Dare You To Love Me

«58» peace and pieces

Yaseerah had nearly set their house on fire, again.

For a seasoned baker like her, making macarons shouldn’t have been this hard.

But alas...

Today, it was.

She stared at the third batch of burnt, crumbled shells, her chest tightening with a familiar ache, as she wondered why she couldn’t get it done—when she’d baked it more than a dozen times in her life.

Baking was her thing. It was what she occupied herself with, when her words failed her, when her emotions were tightly tangled in her chest, and she needed a physical outlet for them.

But today, everything felt wrong.

These were supposed to be for Bilal. Every year on his birthday, she and Mamu made macarons together, laughing as they experimented with different colors and flavors—a tradition that began since Bilal was four.

But Mamu wasn’t here this year, and Yaseerah couldn’t seem to get it right without her.

The kitchen was a mess—flour coated every inch of the countertop, with dirty bowls and utensils scattered haphazardly everywhere.

The acrid scent of burnt sugar and charred shells filled the air, making her nostrils flare, and her eyes sting as she inhaled the bitter reminder of her failure.

Her hands trembled as she dumped the burnt confections into the dumpster, slamming it shut with more force than was needed.

She reached for another bowl, determined to try again, but stopped, when she felt Fou’ad’s gaze on her.

“Don’t say a word,” she warned, turning around to point a flour-coated finger at him, her voice wavering slightly.

Fou’ad raised his hands in surrender, his lips tilting up into a small, understanding smile. He wasn’t going to say anything.

At least, not yet.

“I’m not going to cry,” she mumbled, as she turned attention back to her task, biting her lip as she swallowed roughly.

“I never said you were going to,” Fou’ad placated, his lips tilting up into a smile she didn’t notice. “But... Your face looks all scrunched up in that adorable way it does, when you’re about to cry.”

“Only you would say that.” She let out a low chuckle, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

“Because it’s true.”

Yaseerah sighed, the usual banter between them doing little to make her feel better.

It’s only been a week but Mamu’s absence—felt even more acutely today—coupled with the failed macarons and Bilal’s birthday, was more heavier than ever.

“It was supposed to be perfect,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she covered her face with her hands. “I wanted it to be perfect for Bilal… like it always was when Mamu was here. I just want... I wanted him to have a perfectly normal birthday.”

Fou’ad closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, his arms slipping around her with a tender, possessive touch.

“Albi,” he murmured softly, his voice full of warmth and understanding as he pressed a kiss against her temple. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“It’s his first birthday without her,” she sniffed, turning around to press her face into his chest. “And I ruined it. I couldn’t even get this right. If I can’t even make something as simple as macarons for his birthday, how am I supposed to help him recover? How am I supposed to—”