𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭♡

The sewing machine's hum filled the studio, steady and hypnotic, like the rhythm of Inaya Noor Zafar's mind.

Bolts of fabric leaned against the walls in chaotic stacks-stormy greys, emerald greens, shimmering silvers-while jars of beads caught the morning light, scattering tiny sparks across the floor.

Threads of gold and silver curled like tiny serpents along the edges of half-finished dresses.

Sketchbooks lay in untidy piles, their pages alive with flowing lines and whispered dreams, each illustration carrying the pulse of a thousand ideas.

The air was steeped in cardamom chai, laced with the crisp scent of fresh silk, mingling with faint hints of pencil shavings and lavender-scented thread boxes.

A soft draft from the open window carried the hum of the city, but inside the studio, time moved to the rhythm of the sewing machine.

"Inaya, babe..."The voice came just before the click of boots.

"Tell me honestly-did you have an idea for a dress, or did you invite a cyclone to help you make it?"

Inaya smirked without looking up from her sketchpad.

"It's called vision, Liyana. You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, I understand perfectly," Liyana replied, stepping inside like the room was hers by right.

Morning sunlight poured over her deep red hair, spilling in loose waves down her back, the fire of it glowing against the black of her long-sleeved, floor-length dress.

She plucked a piece of lace from the table, holding it up to the light with mock inspection.

"This says 'mysterious widow at the funeral of her fourth husband-and she's still taking phone numbers between condolences.'"

"Or,"

Inaya countered, pencil still moving, "it says 'timeless sophistication.'"

Liyana tilted her head.

"Baby, if that's sophistication, I'm a saint. And we both know that's a lie."

Her eyes flicked to the open laptop in the corner, green code cascading down the black screen.

"Still hacking rich men's secrets before breakfast?"

Inaya didn't even glance up.

"Some people scroll social media in the morning. I prefer rewriting firewalls before breakfast."

They shared a knowing look. The kind that only best friends could.

The two laughed, voices mingling with the hum of the sewing machine, creating a rhythm that could make any chaotic morning feel like a carefully orchestrated symphony.

Inaya, meanwhile, flipped through sketches, adjusting lines with a fluid precision that made every pencil stroke look intentional, almost effortless.

The studio, in its chaos, felt like a world apart-a sanctuary where every mistake could be transformed into beauty with the right hand, the right mind, the right heart.

♡♡♡

By the time dusk draped itself over the city, the chaos of fabric and sketches had transformed into silk and sequins.

Tonight, Inaya's designs would shine, though she had no intention of being noticed herself.

The ballroom glittered like a treasure chest thrown open.

Crystal chandeliers rained warm light across polished marble, and the air was thick with perfume, roses, and the unspoken weight of old money.

Servers glided across the floor with champagne and trays of delicate hors d'oeuvres.

A soft murmur of conversation and laughter surrounded the runway.

Inaya entered in a blush pink abaya, flowing yet structured, silver-thread embroidery curling along the sleeves and hem catching every chandelier sparkle.

Her hijab was a smooth drape, secured with a pearl brooch under her jaw, framing the amber warmth of her eyes.

She moved through the crowd with quiet confidence, her gaze scanning the models, the fabrics, the subtle sway of the silk on shoulders and hips.

Beside her, Liyana blazed like fire-deep crimson satin skimming the floor, gold embroidery licking up the skirt, red hair catching light like sparks in motion.

"Iniii,"

Liyana murmured as they reached the edge of the crowd, "four men staring at you like you're the next rare art piece up for bidding. Two of them brought their wives."

Inaya smiled faintly. "Behave."

"This from the woman who hacked a shipping tycoon's files this morning?"

Liyana teased, brushing a loose strand of hair from her own face.

Before Liyana could say anything more, a sharp gasp echoed across the hall.

A model froze mid-step, horror spreading across her face-the hem of her gown had split cleanly along the seam.

"Move!"

Whispered one of the coordinators, panic in their voice.

