Taste of Melanin

Caretaker

Before we begin, I should mention Hassan is from Saudi Arabia and as such would most likely be Muslim.

Religion is not something I practice and I do not want to misrepresent anyone's religion. So, I will refrain from attempting to illustrate the multifarious and sacred customs for fear of spreading misinformation.

—

"Morning, handsome, the bills won't be paying themselves. It's time to go to work." Claudia sung as she placed a breakfast tray on the bench at the foot of the large bed.

Hassan let out a grumble as he tossed and turned in the sheets for a moment longer. When he finally peeled the covers back, Claudia bit her lip at the disheveled appearance.

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't taken an extra ten minutes to make sure she looked good. The man mumbled something, kissed her cheek, then shuffled into the connected bathroom.

They'd met in dental school nearly 10 years back and quickly became stuck at the hip. Hassan continued through his four years while Claudia dropped out to take care of her mental health.

While she struggled to maintain her minimum wage job and her declining mental health, Hassan established his own private practice before allowing her to stay with him rent free as long as she began therapy.

Now, just 2 months after they both made 33, Claudia lived like a housewife while Hassan continued providing for her. She'd tried paying for her half but he refused each time.

"Good morning." He spoke lowly once he emerged from the bathroom.

He'd smoothed down his large beard and the sleep had been washed from his face. The man's skin had never seen a blemish, the skin supple with its own natural shine. His dark eyebrows matched his beard and made his hazel eyes stand out.

"I already packed your bag and your lunch. They're by the door with your shoes." Claudia announced as he sat on the bench to begin eating.

"Thank you, ya rouhi. I should be back around 8. I'll pick something up so you don't have to cook again." His long legs stretched out as he began digging into the plate.

(Ya rouhi: Arabic phrase that implies "my dear/ my beloved" but literally means "my soul")

"You tryina say I can't cook?" She teased as she crossed her arms.

The matching sleep shorts and shirt had been picked with Hassan in mind. They were purple, his favorite color, with lace along the bottom of the shorts. The top was spaghetti strapped and hugged her large breasts before softening around her torso.

Hassan was one of the most respectful men she'd ever met. In all their years of knowing one another, he'd never so much as glanced at her in an inappropriate way. Claudia was sure he'd seen her trailing eyes on more than one occasion though.

"Of course not. I just meant I don't want you slaving over a stove for me." He quickly corrected the statement.

That was another thing about Hassan. Despite nearing 6'5, he was as gentle as a butterfly. The man couldn't start a fight with someone if you paid him to. That niceness often leaned into naivety that Claudia quickly shut down. Hassan was her gentle giant to leech off.

"It's the least I can do for the breadwinner of the household." Claudia spoke as she busied herself with making his bed. "Besides, who else am I gonna butter up enough to get them to paint my toes?"

Approaching the man once she finished the bed, she threw her arms over his broad shoulders. His hair was soft against her cheeks and smelled of the new shampoo she'd gotten him.