Tale In The Red Sand

Chapter Eleven

After aiding her grandmother back inside the house, Hibaaq went to help out Xalimo in the kitchen who came for her shift, as it was nearing dinner time. She simply couldn't allow herself to laze around while one woman carried out all the duties. As routine, Hibaaq did the minor helping such as cutting the vegetables and stirring the pots while smiling and giving galvanising compliments to the chef as she couldn't make a decent meal to save her life. The least she could do was take some of the burden off Xalimo's shoulders and clean after her as she swiftly moved about the kitchen and in and out of the dining room, placing the plates and cutlery down on the table.

"Hibaaq I'm almost finished here, go and sit down." Xalimo urged, serving up the steaming maraq in a large glass pot.

Hibaaq shook her head, washing the last of the dishes that were used by Xalimo while cooking.

"It's alright." She replied, waving a soapy hand over her shoulder.

Xalimo abruptly pulled Hibaaq's arm and led her to the entrance of the kitchen.

"Please." Xalimo handed the covered soup pot to her gently, her head nudging towards the dining room. Hibaaq sighed, her belly rumbling at the scent wafting from the pot in her arms. The two women peered knowingly at each other before chuckling harmoniously. "Go on, it's time to eat and you're in no place to protest." Xalimo poked fun as she softly patted her own stomach.

Hibaaq sheepishly grinned at the remark, though she gladly complied, taking the remaining dishes into the dining room.

"Assalamualaikum"! Xalimo announced, putting on her wedged shoes, waving at Hibaaq's form walking towards her.

Hibaaq gave her an appreciative smile as she opened the front door. "Wa'alaikumasalam, get home safe." She returned.

She always made sure to make a heap of dua for Xalimo. Though, she was no older than herself, she was quite the gifted and diligent woman. Hibaaq would be false not to admire her grace in all that she was, down to the way she spoke and carried herself.

"Allahuma Barik." She praised. Hibaaq then pivoted to her father's office to present dinner time.

Warsame owned a company building in the city, though he almost never attended, he preferred working at home unless he was forced to attend a board meeting. All of his employees kept loyal though, and there were rarely any questionable relations happening when Warsame wasn't around and for that he was grateful.

"Aabo, kaalay cuntay." Hibaaq popped her head in from the small opening she made, peering at her father who's head was buried in piles of paperwork on his desk. Hibaaq amusedly glanced around his unorganised work space. Warsame looked up, his glasses sliding down the wide bridge of his nose and a pen parked strategically between his upper and lower teeth as he nodded his reply.

Hibaaq nodded back, slowly clicking the door closed behind her. She set forth up the stairs to bring her grandmother down. Wishing, she could disregard the subtle excitement in her chest, aware that a certain someone would be joining them for dinner too, not that it was the first time, but it continually seemed to get Hibaaq feeling some type of way. She found herself looking forward to dinner every night.

In the evening, Warsame, Ayeeyo Warsam, Ercole and Hibaaq all sat in the dining room, lightly conversing over the delicious meal Xalimo prepared. It wasn't long till Ayeeyo Warsam made it known that she was exhausted and with the aid of Hibaaq, retreated upstairs to her bedroom. Soon after her son followed, giving a manly pat on Ercole's back on his way out, yawning from his own exhaustion. Working without the help of Ercole was quite the task indeed.

Ercole bid him a goodnight.

He sipped on his ice water in the dining room, alone, awaiting Hibaaq's return so that they could have one of their nightly conversations because since that night on the terrace, it quickly became an unspoken ritual.