Her Red Scarf [Muslim love story]

Chapter 7

Dedicated to @blackpaperink because she's my personal hype woman.

***

I open the door to the Pakistani restaurant. "I'm super excited for today!"

Rafiq nods behind me. "Me too."

I choose a spot hidden in the back of the restaurant because I like peaceful and low-key places, and I know Rafiq likes them too. It's one of the things I know we will always agree on; we don't sit in places where people breathe down our necks, no matter how fancy or popular.

After I place my black purse on the bench next to me, and remove my long auburn coat, I look at Rafiq over the menu, and hum. This looks way more appetizing than I thought. "Anything specific you want to try?" I already know what foods I want to try with him tonight, but I'm curious to know what he's feeling. We used to go to restaurants like this, and try new foods all the time when we first got together. He'd always let me choose what to eat.

He looks over the menu a bit more before he leans back in his booth and smiles lightly. "You have full reins, miss."

I laugh, thinking about how accurate my guess was, and call the waitress.

We make light conversation, and about twenty minutes later, the waitress sets our food on the table. Of course, he is blindfolded. We don't take games lightly.

I giggle at the curious glance the waitress throws me and tell her not to worry about it.

"What?" Rafiq says, smiling.

"Nothing." I say, as I scoop some tandoori fried rice on my spoon, and bring it closer to his mouth. This is how it's always worked: I give him the first bite, and he must try to guess the food item. Once he's tried everything, it's my turn. He's usually very bad at it, even though I always tell him what cuisine we're trying before for his research.

I give him more bites of food way out of our comfort zone. Twenty minutes later, we've laughed more than ate our food. The waitress keeps shooting us strange glances whenever she passes by our table, but we're too busy laughing to care.

Then it's my turn to be blindfolded, and my smile fall a bit at the red spices that can be seen on all the items. I've had a few bites, and yes—it is way out of my comfort spice zoon. All the food I've ordered is spicy which is to Rafiq's liking.

"Alright, first bite." Rafiq says as I hear the spoon against the plate.

As soon as the divine spices start melting on my tongue, I hide my wince behind a smile.

"That is definitely the first one I gave you, tandoori fried chicken." I laugh.

I avoid coughing as I take in my second bite as normally as I possibly can. I guess it wrong, mainly because I cannot focus on stopping the tears in my eyes and speaking. But by the third bite, Rafiq sets his spoon, and comes around to sit beside me.

"What's wrong?" he says with a hand on my back.

I shake my head. I couldn't speak even if I tried; my throat is parched.

"Don't play with me, Ihsan." He lifts my chin with a finger and understands instantly.

Shaking his head, he whispers "the spice".

This has happened before. He calls the waitress to bring me a cup of water, his face losing all color by the time she got back. He helps me drink it, and hands me a few mints to chew on.

After my breath steadies, he looks at me again. "have you developed an allergy since then?"

"I don't think so."