The house was still when Lamija stepped inside, her 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. Her blazer smelled like hotel lobby cologne and recycled air. Her hijab was slipping. Her stomach growled.
She exhaled through her nose, kicked off her heels by the entryway, and made her way toward the kitchen.
The light over the sink was on.
Her 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.”
Lamija smiled back, soft and tired. “Investor meeting.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3xLUhEMH68
“Ah,” Zehira said, watching her over the rim of her mug. “American?”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5jelQDFMuY
“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.’”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmEH9r1BnNF
“It is quaint, dear,” her mother said with a smile.
Lamija shot her a look, opening the fridge and digging for leftovers. “I know that. Doesn’t mean he gets to say it.”
She pulled out a plate of lamb and rice, another of zucchini and roasted potatoes, and set them on the counter. Her mother rose to help without being asked, moving slowly but deliberately, as she always did. The two of them worked in quiet rhythm, heating up food, preparing tea, settling into a shared domestic space that required no explanation.
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhUNwrLzcFt
By the time Lamija sat down with a full plate, Zehira had already set a napkin at her place and poured her a glass of water.
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJus5CN9GWt
“You’re a good daughter,” her mother said, matter-of-fact.
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsgtLUKLWOt
Lamija blinked at her. “What brought that on?”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaOSznuiclM
Zehira sipped her tea. “I watch you run a world your father built for men, and you do it better than any of them. But here, at this table, you’re still mine.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡe0rdlzZuLD
Lamija looked down at her plate, unsure how to respond to that. She took a bite of lamb to stall.
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKDg54iGs5g
“So,” Zehira said after a pause, her tone shifting—lighter, curious. “How’s Ayub?”
Lamija didn’t look up. “Why are you asking me that?”
“I’m just wondering how your day went.”
“Are you?”
Zehira 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?”
Zehira laughed, unbothered. “Fine. I’m not casual. And yes—he told me.”
Lamija’s brow tightened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It felt like a let-the-chips-fall-where-they-may kind of situation.”
Lamija narrowed her eyes. “You weaponized silence.”
Zehira took another slow sip. “I’m a mother. It’s my greatest tool.”
She set her mug down gently, her eyes glinting. “So... how was it? Did you torture the poor boy?”
Lamija finally looked up. “I teased him. All day.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG76zUO7xi2
“And?”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlQVeRgTNcV
“And I don’t know why I’m doing it. I know it’s not right. He’s not someone you mess with.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRih8WPTgWj
Her mother’s expression softened. “But you are, anyway.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ72ftzaLD9A
“Yes.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn0v1kA1O8t
“Why?”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMyIH3iWf8m
Lamija took a long sip of water before answering. “Because... he intrigues me. He never talks to me unless he has to. He doesn’t play games. Doesn’t show off. It’s like... he’s been standing in the corner of my life for years, and now that I’m looking directly at him, I can’t look away.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNTdLeELO1n
Zehira’s voice dropped into something quieter, warmer. “And what do you feel for him?”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡglsLKGHZ3A
Lamija hesitated. “I don’t know.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrbdscRmNo3
“But you know how he feels about you.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwGY2qduikB
“I think everyone does.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡI1ixTaQ6JQ
Zehira nodded. “He has never been able to hide it.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFNRZeW560D
Lamija winced. “That’s the problem. I’m curious, not committed. I don’t want to start something that doesn’t end where it should.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡu9MYlAUNFR
Zehira leaned in slightly, resting her arms on the table. “Then don’t start it at all. You know this already, but let me say it anyway—not as your mother, but as someone who loves you and respects your strength.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCNxe4fPt6F
Lamija looked up.
