Clueless Love

I finished work a few hours ago, but I am still at the office because my car won’t start and I don’t know why. I tried everything I can think of to make it work, but it won’t start. I decide to leave it at work and have someone pick it up tomorrow. I walk out of the parking lot to get a taxi and go home.

I am at home, cooking in the kitchen when Ismail walks in.

“My beautiful lady, I am here to bless you with my amazing hands to help cook this food,” Ismail says walking into the kitchen, back to his arrogant self.

“First of all, your hands are not that amazing and second, I don’t need your help.”

“I want to help because I believe it might help with co-existing.”

“Really,” I say not believing him.

“Yes, because we have to learn to co-exist if we don’t want Aazim to throw both of us out of his house.”

“Oh, alright, then. You can help me with the potatoes. You can help me peel them,” I say, handing him a bowl of potatoes. I guess Ismail really wants us to get along, for him to offer to want to help me in the kitchen. Getting along is far better than fighting all the time.

“Alright, let’s begin,” he says taking the bowl from my hands.

We are cooking together in the kitchen when I hear Ismail say in pain, “Ouch! Subhan Allah. (Glory be to Allah)”

I turn to see why, and I see Ismail’s finger bleeding. I quickly leave what I am doing and go to his aid.

“Sorry, is it deep?” I ask feeling bad he hurt himself, while taking his finger to put it under running water.

“No, it’s fine,” Ismail replies.

“Wait here, I will get the first aid kit.” I say and quickly walk upstairs to get it.

“Sit down let me dress your wound,” I say walking Ismail to a stool in the kitchen.

“You don’t have to do it. I can do it myself,” he says trying to grab the first aid kit from me.

“No, you are injured so I will help you,” I say and start dressing his wound.

“Ouch!” Ismail yelps from the pain of putting hydrogen peroxide on his wound.

“Sorry,” I say feeling bad for causing him more pain. I might not like Ismail, but it does not mean I enjoy seeing him hurt. I quickly dress the wound making sure to be careful not to cause him more pain.

“Thank you,” Ismail says after I finish dressing his finger.

“You are welcome,” I say and turn back to continue with dinner when Aazim walks in.

“When I said you guys should co-exist, I meant you should not kill each other,” Aazim says looking at the bloody tissues on the worktop and assuming something else happened.

“If I wanted to kill your brother, I don’t think I would be dressing his wounds,” I say smirking.

“I hardly doubt if Umit wanted to kill me, she would use a vegetable knife to cut my finger,” Ismail says, showing Aazim his injured finger.

“Oh Alhamdulillah (Praise be to Allah)! It’s just a small cut,” Aazim says.

“Wow, what do you take me for?” I say chuckling.

“I won’t say, but we all know who you are,” Ismail says smirking like he is holding back from saying something more, while Aazim nods at what he said.

“You guys are making it sound like I am a violent person,” I state confused as to what they are getting at.

“Who knows, you might be,” Ismail says.

“You are both obnoxious. You should leave my kitchen. I don’t have time for you guys right now,” I say waving them out of the kitchen.

“We will leave for now, but we are watching you,” Ismail says, walking out of the kitchen with Aazim.

I finished preparing dinner on my own, even though Ismail came back and said he was bored and wanted to help. I refused him because it’s not safe for him to be in the kitchen after he just cut his finger. I made baked potatoes with chicken. During dinner, I make sure to give some credit to Ismail because he did help with the potatoes. I am surprised by the way things turned out today. I would have never imagined praising Ismail, but I felt bad about his cut. So I wanted to do something nice for him. Something I normally would not do for someone I don’t like.

I am sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea and my laptop doing some work. I just finished praying Maghrib (evening) prayer before I started working. Even though I plan to work late, I don’t drink coffee at night as I won’t be able to sleep. While I am working—out of nowhere—Ismail hits my chair from behind, making my cup of tea spill all over my laptop. I don’t say or do anything. I freeze and look at my keyboard. I come back to earth when I hear Ismail talking to me.

“Umit, I am so sorry! Aayan and I were playing and didn’t mean to hit you. I’m sorry, and don’t worry, I promise to get you a new one tomorrow,” Ismail says using a kitchen towel to wipe at my keyboard.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to get me a new one,” I say taking the towel from his hands to wipe it myself. I am not sure whether to laugh or cry. I am trying to tell myself it’s just a laptop, and I don’t have to get angry. But at the same time, it’s annoying even if it is an accident.

“No, I will. I am so sorry,” Ismail says sincerely.

“Auntie, I am sorry too. We did not mean to,” Aayan cries hugging me.

“It’s fine, my love, and I know you did not mean to,” I say feeling all my anger fade away when I hear his voice.

“We are sorry,” Ismail says.

“Ismail it’s fine, I am not angry at you guys,” I say forgiving them because I have experienced accidentally pouring coffee on people, as Ismail can testify.

“Really, because I thought you would even ask me to pay the $500, I am making you pay if you pour coffee on me,” Ismail says wide-eyed.

“Now that you mention it, I will be expecting my cheque tomorrow morning,” I smirk, because his contract is being used against him.

“Now I think I should have never made that contract, but anyway a deal is a deal. I will have the money wired to you with a new laptop tomorrow.”

“No, Ismail, I was only joking. You don’t have to,” I say not wanting the money and thinking I could get myself a new laptop.

“I ruined yours, so I will get you a new one,” Ismail says not going back on his words.

“I doubt I even need a new one. I am sure I can fix this one. It will be fine.”

“Then I will pay for the repair.” Ismail says, stubborn as ever.

“You don’t have to.”

“I will, and I am taking the laptop with me to make sure you don’t fix it yourself,” Ismail says picking up my laptop and walking out the dining room.

“Ismail you don’t have to,” I say going after him.

“Umit, you know me very well. When I say I am going to do something, I do it,” Ismail replies in all seriousness while stopping mid-way to his room.

“Alright then, I will leave you to fix it.” I say walking toward my room.

“Better! And good night, Umit,” Ismail says walking into his room.

“Good night, Ismail,” I reply walking into mine.