Dare You To Love Me

«14» bonds and baggage

The fragrant aroma of beef stew filled the air, its scent wafting along the kitchen and carrying into the other rooms, as Yaseerah bustled around the room, mixing around different contents into a bowl, before she headed towards the simmering pot on the stove.

As she stirred the pot, her mind, however, was far from the dishes she was making, and focused entirely on her actions in the last couple of days.

She couldn’t shake the guilt that had settled over her heart like a heavy shroud, neither could she stop thinking about the consequences of her actions.

Bilal stood silently at the threshold of the kitchen watching her, his brows furrowing deeper into a frown, the more he took in the dishes covering the island, and the distant look in her eyes, even as she focused squarely on her tasks.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Yaseerah jumped, startled by the intrusion, as she turned towards the source of the voice.

Her heart was pounding wildly against her chest as their eyes locked, his filled with genuine concern, while hers were harboring guilt and secrets she couldn’t share with him, for fear of judgement.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she uttered, as she settled the ladle down.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he repeated gently, as he moved closer into the kitchen.

“Talk about what?”

Avoiding his gaze, Yaseerah turned back to the stew, guilt still gnawing at her insides, having no idea how to answer him, without revealing the wrongs she’d done in the last couple of days.

“You’re cooking,” he stated, crossing his arms across his chest, as he watched her pretend to be preoccupied with the bowl of unfinished fruit salad.

“It’s Thursday,” she responded dismissively. “I always cook iftar on Thursdays.”

Bilal rolled his eyes at her avoidance tactic, but he decided to prob further, knowing that if he didn’t make her talk then whatever was eating at her would eventually overtake her and cause her to panic or hurt herself more in the process.

“You’re stress cooking,” he pointed out. “It’s too early to start prepping for iftar. Besides, it’s just the three of us.”

“I could always give it out to the maids or the security guards,” she shrugged, still avoiding eye contact. “Have you noticed there are more of them around these days?”

“You’re not wearing makeup today.”

“What’s this?” Yaseerah scoffed, her gaze momentarily meeting his before she casted it away. “An interrogation?”

“If the shoe fits.”

It was Yaseerah’s turn to roll her eyes, as she rinsed her hands in the sink before wrapping a foil paper around the bowl of fruits and storing it in the refrigerator.

“You’re wearing my hoodie, and sweatpants.”

“I always wear your hoodie when I’m here,” she shrugged, even as her heart continued to race viciously. “Or do you want it back?”

Unperturbed by her dismissal, Bilal pressed. “You have bags under your eyes, your face is scrubbed free of makeup and you look like you haven’t slept in a while. Judging by the fresh bandages on your palms, I’d say whatever happened to stress you out occurred sometime between last night and this morning. So, I’ll ask you again, do you want to talk about it?”

Yaseerah’s lips parted on instinct to deny all of what he said but light scuffling from the adjacent hall made her clamp her lips shut, as she turned her attention back onto the kitchen island.