[Scene: Seoul Broadcasting Headquarters – Friday Morning]
Alvira stepped out of the taxi, her heart beating so fast she thought the driver might hear it.
The glass façade of the building shimmered under the morning sun, almost intimidating in its sleek perfection.
She smoothed down her beige hijab, the soft satin catching the light.
Ruhi had sent her a good-luck message just minutes ago:
> "Remember — you're not meeting the Ilham Taib. You're meeting a person. And you're representing yourself and your faith. Own it."
Easier said than done.
Inside the lobby, the receptionist checked her name and handed her a guest pass.
Receptionist:
"Please wait in the green room. Mr. Taib will join you shortly."
The words Mr. Taib will join you replayed like an echo in her chest.
[Scene: Ilham's Arrival]
Isa arrived with his manager, dressed in a perfectly tailored navy coat over a white shirt — effortlessly graceful, as if the air itself adjusted for him.
But today, he wasn't thinking about the cameras or the schedule.
Today, a single thought had been circling his mind:
> "Elvaira. Will it really be her?"
As they passed through security, his gaze shifted toward the hallway leading to the green room. A subtle tension spread across his shoulders.
[Scene: The Green Room – The First Glance]
Alvira's POV
I heard the door click open before I saw him. My breath caught — it was like every pixel from every photo I'd ever seen had suddenly formed into a living, breathing reality.
Except… he was more.
The faint scent of clean cologne, the quiet dignity in his walk — he wasn't just a celebrity here. He was a man.
He looked straight at me. My lips parted, but no words came out.
> Ya Allah, please keep my heart in the right place.
"Hello," he said, his voice warm yet slightly hesitant.
I rose, returning his greeting with a polite nod. "Assalamu Alaikum."
His eyes softened instantly. "Wa Alaikum Assalam," he replied — the pronunciation careful, as though he'd practiced it.
Ilham's POV
The moment I stepped inside, the air changed.
She was sitting there, in a simple hijab that caught the light like silk, eyes steady yet impossibly gentle.
I didn't have to ask — I knew.
Her presence pulled at something I couldn't name, but had felt before… in fleeting glimpses of interviews, in quiet moments scrolling through a stranger's words online.
When she said "Assalamu Alaikum," something stirred in my chest.
It wasn't just the greeting. It was the way she carried it — like a prayer and a gift at once.
[Scene: The Conversation Before the Cameras]
Alvira:
"Thank you for agreeing to do this panel."
Ilham:
"I should be the one thanking you. I've been looking forward to this… more than I expected."
A faint, almost shy smile touched his lips, and her heartbeat drummed in her ears. They spoke in short sentences, polite yet edged with something unspoken — the awareness that they were both quietly memorising the moment.
[Scene: Inside the Studio]
The crew bustled around, adjusting lights and microphones.
Between takes, Ilham glanced at her when she wasn't looking; Alvira focused on her notes, trying not to drown in the surrealness of it all.
They weren't just two guests anymore — they were two worlds cautiously stepping into the same frame.
[Closing Scene: Unwritten]
Ilham's POV
> "She's not like anyone I've met. And for some reason… I want to know why."
Alvira's POV
> "This was only the first meeting. But Ya Allah… why does my heart feel like it's already turning a page?"
The cameras rolled, but the real story had just begun — one neither of them dared to name yet.
To be continued....