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Jamal
She places the mug on the table beside my laptop, the hot steam rising up in little wisps. I stop momentarily from my work, my attention on her. She inclines her head towards the cup, asking me to take it.
I stare at the hot mug, scared of what my taste buds might encounter this time around.
"I promise it's not going to be that bad, and this time around, tell me what you think. No sugarcoating", she says with her arms crossed, patiently waiting for me to taste her latest experiment in mastering the coffee maker.
I raise a questioning brow at her, "Really?, the last time you made me coffee, I couldn't taste any other thing for hours, and it was so thick it looked like custard", I reply candidly.
Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit.
I catch a glimpse of a smile on her lips, shaking her head amusingly. I've figured there are many a things to like about this lady of mine, the little things that seem unimportant and might go unnoticed. Those little acts done unintentionally in a split of a second, but you tend to store them fondly in your brain. Like the way she tries to cover up a smile, twitches her nose when irritated or frustrated at trying to master something new, and she stubbornly refuses to stop.
When we started opening up to one another two nights ago, I was scared of saying the wrong things, scared of being too brutal with my honesty, and most especially scared of falling for this lady who's slowly paving her own path in my heart.
"A penny for your thoughts?", her voice breaks through my reverie, her eyes casting curious glances my way. I remember when I'd asked her that same question, desperately seeking a window into her closed thoughts, and she'd brushed it off with a mere nothing.
I trace the rim of the cup absently, before replying her. "Do you remember the day I'd asked you that, on the way back from Huda's?"
She nods, her expression solemn, and I can feel the tension grow a little thicker. She reaches from the cup, "I'll just dispose of this".
"No, leave it", I pick up the mug and take a sip, the strong flavour of familiar coffee beans washing down my throat. I feel her eyes on me, gauging my reaction. Surprisingly, it tastes better than the previous ones she's made, and that's after using up almost half a bag of freshly grounded coffee beans.
"Is it better than the last, or worse?", she asks, bracing herself for the result.
"Better actually", I reply, and she beams with pride. "Congrats, you're now a certified coffee maker. Now I'll just buy a cappuccino machine", I add, and she pales visibly. I crack up at the momentary look of fear on her face, and she scowls when she realizes I was only messing with her.
Nice one Jamal, instead of appreciating her efforts, you make a joke out it. Really smooth.
I want to give myself a smack on the forehead for what I'd just said. She'd made an effort to do something for me, and I didn't even thank her for it. I make to go to her, but a buzz from my laptop interrupts the moment. I let out a groan when I notice it's a video call.
Only one person dumb enough to call at this time.
With a click of a button, the culprit's face appears on the screen, flashing his infamous grin and green eyes blazing like emeralds.
"I honestly do not understand what my sister saw in you".
YOU ARE READING
Our Stormy Ride
Spiritual#1 Ar-Rahma Series Their names were written down together long before the universe had been created. Life throws them at each other. They collide. An arranged marriage. Their Stormy Ride. For Nadia Ali, life was just as ordinary as a plain white cl...
