Shared Meals by Fatima Azeem

 Shared Meals by Fatima Azeem

“Faisal, you left money on the table again. I’ll take it if you don’t!” echoed a voice from downstairs. Sighing, the boy put on his coat and ran downstairs, grabbing money left behind by customers and cramming it into his pocket. 

“It’s not like they have the courtesy to tip a good amount,” Faisal mumbled. “Besides, if you really wanted, the money would be in your pocket, not mine.” He added, stepping into the restaurant kitchen and taking some uneaten flatbread. “You don’t mind me taking some food, do you? I haven't had dinner yet.”

The older man, taking off his apron, grumbled, “Why don’t you ask the bread for its opinion while you’re at it? Just go home already.” And then he started to wash his hands near the sink. 

This only made Faisal laugh, and he walked over to his boss, putting a hand on his shoulder. “How come no woman has seen your kindness yet?” He said in an amused tone. “You should take a few days off, you know. No wife likes a workaholic.” Babr only smacked Faisal’s hand away, shooing him out of the kitchen while the younger man laughed. 

“Very funny, now leave before I make you go home crying,” the old man scolded. Faisal kept laughing out the door, taking a hard bite from the bread in his hand. He chewed the rough edges of his meal, hating how still and cold it had become. 

“Food like this isn’t enjoyable to eat,” he said to a street cat, crouching down to hand the rest of it to her. “But this bread answers your prayers, no?” The cat only dashed from his feet, the food in her mouth—she was starting to become bold now. The man and animal had become familiar with each other over the past few weeks, and the fear she held towards the towering human dwindled with each feeding. Imbalanced, Faisal stood up again and paved his way home in silence, forever spinning around with nothing but his own thoughts to refuge him from hunger. Another meal shared, yet again. He didn’t regret it. 

When his thoughts ended, so did Faisal’s journey. Perhaps it was muscle memory that brought him in front of this metal door, but his hands reached the familiar coldness, and he listened to the clanking of the lock as it shut before moving deeper into his house. He quietly stepped into the kitchen, warm air billowing through an open window, and Faisal did nothing to turn the light on. 

He looked in the darkness for the cabinet he would open, the bag of sugar he would hold, and the spoon he would scoop into the grains before letting it melt into his mouth. This part was the best part, when the chunky crystals would sit on his tongue and allow him a taste of energy before melting apart—sugar was valuable to hunger. Faisal enjoyed the lingering sweetness before putting his dose back into the cabinet. It would be enough for the night, and the morning hunger he knew well would be a problem for his future self. For now, he would get ready to sleep the night away. Maybe, with the leftover change in his coat, he could buy an egg or two, and then his prayers would be answered.