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRUcB77Z07r
“The cloth wrapped around your head is not just fabric,” Zehira said, gently. “It’s a boundary. A reminder. You don’t get to poke at hearts because you're curious. You are a woman of faith first, and everything else second.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8Y4XqbxX6I
Lamija nodded slowly. “I know.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjbhctYqKNm
Zehira reached across the table and brushed her daughter’s knuckles. “You’re young. And young people forget, especially when emotions feel new. But your Lord hasn’t forgotten you. And He expects better.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcPAe4t39NV
Lamija’s throat tightened. “I just... sometimes I don’t recognize myself when I’m around him. He unsettles me in ways I can’t explain.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcKyRPFWLhr
“That’s not always a bad thing,” Zehira said. “But it becomes one if you let it go unchecked.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnlIOWbN1IT
Lamija nodded again, more firmly this time. “You’re right.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAQCTtyo2Yl
They were quiet for a moment, the air between them full of warmth and honesty.
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn6Wxg2vVjp
Then Lamija said, almost as an afterthought, “Selma came by the office today.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoasHVwCW4D
Zehira raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVnAJpEEQwz
“She brought takeout. We talked about Ayub. She said his arms look like they were carved by angels and that our children would be emotionally stable CEOs.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkopQq58N9X
Zehira blinked. Then burst out laughing.
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFmJPtc5pNi
Lamija tried to stay composed. Failed.
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9y2qhhBlNE
“She also called him a walking halal thirst trap,” Lamija added, deadpan.
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBmSnBFym8K
That sent her mother into another fit of laughter.
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcKNgZRKHJW
“I love that girl,” Zehira said, wiping at her eyes. “She has no filter, but all the right instincts.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ84vYLtz1JX
Lamija grinned. “She’s a menace.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaJKYkv8CGD
Zehira stood and leaned in to kiss her forehead. “So are you. But you’re my menace.”
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡg2nnqWdyMF
Outside, a loud whinny cut through the quiet, sharp and demanding.
Caesar.
Zehira smiled into her tea. “He’s been waiting for you. Don’t stay out there too long.”
Lamija rose slowly, folding her napkin and smoothing it flat with deliberate fingers. “I won’t.”
Her mother disappeared down the hall, footsteps soft against the tile, her presence lingering like jasmine and steel.
Lamija moved through the dim house, slipping out the side door into the cool night. The air smelled like damp earth and wood smoke. The stars had begun to bloom above the treeline, and the gravel crunched softly beneath her bare feet as she crossed the stone path toward the stables.
Another impatient whinny met her halfway.
“I’m coming,” she called. “You’re dramatic, you know that?”
Caesar stamped his hoof once, the echo sharp in the stillness.
She reached the stable door and pushed it open, the hinges groaning in familiar protest. And there he was.
A storm on four legs.
Massive and muscled, his black coat gleamed under the low stable light—like polished obsidian, glossy and rippling with every shift of his frame. His mane was thick, dark, and wild, braided loosely near the crest of his neck, more for symbolism than control. His eyes burned gold in the dark, narrowed in irritation and pride.
Every inch of him looked carved by intention.
Temperamental. Untamed. Magnificent.
And entirely hers.
He snorted as she approached, tossing his head in protest—half greeting, half reprimand.
“I know,” she said softly, reaching for his bridle. “I’m late.”
He took a step back—not to run, but to make her work for it. That was always his way.
Lamija grinned. “You’re lucky I adore you.”
She moved slower now, deliberate, hand outstretched as she let him catch her scent. He huffed, then nudged her shoulder hard enough to make her stumble.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered, laughing despite herself.
But her hands moved with practiced ease, brushing over his flank, smoothing along the curve of his neck. He settled under her touch, powerful frame relaxing, though his pride never truly vanished. Not with Caesar. He didn't bend. He allowed.
“You’re the only one who gives me this much attitude,” she whispered, forehead resting briefly against his.
He huffed again, as if to say earn it.
And she always did.
She stayed like that for a while, fingertips tracing the line of his mane, the quiet between them more honest than most conversations. He was her constant. Her champion. Her reflection in so many ways—untouched, unapologetic, and always just a little too much.
But as she stood there in the still of the night, her thoughts drifted.
To the kitchen.
To the conversation still echoing in her chest.
And to the boy who had started to feel less like a stranger on the edge of her world—and more like something she wasn’t sure how to unsee.
22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMroMiyocip
然後按「加至主畫面」