As he dried with a towel, she put before him a steaming bowl of daal and a plate of fluffy white rice.
This was the first meal she had cooked for him, and Mariam wished she had been in a better state when she made it.
She'd still been shaken from the incident at the tandoor as she'd cooked,
and all day she had fretted about the daal consistency, its color,
worried that he would think she'd stirred in too much ginger or not enough turmeric.
He dipped his spoon into the gold colored daal. Mariam swayed a bit. What if he was disappointed or angry?
What if he pushed his plate away in displeasure? “Careful,” she managed to say. “It's hot.”
Rasheed pursed his lips and blew, then put the spoon into his mouth.
“It's good,” he said. “A little under-salted but good. Maybe better than good, even.”
Relieved, Mariam looked on as he ate. A flare of pride caught her off guard.
She had done well maybe better than good, even and it surprised her, this thrill she felt over his small compliment.
The day's earlier unpleasantness receded a bit.
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