𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞

Nooreen had always been a little clumsy. The kind of girl who tripped over invisible lines on the pavement, spilled coffeeat the worst possible moments, and found herself lost even in streets she had walked a hundred times before.

This morning was no exception. Her tote bag slipped off her shoulder, the strap threatening to snap, a folder of resumes bulging against her arm, and her phone buzzing endlessly with reminders she wished she could ignore. She muttered under her breath, weaving her way through the crowded street.The sun glared mercilessly, and her hair clung to her temples, adding to her irritation.

She crossed the road in a hurry,her eyes glued to the tall glass tower that rose like a monument of wealth and power ahead of her. She barely registered the traffic honking until—screech!—a sleek black car halted inches away from her. Her heart leaped into her throat. She stumbled back, the folder slipping from her grip, papers fluttering like desperate birds.Fury replaced fear as she turned sharply toward the car. Its black-tinted windows reflected her own flustered face back at her.

She couldn't see the driver, couldn't see who sat inside. But the arrogance of it all—the gleaming car, the sheer audacity of nearly running her over—sparked fire in her. "You drivers think the road belongs to you!" she snapped, loud enough for passers by to turn their heads. Her voice trembled with adrenaline, but she held her ground.

She didn’t wait for a response.With an angry toss of her hair, she stormed off, not knowing the gaze that followed her.Inside the car, Zahran Malik leaned back, his jaw tight. He had seen countless faces in his life, people groveling for his attention, women perfectly poised to impress him, men eager to earn his favor. But this girl? She was different. Not because she was beautiful—though she was in a way that wasn't polished or practiced—but because she dared to yell at him. At him.

His lips curved in the faintest ghost of a smirk. He didn't lower the window. He didn’t call out. He only watched her retreating figure, imprinting the image in his mind. She would regret crossing his path, whether she knew it now or not.

Nooreen didn’t look back. She couldn’t afford to. Her stomach twisted with nerves as she finally reached the building.Her shoes clicked against the marble floor of the reception hall, every sound amplified in the cavernous space. The lobby reeked of power—cold, efficient, untouchable.

People moved with purpose, sleek suits and sharp heels clicking, as if the airitself demanded excellence. She clutched her folder tighter, painfully aware of the wrinkle in her blouse, the stray strandof hair that refused to be tamed. This was not her world. And yet, here she was, walking straight into it.

The receptionist gave her a professional smile. "Ms. Nooreen?"She nodded, clearing her throat. "I—I’m here for the interview.""Mr. Malik is expecting you."The words echoed in her mind, though she barely registered them. All she could think of was not tripping over her own feet.She stepped into the elevator, her palms damp, her pulse erratic. The floor numbers climbed, each ding hammering into her nerves.

She pressed her lips together, whispering a silent pep talk. You can do this, Noor. Just don’t mess it up.On the top floor, the elevator doors opened to a private world—silent, luxurious, intimidating. She stepped out, her heels sinking into the thick carpet. A set of double doors loomed ahead, guarded by an air of authority. She pushed them open,her breath caught in her throat, and then—her world tilted.

Behind the mahogany desk sat the very man she had screamed at only minutes ago. Zahran Malik. His presence filled the room,commanding, magnetic, and impossibly calm. His dark eyes flickered with recognition, though his expression gave nothing away.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, watching her every move like a predator observing prey.Nooreen froze. Her brain scrambled to make sense of it. She hadn’t seen his face before, only the black glass. She didn’trealize it was him. But he knew. He knew, and the silence stretched like a blade between them."Sit," he said finally, his voice low, velvet smooth, yet laced with steel.Her knees wobbled, but she forced herself into the chair opposite him. Her throat went dry. The weight of his gaze pressed on her, stripping her confidence layer by layer.

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He arched a brow,a faint amusement in his eyes. "You had a lot more courage on the street," he murmured.Her heart stopped. Did he just—?She gripped the folder tighter, trying to mask the tremor in her hands. "I—I didn’t realize it was—""Me?" His lips curled into the faintest smirk. "Of course, you didn’t."The room fell silent again. His words lingered, his eyes unwavering. She hated how they made her squirm, hated how he seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. He didn’t look away, didn’t blink. He was dissecting her, piece by piece, and shedidn’t know how to defend herself.

Her mind screamed at her to run, but her body stayed rooted. She needed this job. She couldn’t afford to back down—not now,not ever. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with what little fire she had left. "I’m here for the interview," she said,forcing her voice to steady."Good," he replied softly, dangerously. "Then let’s see if you can handle more than just yelling on the street."The air thickened between them, heavy with tension, sharp with unspoken words.

She didn’t know if she was in the right placeor the wrong one. All she knew was that this man—this stranger with the power to ruin her—was going to change everything.And when he rose from his chair, walking around the desk with slow, deliberate steps, Nooreen’s pulse hammered in her veins.He stopped just inches away, towering over her, his gaze cutting into her. "This," he whispered, "is where your real test begins."

The door to the office suddenly swung open, and an assistant rushed in. "Sir, there’s an urgent matter downstairs."Zahran didn’t take his eyes off her. "Cancel it."Nooreen’s breath caught. She realized, too late, that she wasn’t just a candidate. She was a challenge—and he never walked away from a challenge.