'Relief': Sehri Tales selections, Day 7

I. 

"Oh God"
"Is it true?"
"Flour? Are you sure"
"Someone please tell me flour will be brought in today?"
Relief, the feeling of absolute relief spread sluggishly through his veins
Today was the day his family would have a proper meal
Because the man in his neighboring tent assured him that flour would be available at the Al-Nabulsi roundabout to the west of the city.
The other day, he saw his little boy trying to mold mud into something vaguely bread shaped
He couldn't recall which broke first,
The ambiguous clay form sculpted by those tiny hands, or the hazy remains of his already worn-out heart.
He hastened his steps because he needed to reach early, in case the aid ran out
Because today his precious child would get to eat a real taboon, not some faux dirt version
Because surely, they still had some compassion left in them
To not harm the starving people waiting for aid
Surely they would not spill red today
Surely……..

by Tasmia Qazi 

II.

"How does this even work?" I ask myself.
Arranged marriage dates are so awkward. What do we even talk about? I just met this guy!
"So, are you a coffee or tea person?"
"Coffee. I CANNOT function without my morning espresso."
"Wow. Maybe you never had the perfect dudh chaa before, I'll make you a cup someday."
Why am I smiling? I hate tea!
I notice him struggling with the chopstick and pick the dumpling using my fork. I did not want him to feel uncomfortable. He smiles and I spot a cute dimple. Wait, did I just call him cute? I don't even know him.
"Do you come here often?"
"Not really, but the dumplings are good. Maybe Dim Sum Town is the next Yum Cha for me."
"You're a Yum Cha fan?"
I nod hoping that there isn't a conflict in opinion here.
"Same! I love their chicken nanban"
I sigh in relief. Finally something in common between us. I'm not saying it's enough but definitely a 'good sign'.
"Do you think it's going to work out between us?"
The urge to deny is real, but I revert.
"What do you think?"
"I really want it to work out, if you'd like to go Yum Cha next weekend?"
The dimples show up. I fall a little, again. I never thought I would agree for a second date.
There's a song playing in the background, as if on cue.
'I will never fall in love again until…

by Maisha Islam

III.

Baba has started carrying a foldable chair to the mosque for Taraweeh. I laugh at the sight of his cartoonish red and yellow chair as he walks towards the door, and he laughs with me.
"I'm not a young man anymore, Mamoni. My back needs the relief."
This good-humoured exchange creates a strange feeling in my chest that persists throughout the night. When he returns from the mosque and pesters me about finishing the sliced fruits leftover from iftar, I comply, too distracted by the lump of anxiety lodged in my throat to protest.
I've been too preoccupied with myself to notice the signs. Baba has always been a fast walker. As he relieved me of the burden of my schoolbag many years ago, the behemoth called Advanced Learner's by Chowdhury and Hossain never fazed him at all. I always had to skip to keep up.
"Slow down, Baba!" I'd call out, and he'd stop.
I'm a fast walker now. I march ahead, eyes fixed on the pavement just like Baba. Only now, I sometimes have to stop in my tracks, so he can match my stride instead. The duffel bags I carry to my dormitory are much heavier than my schoolbag was, but I outpace him the way he used to.
It's surreal, how the foldable chair that brings Baba relief only weighs down on me, how it makes me dread the day I may have to hear him call out from behind me, "Slow down, Mamoni."

by Zabin Tazrin Nashita