Hearts Anointed

6

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"You know," Salman began, glancing over at her with a grin, "I've been meaning to ask. What made you want to be a therapist?"

Fayrouz raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "You want the truth?"

"Always."

She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "I'm in it for the money."

Salman blinked, then burst into laughter, the sound warm and genuine, cutting through the hum of the evening. "Right. Therapy—of course. Nothing says 'millionaire' like emotional labor."

"Exactly," Fayrouz replied, her tone deadpan but her eyes sparkling with humor. "I mean, who wouldn't want to listen to people's problems all day just to rake in the cash?"

"Smart. If only I'd known." He shook his head in feigned regret. "Forget coding—I could be rolling in it right now."

Her laughter was bright, and Salman couldn't help but smile wider, caught off guard by the way her laughter seemed to fill the space between them. "But honestly," she said, her voice softening, "I've always wanted to help people. There's something deeply fulfilling about helping others find strength they didn't even realize they had."

Salman nodded, caught by the way her humor could fade into something so genuine. He liked that she could switch between joking and being open with such ease. "I get it," he said thoughtfully. "It's a bit like coding, really. People think it's just about fixing a problem, but it's actually about seeing things come together, working out something better, or maybe making life a little easier."

Fayrouz tilted her head, intrigued. "I've never thought about it like that."

"Most people don't," he said with a mock sigh, flashing her a knowing look. "That's why I'm here—to enlighten the world on the hidden wonders of software engineering."

She laughed, shaking her head. "I have to say, you really know how to sell it."

"Hey, I have many talents," he said, feigning modesty. "One of them just happens to be cooking."

She leaned in, a teasing spark in her eyes. "Alright, I'll bite. What's your specialty?"

"Everything." He declared it so confidently she couldn't help but laugh. "But if I had to pick, I make a mean jollof rice. The kind that'll make you question why you ever ate anything else."

"Oh, really?" she replied, her eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. "Big claim. Are you sure you're not just hyping yourself up?"

"Please," he said, placing a hand on his chest in faux offense. "You think I'd joke about jollof? Serious business."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "I've heard that line before. Everyone thinks they make the best jollof."

He leaned in a little closer, grinning. "One taste, and you'll understand. You might even be convinced to ditch your career for it."

Fayrouz laughed again, shaking her head. "I'm skeptical, but consider me intrigued."

As their conversation flowed, Salman realized with a hint of surprise that the formalities had slipped away entirely. The cautious tones that had shaped their first exchanges had disappeared, replaced with easy laughter and curious questions. In her presence, he found himself relaxing, speaking freely—something he rarely did. He noticed how she listened, her gaze soft and attentive, seeming to savor his words, and the way her laughter lit up her face made him want to keep talking just to see it again.

"So, what's the secret to this legendary jollof?" Fayrouz asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," he said, leaning in like he was sharing a top-secret recipe, "it's all about balance. The spices have to be just right, and patience is key. You can't rush jollof."

"Sounds like an art form," she replied, visibly impressed. "I love a good plate of jollof, but... my talents definitely lie elsewhere."

Salman gave her a look of mock horror. "Don't tell me you can't cook!"

"I can make tea," she countered, holding up a finger defensively. "That counts, right?"

He laughed, nodding. "Tea's an art form in its own way. But one day, I'll cook for you, and you'll see what real magic tastes like."

Her expression softened, and though his comment was lighthearted, the sincerity in his tone caught her attention. "I'll hold you to that," she said, a playful but warm smile curving her lips.

Around them, the wedding continued, filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and music blending softly into the background. Despite the busyness of the evening, Salman could feel a subtle pull between them, an invisible thread drawing them closer.

"So," Fayrouz began, clearly enjoying the banter, "what else do you do besides cooking and solving tech problems at 2 a.m.?"

"Well," he replied, pretending to think hard, "I've got a black belt in procrastination, I'm excellent at binge-watching TV shows, and I'm undefeated at family Scrabble games."

She raised an eyebrow, amused. "Quite the resume. You're really giving me a run for my money."

"Hey, you've got your tea-making skills," he teased. "That's some stiff competition."

She laughed, then tilted her head thoughtfully. "Honestly? I didn't expect you to be so... easygoing."

Salman grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is," she assured him, her voice soft. "You're different outside of therapy. Lighter."

He smirked, his tone playful. "That's because outside of therapy, I'm not dissecting my inner turmoil."

She smiled knowingly. "Fair enough."

Lowering his voice in a mock-serious tone, Salman leaned in. "You know, if you'd shown me this side of you earlier, I'd have brought snacks to our sessions."

Her eyebrow shot up, lips curving into a smile. "Snacks?"

"Yeah, I could've brought jollof or suya to keep things interesting," he joked, his eyes twinkling. "Food fixes a lot of things."

She chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "So I missed out on culinary therapy?"

"Exactly. Your loss," he said, his tone teasing but genuine. "But it's not too late. I could treat you to some puff-puff next time."

Her laugh was soft, lingering as her gaze met his in a quiet moment of connection. "Well, I admit that does sound tempting. But tell me, are you really that good, or is this just another sales pitch?"

Salman placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "Fayrouz, you wound me. I'm not just good—I'm amazing. If therapy ever bores you, we could start a food truck together."

She bit back a smile, shaking her head. "Oh, so that's the plan? Ditch therapy for a food truck?"

He nodded enthusiastically, eyes bright. "Picture it: 'Fayrouz & Salman's African Delights.' Jollof rice, moi moi, and some suya on the side."

"That... sounds interesting," she laughed, clearly humored. "But I think I'll stick with therapy. It's a safer bet."

"I don't know." Salman shrugged with a grin. "They say the way to the heart is through the stomach. Food and therapy—a perfect combination."

Their laughter intertwined, her gaze lingering on him as her smile softened. "You might be onto something."

In that moment, surrounded by the celebration, Salman felt the world quiet, their connection slipping into something deeper and unspoken.