UNENDING

31- Lucerne

-ASIYA-

The soft glow of Lucerne's streetlights filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. Gazing out at the town, my thoughts as tangled as the streets winding through the medieval architecture. It was a quiet night, the kind where you can hear your own thoughts as clearly as the distant hum of the city. For the first time in what felt like ages, I allowed myself to simply be present, enjoying the view and the serenity it brought.

This was all so new to me. A spontaneous trip to a foreign country, just like that. Al-Qasim had whisked me away with little more than a vague explanation, and though I was initially unsettled by the abruptness of it all, I was slowly coming to appreciate it. The days had blurred together into a peaceful rhythm of exploration and relaxation. Al-Qasim had been both a guide and a companion, leading me through the charming streets of Lucerne, sharing snippets of history that made the old buildings come alive.

It was in these moments—like now, when I was curled up with my head in his lap—that I felt a sense of contentment I hadn't known I needed. The cottage we were staying in was a far cry from our grand home back in the city. It was small and cozy, with an inviting warmth that contrasted sharply with the stark, often impersonal feel of our house. Al-Qasim's voice, gentle and soothing, provided a comforting backdrop as he read to me, the words becoming a melodic accompaniment to the quiet.

He paused, his fingers gently stroking my hair. "We should eat," he said, his voice soft but purposeful.

I reluctantly shifted, sitting up and stretching. "Instead of going out," I offered, "I can cook. I bought some things at the store earlier. How about I make a lemon shortcake?"

His eyes lit up with a smile that was rare but always genuine. "Why don't we do it together? You can teach me."

I smiled back, a flutter of excitement in my chest. "Sure, that sounds great."

He helped me up, and we made our way to the kitchen. The small space was filled with the pleasant aroma of lemons and sugar as I laid out the ingredients. Al-Qasim stood by, attentively watching as I explained each step.

"First, we need to mix the flour and sugar," I said, guiding him through the process. His concentration was almost comical, his brow furrowed in determination as he tried to measure out the ingredients precisely.

"You're doing great," I encouraged, even as he managed to spill a bit of flour. I laughed softly, reaching over to help him correct the mistake. "Here, let me show you a trick to avoid the mess."

As we worked side by side, I found myself enjoying his company more than I had anticipated. His attempts to follow my instructions, punctuated by his occasional errors and my laughter, created a lighthearted atmosphere. The cake, though far from perfect, turned out delicious. We cut out a slice and sat down to taste it.

"This is really good for your first try," I told him, savoring the sweet, tangy flavor.

He smiled, a hint of modesty in his eyes. "Thank you for your generous words, but I know it could never compare to yours."

I shook my head, laughing softly. "It's true. The first time I made one, it was a disaster. The cake was so dense, it could have been used as a doorstop."

Al-Qasim's laughter joined mine, a genuine sound that made my heart feel lighter. I found myself sharing more than I ever had with him before, talking about my past baking failures, and the small things that made up my world.

After we cleaned up the kitchen, Al-Qasim glanced at me, a playful grin on his face. "Is it healthy to have cake for dinner?"

I raised an eyebrow, chuckling. "No, it's not. But it's okay just this once."