Without hesitation, Inaya pushed forward, her hands tracing the torn silk like a painter's brush over canvas, calm and precise.

"It's fine. I've got it."

The assistant beside the model hesitated, unsure, but Inaya's focus didn't waver.

"Can you pick it up?" she asked softly, not looking up, her hands continuing to work, the faintest crease of urgency in her voice.

A tall figure stepped forward. Boots clicked softly on marble.

He bent slightly to collect the thread spool, but before handing it to her, he paused-his gaze lowering in respect.

Inaya, still focused on the dress, opened her palms to take the thread.

Quietly, deliberately, he placed the spool on the small dressing table instead of touching her hand.

She picked up the spool from the table, holding it carefully.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, turning with a faint smile.

Years have passed, yet she still smiles the same.

He didn't say anything more, simply lowering his gaze, letting the moment hang in quiet reverence.

My pleasure, he thought, almost like a whisper to the air.

Her chest tightened-not in awareness, not in fascination, but in a fleeting, imperceptible beat that the world around her didn't notice.

She hadn't yet realized who he was, but stories, rumors, and whispers all began to crash together in the back of her mind.

This was the man everyone feared, the one whose reputation alone made hearts skip.

The one whose name was spoken in hushed tones, feared, untouchable.

She still focused on the dress. She still fixed the gown.

She still breathed in the perfume of roses and silk.

♡♡♡

The awards ceremony began after the show. Inaya's name was called for the hundredth time that year, the crowd applauding as she stepped onto the stage, accepting yet another plaque.

A shy smile brushed her lips as cameras flashed and journalists scribbled notes.

"Sweetheart,"

Liyana whispered once they returned to their seats, "I've lost count of how many awards you've won."

Inaya chuckled softly, eyes sparkling. "Neither have I."

♡♡♡

Later, after the gala ended, the two friends returned home.

Inaya slipped out of her abaya and hijab, changing into soft loungewear, while Liyana flopped onto the couch in an oversized hoodie.

They ordered snacks-popcorn, cheesy fries, chocolate-and nestled under a shared blanket.

Netflix played softly on the TV, the glow reflecting in their eyes as they laughed and commented on the shows.

The chaotic tension of the gala melted into comfort and warmth.

Inaya stretched her legs, letting out a contented sigh.

"I could get used to this."

"Girl, you deserve it,"

Liyana said, munching on fries. "Seriously, no one works harder than you."

They settled into the rhythm of the evening, the city lights outside flickering like distant applause for Inaya's brilliance.

Laughter, soft chatter, and the smell of snacks filled the room.

♡♡♡

The movie ended with the screen fading to black, but Inaya and Liyana were nowhere near done.

"Are you serious right now?" Liyana burst out, throwing a pillow across the couch.

"Why in the hell would Belly even look at Jeremiah when Conrad exists? Like-are we watching the same show?"

Inaya laughed so hard her drink nearly spilled.

"Exactly! Jeremiah is basically a golden retriever in human form. Cute, but useless."

"Useless!" Liyana repeated, clutching her chest dramatically.

"Iniii, thank you. Finally someone said it. Jeremiah is like... bubblegum. Sweet for a minute, then gone. Conrad is the slow-burn, the pain, the poetry."

Inaya grinned, eyes still on the credits rolling.

"The man literally bleeds melancholy and starlight. How could she pick sunshine when she could have the universe?"

"Exactly!" Liyana threw her hands in the air.

"Team Conrad forever. Honestly, if Belly wanted Jeremiah, she should've just adopted a puppy and saved us all the drama."

Both dissolved into laughter, clutching their stomachs, cheeks sore, the Netflix glow painting their faces.

It was the kind of night that felt like safety-snacks on the table, blanket forts half-made, two best friends who could argue about movie characters with the same intensity as world politics.

By the time they finally fell asleep on the couch, the city outside had grown quiet, the night wrapping them in its hush.

----

♡⋆˚࿔♡

𝐇𝐢 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞! 🩷 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫! 𝐈’𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬♡