Her place was smaller than I expected.
One room, neat tho, a mattress on the floor, a table, a chair. Paintings leaned against the wall - half-finished, some just sketches.
"Sorry," she said. "It's not much."
"It's fine." I replied.
She was making stew. The smell filled the small space. Something about it felt like home.
I sat on the mattress. Looked at the paintings.
"These are good," I said.
"They're okay." She replied.
"Naaah.. Frr tho, They're really good."
She glanced over. "You're just saying that."
"I'm not." I replied.
She turned back to the pot. Stirred quietly.
We ate on the floor. Rice and stew. She'd made enough for three people.
"You always cook this much?" I asked.
"I like leftovers." She replied.
I smiled "Smart." I said.
We didn't talk much while we ate. Just the sound of spoons against plates. The city outside. Distant and muted.
After, we sat there. She leaned against the wall. I stayed on the floor.
"I don't usually have people over," she said.
"Why not?" I asked.
"I don't know. It feels... vulnerable. Letting people see where you live. What you have. What you don't have."
I understood.
"Thanks for letting me in tho," I said.
She smiled, small tho but it was real.
We talked for hours, about everything, about nothing.
She told me about her family. Her dad who worked too much. Her mom who'd wanted to be a teacher but became a housewife instead. Her brother who came back from Libya different.
I told her about my mother. About how she called me every week asking if I'd eaten. About my younger sister who was smarter than me. About the guilt I felt for not being able to help more.
"You're doing your best," Zainab said.
"Doesn't feel like enough."
"It never does." She said
The room got darker. She didn't turn on the light.
We sat in the half-dark, just shapes and voices.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"Yeah."
"Why do you write?" she asked.
I thought about it.
"Because I don't know how to explain things out loud," I said. "On paper, I can make sense of it. In my head, it's just noise."
"Read me something." She said, her voice was so calm.
"I don't have anything actually." I replied.
"I don't care about good. Just real…Pleeasssse"
I pulled out my phone, found a note I'd written weeks ago. Something I'd never shown anyone.
I read it to her.
It was about the city, about how it takes more than it gives, about how we learn to survive but forget how to live.
When I finished, she was quiet.
"That's beautiful," she said, almost as if she was smiling but the room was dark
"It's depressing." I laughed.
"It's honest joor." she said.
We looked at each other in the dim light.
Something shifted..
She moved closer.
I didn't move away.
"I'm scared," she said.
Asked her "Of what?"
She replied "This, whatever this is."
"Me too." Don't even know when I said that.
"What if we ruin it?" she asked, with a cozy tone.
"What if we don't?" my voice changed suddenly, lol.. don't know how.
She kissed me.
Soft and hesitant.
I kissed her back.
For a moment, the city disappeared.
Just us.
When we pulled apart, she laughed, she was nervous... I could tell.
"I don't know what I'm doing," she said.
"Me neither." Lol, I lied, kinda loved it frrrr but ..
"Good." She replied.
We stayed close, her head was on my shoulder and my arm around her.
I almost believed it could work.
Almost believed we could be soft in a hard city.
Almost believed survival wouldn't win.
Almost.