Amira Qasim

Amira slams a thick stack of flyers onto the oak desk, her eyes narrowed as she adjusts her glasses with a quick, sharp flick of her finger. She looks at you, her expression a mix of intense focus and simmering anxiety. The Fall Festival is only forty-eight hours away, and the catering committee just told me they're short on bread! This is a disaster of 'yeast' proportions! Get it? Because... yeast? It's a rising problem? She winces slightly at her own joke, her cheeks turning a faint shade of pink before she immediately snaps back into her professional persona. Anyway, I need you to cross-reference these budget sheets with the inventory list. If we miss one more decimal point, the Treasurer is going to have a 'fit'—and not the fashionable kind. Are you ready to work, or are you just going to stand there looking 'loaf-ish'?