"When Ice Met Modesty"
It was a quiet morning. A beautiful girl with a shoulder-length haircut slept soundly on her bed, books scatter all around her like silent witnesses to a long night of study.
Her beauty sleep was gently disturbed by the warm sunlight slipping into her cozy, white-themed room.
With a small, sleepy whine, she turned her face to the side, clinging to those last precious seconds of rest.
Slowly, her eyes flutter open—
And then they land on the clock.
She gasp.“Oh Allah, I’m going to be late!” she exclaim in her soft, melodious voice.
She quickly began getting ready, slipping into her neatly pressed uniform.
With care and grace, she wrapped her hijab—treating it like a precious jewel, not just a piece of fabric.
To her, it wasn’t just part of her attire… it was part of her identity.
She pause for a moment in front of the mirror, her fingers adjusting the last fold of her hijab with gentle care.
It framed her face perfectly, a blend of modesty and elegance that reflected the girl she was—quietly strong, deeply rooted in faith.
A soft smile tug at her lips as she looked at her reflection.
“Ya Allah, guide me through this day. Keep me strong, keep me kind,” she whisper, her voice barely above a breath.
With one last glance, she pick up her bag, straighten her shoulders, and step out of the room—
Into a world that didn’t yet know her name…
But one day, it would.
“ZEHRA! ZEHRAAA! YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE ON YOUR FIRST DAY OF THIRD YEAR O LEVELS!” her mother’s voice echo through the house like a siren.
Zehra jumped, nearly dropping her bag.
“COMING, MAAA!” she shout back, scrambling out the door with panic in her eyes and slippers half-on.
Just as Zehra’s foot slip on the last step, a strong hand grabbed her arm, stopping her from falling flat on her face.
Saif caught her with ease.
“Why are you always in such a rush, huh?” he scold, raising a brow like the dramatic older brother he was.
“Bhai, I’m already late! You know the teachers are gonna take my class!” Zehra said while gulping down milk at lightning speed.
Her dad walked in just in time to witness the madness.
“Drink slowly, or you’ll choke,” he warn in his usual strict tone, arms cross like a typical dad statue of justice.
“Bro, can you give me a lift today? I know I missed the bus...” Zehra says, her voice sheepish.
Saif chuckles and gives her a light side hug.
“Why not, baby sissy?” he replies, tapping her shoulder playfully.
Zehra grins and grabs her bag. Just as they’re about to leave—
“Zehra! Saif!” their mother calls out from the kitchen.
“Say the dua before leaving home!”
They pause at the door and quickly recite together:
“Bismillah, tawakkaltu ’ala Allah, la hawla wa la quwwata illa billah.”
(بِسْمِ ٱللَّهِ، تَوَكَّلْتُ عَلَى ٱللَّهِ، وَلَا حَوْلَ وَلَا قُوَّةَ إِلَّا بِٱللَّهِ)
Translation:
“In the name of Allah, I place my trust in Allah, and there is no power and no strength except with Allah.”
With that, the siblings step out—Zehra adjusting her hijab with calm grace, Saif unlocking the car like a whole bodyguard—and the new day officially begins.
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A man in a sleek black suit, wearing a matching black Rolex, stands in front of a tall mirror. His polished shoes gleam like marble beneath the warm lights, yet his face remains cold—emotionless, unreadable.
He looks every bit the CEO the world fears, respects… and whispers about behind closed doors.
He’s still adjusting his cufflinks when the door swings open with a loud click.
A stunning girl stands at the doorway, rocking a crop top and designer shorts, her LV heels clicking dramatically as she struts in.
“Broooooooooooo!” she whines, flopping onto the velvet couch like a movie diva.
“My card got declined! Transfer me one lac rupees!”
Ayan frowns, voice flat as ever.
“Asya, I gave you twenty lacs just last week. Where did all that go?”
Asya pouts, fake tears instantly forming like she’s auditioning for a drama serial.
“So now you’re gonna start questioning my expenses? I knew it! You’ve changed! You’re growing older and now you don’t love me anymore!”
The man the world fears—the CEO with a heart of stone—suddenly softens at her crocodile tears. He’s almost about to give in when a stern voice cuts through the room like a knife.
“No, Ayan. You’re already spoiling her enough. One day, she’ll get married. Will she still rely on you then?”
Their mother walks in, arms crossed and gaze sharp.
“Mom,” Ayan says calmly, “Her brother will always take care of her. She’s my sister.”
Asya, trying to look all innocent (and failing miserably), nods with exaggerated cuteness.
Their mom sighs, already defeated.
“Fine. Do whatever you want. But don’t come crying to me when she drains you dry.”
Zehra steps out of her brother’s old, slightly dusty car, clutching her bag close as she adjusts her hijab with grace. The breeze plays gently with the ends of her scarf as she smiles politely at the security guard and walks toward the school gates—peaceful, kind, and content in her simplicity.
Just then...
A brand-new, shiny black Mercedes-Benz glides into the parking lot like it owns the world. The engine purrs like a lion and all eyes turn. The door swings open with unnecessary flair, and out steps Asya—wearing oversized sunglasses, her hair styled to perfection, a luxury handbag swinging from her arm like it’s made of gold.
