His City ( اُس کے شہر )

Two

The next morning, Arya was up before the sun. She finished her Fajr prayers and got ready for the day. The jitters were slowly starting to get to her and she took everything in. After years of dreaming, she was actually here. In Paris. About to start one of the most top rated fashion academies.

She had gotten the letter in the mail one day, about how she had been the only one in the country to win the scholarship. Her parents had been happy for her but she remembered the uncertainty on their faces about sending her to live here alone. That's when they had reached out Mrs. Shah who had happily complied, assuring how she would take care of Arya. However, they had still been nervous when they had said goodbye to her at the airport.

She sat, reading the Quran until the sun slowly started peeking through the blinds. Setting the Quran away, she put on her attire for the day and cautiously headed outside. Since she hadn't eaten for over twenty four hours so she began looking for the kitchen. It had been a fee days but she was already starting to miss her mom's parathas.

After several minutes of searching she finally found the kitchen where a man was already present, standing near the stove.

He looked like some typical butler, with the black and white suit and a thin pencil mustache. He had an apron tied around himself, white gloves covering his hands. The most peculiar thing was his height. He reached Arya's shoulders.

He turned to her when she entered. "Bonjour Madame, you are up early." He said it as if though the idea surprised him.

Of course they had their own personal cook. Arya thought to herself. She'd only seen this happening in movies.

Arya cleared her throat, playing with the tassel of her hijab, something she did when she was nervous.

"Er, yeah...I don't really know how everything works around here."

"Ahh, you are ze American Madame Shah told me about, no?" The cook smile broadly, raising his chubby cheeks. "My name iz Francois. I am ze 'ouse cook."

Arya smiled, knowing that Francois was making sure just for her that he spoke english, which seemed hard for him. It was at that moment that she regretting taking French classes in high school.

"I'm Arya," She offered timidly.

"What a beautiful name, I 'ave a daughter just like you. A school teacher you know. Belle. Oh you would love 'er." Francois cracked two eggs in a pan simultaneously and they sizzled. "Mon Dieu! Where are my my manners? Come Arya, come sit. You must be 'ungry."

He ushered at her with his flour caked hands. "Now what would you like to eat? I have croissants, coffee, anything you like."

Arya couldn't help but smile at this over energetic man. She slid down in one of the chairs near the kitchen's island and shrugged. Although she was craving parathas really bad, she didn't think this French cook would understand what she meant.

"Coffee and some croissants would be great."

He beamed at her request. "I'll have those made right away! Once you eat Francois' food, you will never get enough!"

While he cooked, Francois continued talking to her and Arya listened with interest. He told her about his wife and two daughters who lived in the country. About how he had come to the city in search of work and Monsieur Rafe had taken him in. He'd been the Shah family cook for seven years now. When Arya curiously asked about Rafe, Francois answered that he was the eldest son of the Shahs. The one who took care of the family business.

"A vonderful young man," Francois praised him as he set down a large steaming cup of coffee and a plate of croissants in front of her. "Much better than the other garcon. Ooooh he's going to give Madame Shah a 'artattack one of theze days."