VULNERABLE

KUNUN AYA AND BURNT MASA

In the cozy dining area of the Burhan residence,the two  friends, Sumayya and Fatima, sat side by side, their laughter filling the air. A pitcher of Sumayya's famous kunun aya, sat between them, as they sipped and reminisced. The smell of lemon and the scent of the bakhoor mixed in the background. It was as though they hadn’t seen each other for years, despite the fact that it had only been less than 24 hours since the dinner party where they last met.

Fatima leaned back in her chair and sighed contentedly, admiring the pristine décor of the dining area. “I really love what you’ve done with the house, Sumayya,” she said, her eyes scanning the subtle details of the newly refurbished interior.

Sumayya smiled modestly, waving a hand as if to brush off the compliment. "Alhamdulillah, it hasn’t been more than a month. Mahnoor insisted on helping with everything," she said with a hint of pride in her voice, referring to her husband.

Fatima’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Well, he did a great job! You know if my husband tried to handle a renovation, we’d end up living in a tent.” They both burst into laughter, their shoulders shaking as they took another sip of the kunu.

Sumayya chuckled softly, then stood up, gesturing for Fatima to follow her. "Let me give you a little tour of the downstairs. We’ve redone the kitchen and the sitting room."

As they wandered through the hallway, Fatima couldn't help but notice that something was slightly off with Sumayya. Her usual liveliness was dampened, and her steps were slow, almost hesitant. The air between them seemed to shift.

"Sumayya, what's wrong?" Fatima asked softly, stopping in her tracks.

Sumayya paused, her hand resting on the smooth wooden banister of the stairs. For a moment, she stayed silent, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Then, in a quiet voice, she spoke in Arabic, “Ahmad yaʿtaqid 'annahu yajidu nafsahu, lakinahu faqat yajid lanā alsara'” (Ahmad thinks he’s finding himself, but he’s only finding trouble for us).

Fatima raised an eyebrow, silently urging her to continue.

"*Mundhu dhahabahu ila al-Maghrib maʿa abihi...*" (Since he went to Morocco with his father...), Sumayya continued in Arabic, her eyes misting over.

She switched to English, wiping the tears before they fell, “He’s been stressing us out. He and Mahnoor got into a huge argument a few weeks ago. Ahmad says he found a job, but he won’t even tell us what it is. He’s so stubborn, and it’s breaking me, Fatima.”

Without hesitation, Fatima wrapped her arms around Sumayya in a warm, comforting hug. She held her friend tight, knowing that Sumayya, despite her strong exterior, was breaking on the inside.

“Subhanallah,” Fatima whispered. “You’ve been carrying so much on your shoulders. Ahmad is just going through a phase, I’m sure. You and Mahnoor have done everything you could for him.”

Sumayya finally allowed herself to break down, leaning into Fatima's embrace. Her tears flowed freely now, releasing the tension she had been bottling up for so long.

Fatima gently rubbed her back and offered quiet words of comfort, “it’s going to be okay, Sumayya. Ahmad will come around, insha'Allah. And Mahnoor…he loves you. Don’t doubt that for a second.”

Fatima pulled back and wiped a tear from Sumayya’s cheek, her face brightening with a sudden thought. “Hey, remember that time in university when we tried to make that horrible dish? What was it…some kind of burnt masa?"

Sumayya snorted with laughter despite her tears. "Oh laa, don’t remind me! We almost set the kitchen on fire, and Mahnoor didn’t let me cook for a whole month after that!"