A man like khalid

24

It had been four days since Nadeen sought refuge in Majid's house. The sprawling mansion had felt like a prison at first, despite its luxury and comfort. She had told him little, only that her mother-in-law had sent her away, and she left out the uglier details because she couldn't bring herself to lie. Majid had tried to get her to talk, gently asking her what happened, but she always responded with silence or a brief shake of her head. Her heart ached too much to go deeper.

The house was mostly quiet during the day, as Majid didn't stay home much, going out early and coming back late. She appreciated the solitude, though at times, it left her lost in her thoughts—thoughts she desperately wanted to escape.

One early morning, after finishing her Subhi prayer, Nadeen wandered downstairs in her pajamas, hungry for something to eat. The sound of the living room door startled her, and she quickly closed the refrigerator, her heart racing as if she'd been caught in some forbidden act. Why did she feel this way? Majid had told her to feel at home, but still... maybe it was the awkwardness between them. She couldn't put her finger on it, but her legs carried her instinctively to the kitchen table, where she crouched beneath it, her breath shallow.

What am I doing? This is ridiculous... she thought, her face heating up with embarrassment. But it was too late now. The sound of footsteps approached, and she froze, gripping her knees.

Then, Majid's voice cut through the silence, playful yet amused. "Why are you hiding?"

His words startled her so much that she almost knocked her head on the underside of the table. Her pulse quickened as she whispered, "Nothing," her voice betraying her embarrassment.

Majid chuckled softly, the sound light and teasing. "Just come out of there." he was watching how she was acting under the table.

She could see his feet, but he was hidden from her view. She couldn't believe how foolish she must look right now, hiding under a table like a child. Slowly, she crawled out, her face flushed with a mixture of shame and amusement. Why on earth did I hide here? she wondered, feeling even more foolish as she stood up. The kitchen table wasn't exactly the best place to hide. She could feel Majid's eyes on her, though she refused to meet his gaze.

"You're acting like I've caught you stealing food," he teased, trying to suppress his laughter, but it was no use. The corner of his mouth twitched, and his shoulders shook with silent amusement. He looked her over as if she were some odd creature. "You're in my house. Feel at home, remember?"

"Sorry," she mumbled, biting her lip. "I was just hungry... I didn't think you'd be back so early."

"I saw the kitchen door open and got curious Because I know the door was closed when I went to the mosque," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, the tasbeeh hanging from one hand. "You didn't have to hide, you know."

Great, now I look even more ridiculous, she thought, her face burning. She forced herself to smile, even though she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. "Well, you did surprise me."

Majid chuckled again, shaking his head. "Don't worry. I'll make breakfast before I leave for lectures."

She blinked, surprised. "You're cooking?"

He stared at her, unable to reconcile the person before him with the girl he once knew. Sure, she had been playful back in their school days, but this—this was different. How could she have changed so much in just one year? The thought gnawed at him, leaving him both curious and unsettled.

He kept the tasbeeh and He rolled up the sleeves of his jallabiya, glancing over at her with a playful smirk. "I can handle eggs and toast. What do you want? Eggs, bacon, sausages, baked beans? London's finest breakfast, right?"