The call came through at eight in the evening. Zoya was on the hotel sofa with Riyana asleep across her lap, a case file open on the cushion beside her, when she looked at the screen. Amira . She answered. “Hi,” Amira said. “Hey.” Something warm in her chest she had not expected. “How are you? “Good. Actually good.” A beat. “I started at Mansoor Corp.” “Wow! Congratulations! When?” “Four days ago. Raiyan asked me before you left LA. I said yes.” A pause. “Does that change anything—?” “No,” Zoya said. Immediately. “It doesn’t. It’s your family’s company, Amira . It makes sense.” A beat. “So technically,” Amira said carefully, “we can’t talk.” Zoya looked at the ceiling. “Technically,” she agreed. “Which is a problem?” “It is.” “Because I like talking to you.” “Amira .” “How is Liyana?” “She is good, don’t worry, Aunty Mirrium is here.” Zoya sighed. “Good.” Zoya looked down at Riyana asleep across her lap. At the dark wavy hair.. At the small hand loosely curled a
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