Concealed Truth

Chapter One

"Yalla Habibi wake up, its brighter now," it was blur as he opened his eyes, squeezing them to have a more satisfying look. He heaved a tiring yawn and relaxed his head back on the pillow.

"Wake up Anwar" the voice repeated.

Anwar opened his eyes and sighted a slim manicured hand, proffering a rimless thick-lenses to his face, he seized her wrist and dashed out a warm peck on the palm.

"Get up and be quick," she said, curling her fingers repeatedly.

Anwar showered quickly and got dressed in a casual white thawb and kafiyyeh, walking hastily to an antiquated dining area with beautiful baroque prints on the walls.

Everything on the table was set; Falafel, Labneh, and roasted chicken with green beans Saffron rice. It was surprising for someone to have cooked all the appetizing cuisines without help, Anwar stood for a second in amusement.

He moved out a black wooden chair and settled on the creamy slipcover that gave the sofa a fresh streamlined look.

Why would Nabeela think the dining is old-fashioned 

He thought, admiring the rectangular table of 8 made from cerused-oak wood.

Something about how he smiled at the zebra-print apron on the table revealed his poor taste in modern day decoration.  The glossy black paint on the furniture gave it a clumsy view, sucking up the natural beauty of the flowers placed inside a glass jar  on the table.

"Sorry, the tea will soon be ready" Nabeela said, holding a tray of  baked cheese. The golden color added up few contrast to the tray steaming up dry smell of a cooked cheese.

"We are redecorating the table Anwar" Nabeela blurted, cutting whatever strolling thought in his mind. He glared at her over the glasses with a mortified face.

"Ya Allah, seriously?'' Nabeela giggled after a brief glance at his outfit.

"What is wrong?" Anwar stumbled. He looked exactly same spot Nabeela glanced before she started to chuckle.

"It's an interview Anwar, not a gulf summit" Nabeela said.

"Go and change, yalla," Nabeela urged.

She paced to the kitchen to turn off the purring tea kettle.

Anwar stood in the middle of 50 square meters room, thinking of how to coordinate an outfit that best confirm Nabeela's interest.

His face remained scattered, penetrating between layers of confusion as he opened an extensive closet, skimming through tenths of reglans, round necks, short and long sleeve shirts. He pulled out a long sleeve shirt and a blazer, a dark blue jeans and a bow tie.

"How do i look?" Anwar asked.

"Wow, MashaAllah," Nabeela exclaimed, removing out the solid black bow tie.

"Now you just look like a college professor" Nabeela's calm tone placed a smile on Anwar's face.

He quickly sat on the dining chair and launched a moderate sized kanafeh to his mouth. Crispy on top, soft and creamy in the middle.

Nabeela placed down a customised dallah filled with flavored tea on the table. One thing he dares not to forget even after death is the taste of her tea. The cloves and mint compete to hit his nose while the cinnamon diffuses everywhere, with the ginger scenting low but a bit harsh as it find its way down his throat.