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Something is different about her sweet, darling grandchild today.
Noor raises a cup of tea to her lips, revelling in the comfort of the familiar bitterness. Through her lens, she watches Alhaitham read a book far beyond the typical reading level of an Akademiya first-year on the living room couch.
Tension sits between his two thick eyebrows, much like his late father’s. Pupils unmoving, he hasn’t turned a page in the last five minutes. Some may presume that he’s having trouble understanding the vocabulary of the book, but Noor knows her grandson. The novel is perfectly within his reading capabilities, but he’s distracted. Something else preoccupies his clever mind.
Her little Haitham only gets this way when he comes across an enigma he hasn’t learned how to solve yet. Frustration comes quickly to him when he can’t work something out, given that he’s used to figuring out puzzles and problems at record speeds. Still, Noor doesn’t intervene. She remains an observer, simply sipping her tea. Alhaitham knows he can come to her if he’s dealing with anything beyond his current faculties.
She has an inkling that his present issue—if it is an issue—stems from the Akademiya. Not the courses, but perhaps the environment. Alhaitham doesn’t fare well with large crowds and the ample noise they bring. On top of that, the people at the Akademiya can be challenging, for better or for worse. Having been an Akademiya professor for years upon years before her inevitable retirement, Noor would know.
Maybe her Haitham is dealing with a stubborn classmate or self-important professor. Whatever the problem is, he’ll make something work and learn from the experience.
She clucks her tongue, causing Alhaitham to look up from the page he’s not-reading. “Drink your tea, qalbi,” she admonishes, gesturing to the untouched cup in front of him.
Alhaitham glances at the teacup. His lips press into a thin line, betraying his dismay. “Yes, Bibi,” he mutters, sulking.
Careful as can be, he raises the cup to his mouth and sips barely a drop. He makes a face.
She laughs. Oh, her poor, sweet child. The bitterness is an acquired taste, she supposes, though she did add a dollop of honey to his cup. Oh well. He’ll adjust someday.
----------
Noor peruses the vendor’s stocks. She’s running a tad low on zaytun peaches and sunsettias. Alhaitham is entering his teenage years, which means that the food in their house grows scarce very quickly. She fishes a bag of mora from her purse, hands it to the vendor, then places several fruits in her basket.
Five zaytun peaches and three sunsettias. That should be enough fruit for the two of them during the week.
Back in her younger years, she could carry baskets upon baskets of fruit with ease. Now, her muscles aren’t what they used to be. Her biceps shake from the weight, and her back aches from the strain. She was planning to grocery-shop a little more—pick up a few pastries perhaps—but maybe she should head back home. The fruits are what she came for, anyway.
“Excuse me. Would you like help with that?”
Surprised, Noor turns to the source of the voice. A young boy, maybe a few years older than her Haitham by the looks of him, offers a hand with a gentle smile. An Akademiya student uniform clothes his body, and a hair tie holds his blond hair in a braid to the best of its ability, though many flyaways escape its clutch. Red eyes—the shade of a war-torn battlefield—shine with an unusual softness that catches Noor off-guard. She swears she’s seen that exact shade of red in the eyes of another student before.
“Why, yes,” she answers, letting the boy take the basket from her hands. Relief threads through her shoulder muscles. Such politeness, from a scholar no less, is a rare find nowadays. “Would you be a darling and help an old lady pick up some honey?”
“It’d be my pleasure,” the boy responds, unexpectedly chivalrous.
What a lovely, polite child. She hopes her Haitham is this kind to elders he passes by on the street.
She walks toward the vendor selling specialty honey imported from Snezhnaya. Basket in hand, the boy toddles after her. “What’s your name, dear?”
“It’s Kaveh,” he answers.
“Thank you, Kaveh,” she says, returning the boy’s smile with one of her own. “Well, come along now. Let’s get there before the honey sells out!”
----------
“I made a friend,” says Alhaitham at the dinner table on an unassuming day.
He picks at the Aaru mixed rice on his plate. Noor chews on a bite of tandoori roast chicken and swallows.
“That’s wonderful,” she says, and she means it. Alhaitham has never divulged such a thing to her, and she wants him to know that he can tell her whatever without judgment. At the same time, she reins in her excitement, not wanting to overwhelm him.
Silence passes over the table. She doesn’t break it. Merely, she eats her food and waits for Alhaitham to say something first.
And he does. “He’s… weird,” Alhaitham adds, still picking at the rice.
“Eat your food,” she chides. Obediently, Alhaitham shovels a scoop of rice in his mouth. “Weird, how?”
Chewing his food, Alhaitham thinks. He swallows. “He approaches me first. Seeks me out, even though he doesn’t need help on his homework. His other friends don’t like it when he hangs around me, but he keeps coming back anyway.” Lost, he stares at his plate. “I don’t understand him.”
Firstly, Noor is concerned that so many people are taking advantage of her grandson for homework help to the point that he expects the same behavior from everyone. Secondly: “You don’t need to understand everything about him. That’s the beauty of friendships—you learn more about them as time goes on.” She reaches across the table and pats his cheek. Alhaitham finally looks up at her. “He seems like a good friend. I’m glad.”
Embarrassed, Alhaitham pulls away, and his gaze returns to his plate. “Yeah,” he says, a hint of a smile forming on his face.
She feels her lips stretch into a smile as well. Pride warms her chest. Her grandson is growing up right before her very eyes.
