The difference she made!

Bossy

Don't ask me why I am with you, because I don't know why

It was three pm when he came back carrying a couple of food bags. She was nowhere to be seen in the open areas, so he assumed she was in the bedroom. He headed to the kitchen and put the bags on the massive island to notice the breakfast containers remained untouched.

 The fact that she hadn't have anything to eat since last night had bothered him.

He entered the bedroom, closed the door behind him and found her seated on the bed. She didn't bother to look at him, as her eyes glued to the screen of her cell phone, although she was aimlessly scrolling up and down messages. 

Suddenly, his presence pushed anger to the surface and she was trying her best to keep it under control. Despite of her ignorance of the reason that made her mad, all what she could think of was that he had no right to leave her here alone and go around, to Allah knows where without saying anything.

Glancing her way, he greeted; "Assalam Alikum."

"wa alikum assalam." Fajr responded, her throat was dry and her reply came out with a hoarse crack. As he was taking off his Shemgh, his eyes fell on the pile of gifts at the corner. 

He gestured at them; "you didn't open them?"

She looked at the same direction to figure out what he was talking about.

Seriously! Is this his way to make a conversation?! She thought.

"I don't feel that curious."

He sensed her tone was mocking, so he arched an eye brow walking to the closet to pick his pajama; "Strange! You girls always are curious about such things."

"Unfortunately, I am not of them, besides it's not like those gifts are meant for me. If it wasn't for you, there would be no gifts at all."

"True, but it's not like I am supposed to wear those feminine things." He said with a smirk.

"And how did you know they are feminine?"

He wanted to remind her this was not the first time he got married, but he decided better off it and he just said; I just know it.

He got his towel, ready to take a shower when he turned to her and struggled for a less bossy tone; "while I am taking a shower, will you set the table? lunch is in the kitchen."

She put her mobile down, swung her legs onto the floor and stood up placing her feet in her cotton slippers, the dark red patterns of henna on her legs were wholly exposed; "Ok."

On her way to the kitchen, she realized that she hadn't seen this side of the apartment yet where there was a hall way led to a study room. She walked in the kitchen, which was dominated by cabinets in matte gray finish with glossy white countertops and plain white walls and ceiling. This lackluster was balanced by stainless steel equipment, the black above-stove microwave, organizers, and cabinet holders, which looked shiny, giving the kitchen a sparkling appearance.

 In the middle there was granite island and a set of white cups hang from a pot rack over the island. She wondered where the fridge was but then realized it was built so the front of it looked like the cabinets. This brought memories of her mother telling her father regularly that kitchen would look much better if the fridge was built this way. She searched in the cabinet for the tableware then walked through the kitchen toward the dining area to set the table.

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She was removing the salad from its container and put it in the bowl when he joined her, his hair wet and his pajamas on. He pulled a seat and sat at the opposite. Immediately his eyes ventured from the table, set for one person only, to Fajr. He grabbed the empty plate in front of him and asked; "where is your plate?"