THE BLACK KNIGHT

Chapter 1

Zainab P.O.V

"Zainab! Get up right now and start setting up the table for breakfast. Do you think your imaginary servants will do it for you?"

Great. My mother only used my full name when there was a severe weather warning. Inside the house of course. The voice boomed up the stairs, bouncing off the walls and vibrated throughout my small grey toned room. I didn't bother responding and fiddled around the mattress to look for my usual sweater and long skirt. The dark room spun as I paced around digging for my hairbrush, rushing up from bed made me quite dizzy. It was 7 in the morning, and I had barely gotten a wink of sleep last night. I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, feeling a tiny bit of pressure slipping off. I leaned back against the room's bathroom door. I have to say it today no matter what.

My feet hurried down the narrow concrete stairs and ended up right in the kitchen. The smell of chai and large puffy naans entered my nostrils and reminded me of how hungry I had been without dinner last night.

"Where did baba get the naan from?" My voice sounded horse and dry as I start to pour boiling water into a large jug. Fresh water was scarce for us in the poor part of the city, so we purified it first.

"Your baba's friend gave him some from his shop, don't give any to your brother; that rascal doesn't deserve it." Her expression didn't exactly match the tone, but I didn't argue.

It seemed that the storm from last night hovered above with no sign of my brother around. He had apparently been caught skipping multiple classes of Suraijan's public university by the headmaster and was sent home with a letter for warning of expulsion. It was his third year, but he was as behind as 2nd year student. I on the other hand never went to university, our mother fell sick and I had to take care of her for months. After that I just started to help around the house and even gardened to sell some of our plants. The extra money was always needed.

Ami cautiously took a sip of chai from a wooden spoon. She clicked her tongue and frowned awkwardly but moved forward with pouring the rich caramel tea into the kettle. The signature-move for when she considered it edible but wouldn't approve for any guests.

My mother was often hard on herself with cooking and demanded perfection. Yet everything she served was mouthwatering. The smell of her mutton biriyani wafted from house to house, inviting all the kids to our doors the following morning and requesting a portion for themselves. We accepted them even on days when the amount was too low and there wasn't enough for even ourselves. I shook off the feelings from those long-ago days and walked over to the broad opening that led onto our living space. I carried handwoven bamboo baskets with freshly baked naan and set them down onto the small table in the corner. The table was very low to the ground unlike most of our neighbors who dined on more luxurious ones with actual chairs around it. For the Urabeiths the ground was good enough and affordable.

Ami hurried over with a small hand towel clutching onto the kettle that held the family's ancient recipe of chai and almost dropped it onto the serving board.

"oof this morning is crazy!" she blew out a quick breath while hurrying back into the kitchen and returning with 4 tea cups on a wooden tray.

I claimed the one with the chipped edge standing amongst the other perfect ones. It had been mine since the day it lost its small part. Often I found myself resembling it. Being similar to others but never quite felt the same. I began to pour the chai for everyone, taking my time and savoring the humble act. The fumes of spiced chai drifted across the room and filled the atmosphere with the heart of Basak.

Basak was known for their traditional teas brewed passionately with multiple different spices and herbs. You could spend days in this city tasting the different flavors. This is where my culture and sense of reality were deeply rooted and strengthen by its unwavering heat.