UNENDING

28- A purpose

-ASIYA-

The kitchen was a haven for me, a place where I could lose myself in the simple, repetitive tasks of chopping, stirring, and seasoning. Today, I was making breakfast quesadillas—something hearty and warm that I knew Al-Qasim would appreciate. The scent of melting cheese and sizzling tortillas filled the large kitchen, mixing with the aroma of sautéed onions and peppers. It was comforting, familiar, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a small sense of normalcy creeping back into my life.

As I flipped the last quesadilla onto a plate, I allowed myself a small smile. Cooking and baking had always been my favourite pastimes, aside from reading. It was my way of expressing myself, of showing care without having to find the right words. And after everything that had happened, this felt like the only way I could think of to repay Al-Qasim for his kindness. He had been so patient with me, never pushing me to talk, never asking questions, even though we both knew he had heard everything that day. I wasn't ready to confront my past, not yet. But I wanted to do something nice for him, something to show my appreciation.

I set the table quietly, laying out the plates and silverware with care. I had left him sleeping, hoping to have everything ready before he woke up. But as I placed the last fork on the table, I heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching. I looked up just as Al-Qasim walked into the dining room, dressed in a dark grey suit. He raised an eyebrow at me, and I couldn't help but give him a small, shy smile in return.

He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. "I remember telling you to rest and leave the housework to the maids," he said, a hint of teasing in his voice.

I shrugged, turning back to the table to avoid his gaze. "I missed cooking," I admitted. "It didn't feel quite right not doing it. It's... part of my routine."

He pushed off from the doorway and walked over to the table, his eyes now on the food. There was an excited glint in his eyes, something almost boyish, and my cheeks heated up at the sight. It was a small thing, but knowing that he was excited to eat something I made me feel warm inside, almost giddy. I quickly scolded myself for getting carried away. Our marriage came with terms and conditions, and getting lost in the fantasy of something more was foolish. He had been good to me, yes, but that's what he had promised. And in return, I had promised everything else but love, just as he had asked.

I watched him as he sat down and began to eat. He took a bite, savoring the flavors, and for a moment, I just stared at him, taking in the way his expression softened as he enjoyed the meal. I cleared my throat, breaking the silence.

"I need something to do," I said, my voice coming out more uncertain than I intended.

He looked up at me, a bit surprised. "Something to do?" he repeated, his brow furrowing slightly.

"I mean... I think I need something outside the house," I explained, trying to find the right words. "It'll be good for me to get out more. I can't stay cooped up here all the time."

He set his fork down, looking at me with a thoughtful expression. "What are you thinking?" he asked, his tone curious but cautious.

"A job, maybe," I said, watching his reaction closely. "Just something part-time. Or I could help Mr Ahmed at his pharmacy. I used to help him when I was in secondary school".

His reaction was immediate. His expression shifted, and he repeated, "A job?"

"Yes," I said, trying to sound more confident. "It would be something to keep me busy, give me a sense of purpose. I could go back to helping Mr. Ahmed. He always said I was good with customers."