When Silver Met Gold

Chapter 7 - Chef Aaliyan

 "He is my world and my world is him and without him, there is no world." –Lauren Oliver

Playlist: Heart will go on- Celine Dion

I woke up to sounds coming from downstairs, of someone moving around and probably cooking. I almost tore open my eyes and groaned. My head was heavy; It felt like someone was pounding hammers on it. I wanted to fall asleep again but also needed a long hot shower. Ignoring my want and obliging to my need, I pushed the blanket away and hurriedly got into the bathroom.

It was embarrassing and stupid of me to cry and leave Aaliyan like that. Ugh, what Aaliyan must be thinking of me! That I'm dumb, insensitive, and selfish. Argh!

I ran the hot water on and watched my reflection in the bathroom mirror after rubbing the steam away from it. My eyes were puffy and pink, my cheeks and nose red. My hair was a mess or a bird's nest, I should say. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, and the muscles in my throat ached.

Tiring thoughts burdened my mind, and a thousand emotions were messing with it. My heart and throat constricting as the thoughts clouded my mind and emotions formed new salty water in my burning eyes.

I had a long shower, wore decent clothes to make myself look presentable, and left the room.

In my kitchen, Aaliyan was cutting something on the chopping board, making Tak Tak Kat Kat sound.

"What's up, Chef?" My voice came out groggy. I took a water bottle from the fridge and gulped down some water. Dragged the coffee table chair out, and I sat on it. It was funny to me how Aaliyan Haider was cooking in my kitchen like it was his house.

"I'm making dinner for you." It was like he understood my stare and explained.

He took whatever he was cutting and threw it in the pan. He washed his hands in the sink and turned around. A smile decorated his face, and it looked more like a lantern, delight lit on his face.

My stomach churned, signaling I needed to eat. "I'm starving, I haven't eaten in days," I whined.

He chuckled. "Han, okay!"

The air around us was calm with the aroma of various spices, oil, and garlic whirling in it.

I took a deep breath. My heart was shrinking. "The day before I left for Pakistan, I was at my friend's place, when my Papa called me." Aaliyan turned around, listening carefully to me, his expression neutral. "Papa told me to come home. He wanted to tell me something, and what he told me turned my life upside down; I didn't know what to do. The first thought was to kill everyone who hurt me."

My throat was dry again. I gulped some more water from the bottle to give my contracting throat some ease. Aaliyan looked stunned, and his golden eyes blazed, redness surrounding them.

"I don't remember much about her... I was tiny when she left me, maybe around four. I have memories of her, and I can't put my finger on if I created those memories with my imaginations, or they are true." I let out a laugh that was wet with tears.

"I remember how she used to utter 'La ilaha ilalaha Muhammad Rasul Allah.' There is no God except Allah, and Muhammad is his messenger' every night in my ear. I didn't remember it until I heard it from my Muslim roommate in middle school in a heated debate I had with her. I could deny anything she was saying, but when these words tumbled out of her mouth, my whole world shook. These were the exact words my mom told me in my memories, in my dreams..."

"Anyway, she is dead, and the worst part about this is, I can't meet her, ever." A few tears, breaking the barricade of my control, streamed down my cheeks. "After that dreadful revelation, that I was a Muslim's daughter for many days, I couldn't sleep. I couldn't think straight or concentrate on life. That's when something more dreadful happened to me."