Clueless Love

The next morning, I wake up at 4:38 a. m. I pray Fajr, go back to sleep and wake up a little later to do a few workouts and take a shower. I walk downstairs to make breakfast, but today there is a significant addition. I have to cook for that man, Ismail. I can’t still believe he is living with us.

Today I am making pancakes for the kids while I prepare coffee, eggs, and French toast for Waheeda, Aazim, and Ismail. Everyone comes down after getting ready.

“Good morning, aunt,” Aayan and Eman say, coming down the stairs looking cute in their school uniform.

My sister has her kids in a private school, so they wear a uniform.

Aayan is four years old, has Afro black hair, a light skin tone, hazel brown eyes, and a round face.

“Good morning,” Waheeda and Aazim say while coming down the stairs.

“How was your night?” I say placing their breakfast in front of them.

“It was fine. Won’t you get ready for work?” Waheeda says.

“I will, just after I finish doing this,” I say plating Ismail’s breakfast.

“Good morning, slave,” I whisper to Ismail once he walks into the kitchen.

“Don’t call me that,” he whispers back.

“I can call you whatever I like because I am the master here and you are the slave,” I grin.

“Not anymore. Check your phone.” he says with a big smirk.

“What did you do?” I say picking up my phone to check for the pictures, but I am not able to find them.

“How do you know my passcode?” I say, making a mental note to stop using my birthday for my passcode.

“Anyone who knows you can guess your passcode.”

“This is not the last you heard of me. I will find something to use against you and bend you to my will,” I say in a dramatic tone.

“This is the last of you,” he says using a dramatic tone too.

“I can’t believe two adults are acting like children,” Waheeda says watching our interaction.

“We are not,” we both say in unison.

“Do you know how both of you sound?”

“Like adults,” we again say simultaneously.

“Why are you copying me?” we both ask.

“You stop. You stop,” we say again at the same time.

“Both of you stop,” Aazim says.

“Alright,” we say.

“I am going upstairs to get ready for work. Ismail your breakfast is on the table,” I say, making my way upstairs.

“Oh, how lovely of you!”

“Don’t expect it every time, mister.”

“I won’t,” he says with a smirk while enjoying his breakfast, clearly not taking me seriously.

I walk up the stairs to my room. The walls are painted light grey while the ceiling is painted white and has a chandelier in the middle. There is a queen size bed, two white pillows and two light grey pillows with a floral pattern on them. A white blanket with fluffy edges. There are two banana-colored chairs in front of my bed with a little table and a TV on the far wall. On either side of the bed is a white bedside table with flower vases on it. There are two doors in my room; one leads to the bathroom while the other leads to the closet. My room is one of the reasons why I don’t mind living with my sister. It’s everything I wished my room to be.

Today I am wearing checkered black and white trousers, a black blazer, a white blouse, a white scarf to use for my hijab (which is a headscarf), a black bag and a black set of heels. After I have finished dressing and applying a little makeup to my face, I walk downstairs to go to work, but not before eating my breakfast.

I make noodles for myself because my dear family forgot to leave me any food.

“What kind of noodle is that? I have never seen any like these,” Ismail says creeping up behind me.

“Ahh! You scared me, and it’s a Nigerian noodle, the name of the brand is Indomie. It is the best noodles you will ever have,” I say smiling while enjoying my meal.

“Wow, it looks good,” he comments, looking into my bowl of noodles.

“Do you want to taste some?” I say with an evil plan in my head.

“Yes, why not.”

“Here,” I say pretending like I am going to give him my bowl of food, but I pull it back to me.

“Hey! That’s not fair,” he says, whining like a child.

“Do you really think I would be nice to you, mister?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. For a minute I forgot who I am dealing with.”

“Would you go away so I can eat in peace?” I say waving him off.

“Aha! Bye, woman,” he says raising his hands.

“Yes! Bye.”

After I finish eating, I go outside and get into my burgundy G-wagon to drive to the office. I hope the CEO is a nice person because some of the new interns and I will be working closely with him.

I arrive at work on time and walk in to meet my supervisor before the CEO gets here. On my way there I meet Emma. I met her when I came to work here, and we have become friends. Emma is what you would call an American doll. She has rosy-pink skin, big blue eyes, wavy blond hair, and is the same height as me. She is an intern. We have been working together for the past two months. She is friendly and fun to be with.

“Hello,” Emma says walking up beside me and handing me a cup of coffee.

“Thank you, how are you?” I say and take a sip of my coffee.

“I’m fine. Are you ready to meet the CEO?”Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

“I am kind of nervous because I don’t know anything about him, so I don’t know what to expect.”

“I heard he is handsome, young, sexy and single,” she says, smiling while lifting her brows.

“Of course, that is the only thing you would find out about the CEO,” I say giggling.

“What! Can you blame me? I am single and ready for any guy to change that,” she says with a wink.

“Will you ever change?” I smile while shaking my head.

“Not until I find someone to put a ring on it,” she chuckles while pointing to her ring finger.

“I will put you in my prayers.”

“Please do and I’ll see you later. And do tell me if he is really like they say,” Emma says smiling, and walks to her office.

“I will,” I answer and walk to the conference room where we are meeting the CEO.

We all wait for him for a few minutes before he arrives. You won’t believe who steps into the room.

“You!” Ismail and I say at the same time.

“What are you doing here?” we say at the same time, making everyone in the room look at us bewildered.

“Umit, can you step outside for a moment.”

“Yes, sir,” I say cringing while saying it.

“What are you doing here?” we exclaim simultaneously again.

“We need to stop doing this,” we say in unison.

“You go first,” we both say again.

“Ahh! We need to stop this,” we say again at the same time.

“I will speak first. I am the boss,” he says, straightening to his full height.

“I am letting you talk,” I say folding my arms. “I don’t know what you are doing here, even though you just called yourself my boss.”

“As I said before, I am your boss. This is my company, so, Miss, you are the one who should be explaining to me what you are doing here.”

“I work here. I can’t believe this is your company. Why do I see you everywhere I go in my life?” I demand. I can feel a headache coming on from the information I just received.

“I don’t know either, but no one can find out we live together.”

“Do you think I would want to tell anyone that I live with you?”

“Good. Besides, I am amazing to live with,” he declares before walking back into the conference room. I follow back inside shortly after him.

He briefs us on a project to be done in a week and not surprisingly, he made me the team leader. I am sure he did it to see me fail so he can make fun of me later, but I will prove him wrong when I ace this project.