The same Mercedes her brother gifted her last week for her birthday.
She looks around like the school is beneath her... and then her eyes land on Zehra.
Her perfect smile drops just a little.
“Tch. Still coming in that old junkyard car?” Asya mutters under her breath, just loud enough for her designer-clad friends to hear. They all giggle.
Zehra doesn’t flinch. She just walks past her with a calm smile and says softly,
“Good morning, Asya.”
No malice. No sass. Just grace.
And THAT’S what burns the most.
Asya leans against her locker, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. She flips her hair dramatically and scrunches her nose.
“Well, Zehra… aren’t you tired of wearing that thing on your head every day?” she says, mock disgust dripping from her voice.
Zehra pauses for a moment, then turns with the softest, most serene smile on her face.
“It’s called a hijab,” she says gently, her voice calm but firm.
“It’s my crown. My respect. My pride. A girl who wears hijab is one of the most precious to Allah. So if you want to talk about it…”
Her eyes meet Asya’s with quiet strength.
“…at least talk with respect.”
Asya’s squad bursts into laughter, one of them snorting,
“Damn girl, who even believes in hijab in this generation?”
Zehra doesn’t blink.
“I do. And I don’t need the world’s approval when I already have Allah’s.”
The hallway goes quiet for a second.
Even Asya’s fake confidence stumbles.
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Today, Ayan came to pick up his sister from school—only because she specifically asked him to.
Zehra, as usual, was heading toward the school bus with her bag in hand, weaving through the crowd of students.
Just then, a familiar voice called out.
"Zehra!" her friends—Inaya, Ayla, and Lina—shouted in unison.
She turned instinctively, her hijab catching a gentle breeze as she looked toward them.
At the exact same moment, Ayan glanced up from his watch, his cold gaze locking with hers.
Their eyes met.
For a moment—no movement, no words—just a 30-second stillness where time genuinely seemed to pause.
In that instant, Ayan felt something strange stir in his chest. There was no makeup on her face, no luxury brand stitched into her uniform—but her eyes held a quiet purity, something raw... something rare.
Before he could process the shift in his heartbeat, Zehra had already turned away, jogging over to her friends with a soft smile.
But Ayan stood there, stunned.
His sister chattering beside him, but his mind echoing only one word:
“Zehra.”
"Zehra, how did you even solve that dangerous math problem?!" Inaya asked dramatically, eyes wide. “Girl, it was so hard it made me remember my grandmother—I nearly passed out!”
"Miss Fatima was seriously impressed with you today, Zehra," Ayla added, eyes sparkling. “You literally rocked that class!”
“I was walking past the staff room,” Lina chimed in excitedly, “and the only name echoing inside was Zehra! I swear, even the teachers are fangirling.”
Zehra gave a shy smile
“Come on, guys,” she said, trying to stay humble. “It wasn’t that hard. These kinds of questions are pretty common in CAIE. You just need to practice.”
The girls gasped dramatically, putting a hand to their chests in unison.
”Okay, Miss Zehra, we’ll focus now!" they said, all together, as if she were some celebrity teacher.
Zehra chuckled, shaking her head as they walked down the corridor, their laughter trailing behind them.
“Okay guys, I gotta go or I’ll miss my bus—and if my brother finds out, he’s totally gonna scold me,” Zehra said in a hurry, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.
“Okay girl, byeee!” her friends chorused, waving like dramatic queens as they scattered off to their rides.
Once Zehra reached home, she pushed the door open and shouted with a tired yet cheerful voice, ”MAA! I AM BACK!"
She tossed her bag to the side and flopped onto the sofa like a dramatic heroine.
Her mom, who had been resting in the lounge, came out with a loving smile.
“Oh my sweet child, you’re back. Go pray Zuhr and Asr, and I’ll prepare something yummy for you.”
Zehra stretched with a groan and stood up.
“Okay, my pretty maa,” she replied playfully, planting a kiss on her mom’s cheek before heading toward her room.
Zehra might be living a stressful life, but little did she know—she had already left a deep mark on someone’s heart.
Meanwhile, in a sleek, glass-walled office, Ayan sat at his desk, coffee in hand. For the first time ever, he wasn’t typing, reading, or on a call. He was just... staring into space, lost in thought.
Just then, his friends—Zayaan, Saad, and Faris—walked in and froze at the sight.
Zayaan, the goofball of the squad, tiptoed behind Ayan’s chair and leaned over his shoulder.
“Whose thoughts have you gotten lost in, Mr. CEO?” he asked teasingly.
Ayan jolted slightly, caught off guard.
“N-nothing,” he muttered, straightening up. “I was just thinking about the new project.”
Faris rolled his eyes dramatically, leaning forward across the desk.
“Ohhh yes, the project,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Who exactly are you trying to fool, hmm?”
Ayan smacked him lightly on the arm, making him back off.
Saad, always the serious one but with that signature smirk, settled into the couch.
“Come on, bro. We know you better than you know yourself. Just spill it.”
Ayan cleared his throat, adjusting his sleeves like a cover-up.
“Don’t you guys have work to do?”
All three of them burst into loud laughter, filling the office with the sound of chaos Ayan secretly adored.
