Take Me To Your Heart

A Disaster In the Making

"We'll talk later about tomorrow!" I call out to Yasmin as she leaves, reminding her about the preparations we still need to do for my Laila's engagement. Like most of my close friends, she has adopted Laila as her own little sister, helping me to fill the parental void. She turns to give me a thumbs up and then exits the kitchen.

I check in with my cooks, making sure they are prepared for the evening ahead. They too are unaware of the mutiny I have planned, but I want to make sure there's no mistakes tonight. The only job I want to risk is my own.

With my team ready, I turn to begin preparing the masala, carefully toasting the spices. It's such a joy to make something that feels like home in this austere environment.

I take a second to revel in the adrenaline, watching my team perform to precision and smiling with pride. But soon, the chaos of the dinner rush takes over, pushing all other thoughts out of my head. This feeling is what I love about being a chef – the hustle and bustle and noise makes me feel present in a way few other things do.

The beginning of the night is always full of anticipation and possibility. Here we go.

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"Sejal!" A waitor yelled, calling out to me while I taste a soup. "A customer is asking to speak to the chef. She says she is your friend."

Of course! Zeynep had a reservation for tonight. I had almost forgotten. "Okay! Tell her I'm coming." I call back, before returning to Brian. "Tastes great. Maybe add a touch more garlic."

I wipe my hands on my apron and head out of the kitchen. Zeynep and her family are seated at a table in the back. She waves at me as I emerge from the kitchen and I smile in recognition as I head over. "Hi, love," I greet her, bending down to give her a quick hug. "Hey, Amir." I say with a smile to her husband.

Zeynep and I met at the first restaurant I had ever worked at when she demanded to speak to the "chef." Her waiter had been utterly baffled, not used to such requests at a simple diner. In that moment, her praise had meant the world to me, the validation I needed to believe I was going to make it. Ten years later, she still made a point to visit my restaurant at least once a month.

Bulut immediately gets excited at the sight of me. "Sejal!" he yells, demanding my attention. Zeynep's kid is one of the few I actually adore spending time with. He is too adorable with his chubby cheeks and bouncy, curly hair just like mine. I pick him up and squeeze him, as delighted to see him as he is to see me.

Zeynep's brother, Ferit, is also at the table, but I am pretending as though I haven't noticed him yet. He is gazing down at his phone and doesn't look up as I approach. I take advantage of his distraction and allow myself a quick moment to admire him. He's dressed formally as always, this time in a dark blue three piece suit and a matching pocket square. I look back at Bulut before my brain can start to conjure up dangerous fantasies about peeling off those layers.

"How you doing, kid. Enjoying your food?" I ask him, settling him on my hip. "My goodness you're getting big." I can hardly believe he's nearly four already.

Ferit finally looks up, smiling slightly as he watches his nephew with me. His eyes meet mine, throwing me off balance, beautiful melted pools of chocolate, the only soft feature on his face. Everything else is hard angles, except perhaps his lips—

Bulut tugs on my hair, irritated that my attention has wandered. "Join us, Sejal Auntie!" Bulut demands cutely, making it impossible to deny him. I glance over to Zeynep who is no help.

"Yes, join us Sejal, for a little bit at least." She knows my kitchen is too busy for a break, but is offering me no out. She smiles at me with no remorse, knowing I'm stuck.