Kovač took the seat closest to the screen, already eyeing the slides.
I began.
“Today’s agenda focuses on the updated forecast models we discussed last quarter, plus the implementation strategy for the regional split. We’ve integrated the recommendations from your last round of feedback and adjusted for market fluctuations accordingly.”
The first few lines came out tight. Not shaky, but stiff—too measured, too clean. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone trying to remember a script, not someone leading a room.
Don’t sound like a report. Sound like a leader.
Lamija’s voice in my head, clear as ever.
I glanced at the screen, then back at the table. Forced my shoulders to drop. Loosened my jaw. Let the silence stretch for half a beat longer than felt comfortable.
And then I kept going.
Slide after slide, I found my rhythm. The cadence smoothed out. The tension in my spine started to loosen. My voice dropped into something lower. Steadier.
I hit the key figures. Adjustments. Risk projections. Not perfectly—but cleanly. Each point landing with more confidence than the last.
OShe sat at the far left side of the table, posture perfect, one leg crossed over the other. No notes in front of her—just a tablet, screen off. Her presence was enough. She didn’t need to say anything.
Imran sat across from her, relaxed in a way only he could pull off in a room like this. Elbow resting on the arm of the chair, thumb brushing his jaw, eyes sharp even when he looked bored.
They didn’t flank me.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmuDvL1dL0h
They anchored me.
And somehow, that made it worse.
I moved to the first slide. Let the numbers speak.
Slowly, the stiffness wore off.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzxWUU0IVzW
My voice dropped into something more natural—deeper, more grounded. I stopped hearing myself and started hearing them. Watching for how the data landed. Adjusting as I went.
Out of the corner of my eye, Lamija gave a single nod—barely there.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrhronVl6QP
Support. Approval.
Imran didn’t move. Didn’t smile.
But when one of the clients glanced down at their handout, he flicked his gaze toward me and mouthed, finally.
By the time I transitioned into the second section, I wasn’t surviving the pitch anymore.
I was owning it.
Then the questions started.
Of course it was Mehanović who spoke first.
“What’s your margin of error on the forecast adjustment?” he asked, voice flat. “And how exactly do you justify such a shift without firm historical backing?”
He said it like the numbers were already wrong. Like he was doing me a favor by asking.
My jaw locked for a second. Not visible, but I felt it.
One beat.
Then two.
I didn’t blink.
“Historical models from pre-2020 are unreliable under current volatility trends,” I said, keeping my tone even. “We adjusted using weighted rolling averages from the last six quarters. Not year-over-year. Too many externalities.”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “So you ignored the base decade?”
A trap. One I knew how to walk around.
“No,” I said. “We used it for context. But we’re no longer building in that reality. The post-pandemic market isn’t just adjusting—it’s redefining.”
I watched his mouth twitch. Not a smile.
But close.
He paused. Blinked once. Then nodded.
Kovač cut in next—too quick, too polished.
“And what does that mean for Q3 retention risk?” he asked, but his eyes weren’t on me.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡW06DNpFato
They were on Lamija.
Of course they were.
She didn’t answer.
She just shifted slightly in her seat, crossed her legs the other way, and tilted her head toward me—an unmistakable gesture. He’s driving.
So I took the wheel.
“It means we shift resource allocations before performance dips,” I said, keeping my voice calm, clipped. “Don’t react. Preempt.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lamija uncross her arms—just once. A flicker of movement that felt like approval.
The older man still wasn’t smiling.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrcnzegA5IS
But he was listening now.
I shifted into the second section.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKvvUycORsK
The one Lamija had destroyed yesterday—line by line, bullet by bullet. She’d taken it apart like it had personally offended her.
Today, it landed clean.
Her eyes stayed on me.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtze8wxYJy9
I felt them before I saw them—sharp, clear, impossible to ignore.
And then, stupidly, I met them.
Blue. Cold as glass. Always watching, always calculating. But now… there was something else there. Still. Steady. Like she’d been waiting for this exact moment and had already decided it was mine to own.
I looked away before I did something stupid like smile.
Kovač tried to poke a hole in the implementation strategy, leaning forward with a question that sounded more like theater than concern. I answered without raising my voice. Cut clean through the fluff and laid the logic bare.
No hesitation.
And across the table, Imran—who hadn’t moved once since the meeting began—tilted his chin half a degree, eyes still on me.
His version of a standing ovation.
Then came the slide she’d torn me to pieces over.
Slide eleven.
The budget slide.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3FWJXvsDFp
The one that used to sprawl.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmqNXSOTwrQ
The one that couldn’t hold its shape.
“This is your cleanest point,” she’d said that morning. “If they’re still skeptical by now, this is where you win them back. Or you don’t.”
I took a breath. Not to steady myself—60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQWNb0ZQglx
To own it.
I delivered.
I delivered.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFa9nXxPO3s
Clear. Grounded. No filler. No stammer. No excess.
Alhamdulillah.
She’d handed me this moment like it was an amanah.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdbKxtYtusk
Not a favor. Not a gamble.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡinaHYd1sgg
A trust.
And I’d carried it the way she taught me—tight, sharp, precise.
And when I finished—even Mehanović looked satisfied.
60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5QtnoC9j1e
We reached the end of the pitch.
“Questions?” I asked.
Silence.
Kovač leaned back slightly, tapping the edge of his pen against his notepad.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8zSnV9Labf
Then he exhaled—half amused, half impressed.
“Well,” he said, glancing at Mehanović, “you weren’t who I expected when we walked in.”
His tone wasn’t disrespectful.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlVoNaud0P1
Just honest.
I held his gaze. “Good.”
That got me the faintest smile.
Mehanović didn’t look at either of us. Just gave a slow, deliberate nod.
“We’ll be in touch by Monday.”
He stood.
And just like that, it was done.
We stood. Shook hands. I kept my grip firm, respectful.
“Solid work,” Mehanović said. “Clean. Direct.”
Kovač nodded—still watching me like he hadn’t quite decided whether to respect me or compete with me.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWtkREYMq81
Didn’t matter. I’d done what I came to do.
Imran stepped forward, shook their hands again—his grip steady, his expression unreadable.
“Appreciate you both making the time,” he said. “I have to head upstairs, but I’ll leave you in their capable hands.”
He glanced toward Lamija—brief, instinctive. She gave a small nod.
Then he was gone.
Kovač turned toward Lamija the second the door shut behind Imran.
“You know,” he said, with just enough smile to make it something else, “if you’re free after this—there’s a new café across the river. You should let me buy you a coffee.”
It hit harder than I expected.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZjcA7q2QSG
Not jealousy—just the kind of slow punch you feel in the ribs when someone reaches for what you’ve spent years pretending you didn’t want.
I kept still.
Lamija didn’t blink
“Of course, Ayub will come too,” she said, tone light. “He just ran a flawless presentation. I want to celebrate him.”
Kovač blinked, thrown off just long enough to show it.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡviCyfgG0Jg
He recovered with a laugh. “Then I’ll book a table for three.”
She smiled—graceful, composed, untouchable.
And I stood there, pulse steady, thoughts anything but.
Because she hadn’t deflected.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlhzhSBfuLO
She’d redirected.
And she’d put me at the center of it.
The café sat just above the river, all glass and polished wood, tucked between two old stone buildings like it had always belonged there. Its terrace extended over the water just slightly, framed by black iron railings and low potted plants that caught the breeze. Below us, the river moved slow and steady, sunlight threading gold across its surface. You could see the footbridge in the distance—arched and elegant, busy with people and spring.
We sat at a small round table near the edge, warm mugs in hand. The metal chairs were still sun-warmed, the air laced with the scent of citrus polish and strong Bosnian coffee.
Jasmin arrived first. He placed his coat neatly over the back of the chair across from me and glanced toward Lamija’s empty seat—already assuming she’d be sitting there.
She arrived two minutes later.
And without hesitation, sat beside me.
Not across. Not diagonally.
Beside.
Like it was obvious. Like it had never been up for debate.
Jasmin blinked, only for a second, then adjusted his smile and sat across from us, folding his hands over the table like none of it mattered.
Lamija didn’t give him a second glance.
Her hijab was cream today, smooth and immaculately pinned, catching the sunlight with every slight movement of her head. The ivory tone softened the sharp line of her blazer but did nothing to dull the way she carried herself—quiet authority in heels and silk.
She reached for her tea with calm hands, posture perfect, expression unreadable.
It wasn’t a date.
But Jasmin tried anyway.
“You always this intense during client briefings?” he asked, stirring his coffee with the kind of focus that felt more performative than necessary.
Lamija sipped her tea, perfectly calm. “Only when the work deserves it.”
“I’ve seen execs with more experience fall apart in front of Mehanović,” he said, nodding toward me. “You didn’t flinch. Impressive.”
“Preparation helps,” I replied.
“Or pressure,” Lamija added, voice smooth. “Some people crack under it. Others sharpen.”
She didn’t look at me when she said it.
But I felt it.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5ElykTi9pW
Like a hand on the back of my neck.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBBOq3fDuhc
Like breath.
Jasmin chuckled politely, not quite catching the weight of it.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8ZQcH5VWIo
But I did.
And for a second, it was hard to focus on anything else.
Jasmin leaned forward slightly. “So, do you work under her often, Ayub?”
“Every day,” I said. “Not just work. Strategy. Operations. External comms.”
Jasmin smiled. “Sounds intense.”
I huffed a quiet breath. “She’s been dragging me over glass since I got here.”
Lamija didn’t deny it. Didn’t flinch.
She just reached for her tea, the corner of her mouth tugging—barely. The closest thing she ever gave to a smirk.
He tried again. “You know, I’m usually in Sarajevo twice a month. Wouldn’t mind making this coffee thing more regular. Maybe just us, next time?”
I leaned forward slightly, matching his tone but not his smile. “She doesn’t do regular.”
Before Jasmin could respond, Lamija reached over—slow, precise—and adjusted the cuff of my sleeve. Just a quarter-inch, just enough.
Not for him.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ055VUwZWmS
For her.
And for a second, the air around me thinned.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPdEcjXN7sl
She didn’t touch skin. She never did.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡP6tJurj7bH
But I felt it anyway.
That tiny correction—like I belonged to her image. Like I was something she was shaping.
I wanted to lean into it.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtMrv4Bkrhc
Wanted to stay still and let her fix me forever.
Astaghfirullah.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFp32R9g0Pj
I sat straighter.
I picked up the thread. “She’s selective,” I said. “That’s why the numbers stay clean.”
Jasmin laughed, a little tight. “Well, if I want to get time with you, I’ll have to win him over too?”
Lamija smiled, cool and collected. “Exactly.”
I almost felt bad for the guy.
Almost.
He stood a few minutes later, glancing at his watch.
“I should go. But Lamija—am I at least any closer to getting a real date with my dream girl?”
Lamija rose with him, adjusting her blazer with a quiet precision that somehow made it feel like she’d just stepped onto a stage.
“You’re still not my type,” she said, tone even. “But I admire your optimism.”
Then—still facing him, still calm—she added without looking at me:
“Besides, Ayub gets jealous.”
My heart did something I couldn’t name.
And my throat tightened like the air had shifted without warning.
Jasmin froze for half a second before letting out a laugh.
“Ah. That explains a lot.”
It wasn’t true. Not like that. Not out loud.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrPH8P301zD
But the way she said it—light, easy, like it had always been understood—pulled something deep in me.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡk3HvyTBi6f
Want. Hope. The kind of ache that catches you off guard and makes you forget your place.
I looked down. Breathed once.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXjZVXxQl8S
Lower your gaze. Steady your heart.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCYyEKTlEAh
She’s not yours just because she’s kind.
She gave him a polite nod. “Safe travels.”
He smiled, gave a small wave, and walked off.
Lamija turned, sat back down beside me like she hadn’t just set the air on fire.
“You handled that well.”
“What, the meeting?”
She arched a brow. “All of it.”
And then—she smiled.
Not the polished one she gave clients.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCZB55yJkcD
Not the tight, warning one she gave Emir or Imran.
A real one.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXKSkoiVDiO
Soft at the edges. Quietly pleased. Just for me.
I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, maybe.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGdMvG7LikI
Not with the way my pulse jumped like it hadn’t gotten the memo we were in public.
She stood slowly, smoothing the hem of her blazer with practiced elegance. Then—without looking at me—she rested her hand on the back of my chair. Light. Intentional.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡD6gjJDMCks
Just enough to make the space between us hum.
She leaned in. Close enough for her voice to drop.
“Keep that up,” she murmured, “and people might really think you’re mine.”
She didn’t wait for a response.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡw4n0UlFLCK
Didn’t need one.
She just walked away.
Controlled steps. Jaw catching the light. Leaving me with a half-empty cup and a body that suddenly felt too warm for the breeze.
The seat beside me still held her warmth.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLLvz7n0VsR
The echo of her words clung to the inside of my jaw.
Ya Allah, I thought, breath catching, protect me from what isn't written for me.
Because I would’ve let her claim me.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqzMql6o7k2
Right there.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZVkuL4gKud
In front of everyone.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkxuNLdgxID
And I didn’t know if that meant I was falling—60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVgkt4P958N
Or already too far gone.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Listen. I didn’t mean for this chapter to become a slow-burn power play wrapped in a pitch deck and a hijabi adjusting a man’s sleeve—but here we are.
Ayub presented numbers.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡf2DaWBfCU9
Lamija presented dominance.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMMz92Q72Pm
Jasmin presented… well, effort. We’re proud of him.
And no, Ayub is not okay. He’s reciting du’as and drinking cold coffee trying to survive being publicly claimed by a woman who hasn’t touched him once.
Anyway, thanks for attending this emotionally loaded meeting.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡd1HlX2YfJM
Please collect your jealousy, your heartbreak, and your half-smiles on the way out.
We’ll see you next chapter.60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRLyfgFmXdB
Same table. Different heat.
-Ash&Olive
60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkG4BifZkWN