----------
Next week, Noor is picking up some more fruit from the same vendor when she hears a familiar voice.
“May I?”
Kaveh smiles warmly at her as his open hand hovers between them. Charmed, she lets him take her basket once again.
His parents must be so proud, she thinks as she hands mora to the vendor and loads the fruit into the basket.
“You’re such a sweet boy,” she says, lightly pinching his cheek. She checks her list, and rice stands out to her. Leading the way to the rice-selling vendor, she adds, “You remind me of my grandson. Both of you are so handsome.”
Kaveh flushes, cheeks beginning to match his eyes. “Thank you, khalti.”
She laughs merrily. “I only say what I see. You must be—hm. Two years older than my grandson?”
“I’m fourteen.”
“Ah, yes. My grandson’s twelve, almost thirteen.” At the rice-selling stall, she holds up one finger to signal for one rice bag. “He’s the loveliest kid. Well-behaved. A good heart, much like yours.” She nudges Kaveh good-naturedly. “Extraordinarily smart too. Always has his nose buried in a book.” She shakes her head in affection, fondness buzzing off her. “Ah! I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
“Not at all,” says Kaveh, proving himself to be every bit of the sweet boy she knows he is. “Your grandson sounds wonderful.”
“He is,” she says, a wistful note woven in her voice. “My pride and joy.”
The vendor hands her a rice bag, and she hands him mora in exchange. The rice bag goes in the basket.
Off to the side, Noor spots someone selling flowers. Now that she thinks about it, their living room could use some extra color.
“Would you accompany me in buying some padisarahs?” she asks Kaveh, who holds her basket, heavy with grocery items.
“No problem,” he says with that boyish glow of his. “Lead the way.”
----------
“You’ve been staring at the first page a long time, hm?” Noor says as she mixes ingredients.
The aroma of fenugreek leaves rises into the air from the pot on the stove. She adds some more cream into the mixture and stirs. She’s almost done cooking, and the kitchen smells heavenly.
It’s her beloved grandson’s birthday, so she’s making a version of sabz meat stew on a large, circular, flat piece of bread, per her grandson’s wishes. Meanwhile, he sits at the kitchen table, reading a book she hasn’t seen in their house before. A library book, perhaps?
Alhaitham grunts in response to her comment. His eyes trace over the page again and again. Unlike the previous times when Alhaitham pretended to read, Noor can tell that this time is legit. He even mouths the words to himself, although she can’t decipher his lips while the pot on the stove has half of her attention.
A subtle flush spots the apples of his cheeks. His eyes glimmer in the sun-toned kitchen lighting. He’s not smiling, flashing his full set of his adult teeth to the world, but obvious happiness oozes out of him nonetheless. The source of the joy happens to be the book in his hands, or rather something or someone beyond the pages bound together.
Call it grandmother’s intuition.
She turns the stove off, letting the pot simmer down. The consistency of the stew-slash-sauce is perfect—just the right amount of viscosity and creaminess for the best bite atop a warm piece of bread. She moves the pot off to the side, so the remaining heat on the stove can’t further cook the food.
Her focus returns to Alhaitham, still rereading the same page. Curious, she walks over to the kitchen table then behind his shoulder.
She respects Alhaitham’s privacy, and she’s okay with the little secrets he keeps to himself. That being said, she’s also incredibly nosy. Sue her for wanting to know a little bit about her grandson’s private life!
Peeking over at the book, she realizes he’s not reading the first page of the novel. No, he’s reading a handwritten note before the story’s prologue. She squints, making out the letters.
Dear Haitham,
Happy birthday! Inazuman books are hard to come by, you know. Can you believe this was the last copy at the Port Ormos bookstore? Anyway, I hope you enjoy the gift and have a very fun birthday!
From your dearest friend,
Ka—
Alhaitham snaps the book shut and turns around, disapproval written on his face. “Bibi,” he says with a frown.
Noor finds it silly that her grandson thinks he can reprimand her. She laughs. “I’m sorry, hayati. Bibi was curious. Is this a gift from your dear friend?”
Eyebrows pinched, Alhaitham looks away. Odd in her opinion—she doesn’t think he has anything to be embarrassed about.
“Yeah,” he mumbles. The spots of blush on his cheeks spread down to his neck, tinting his complexion in a deep rosy hue.
“What a thoughtful friend you have!” she says, hiding her glee behind a hand. “Buying you a limited-edition book for your birthday… Make sure to thank him the next time you see him.”
“Yes, Bibi,” he responds. He doesn’t reopen the book until she’s in the kitchen where he can see her. His secretiveness is cute in a way. She recalls acting similarly in her childhood.
Although, Alhaitham’s full-blown blush and nervous twitches elicit her meddlesomeness more. Perhaps he likes this friend more than she originally presumed. Turning away so that Alhaitham can’t see her expression, she smiles privately. How exciting it is to witness her grandson’s budding romantic feelings.
She stirs the pot again, which has cooled down marginally, and raises the ladle to her lips. Ah, perfect. All that’s left is to put the sauce on the bread, and dinner will be ready.
----------
“I think my grandson has a crush,” Noor says on an arbitrary grocery run.
“Really?” says Kaveh, holding her basket of fruits, vegetables, and grains galore. “From what you’ve told me, he doesn’t seem like the type.”
It’s routine now for Kaveh to show up during her weekly grocery-shopping sprees and carry her purchases. She’s not sure how this arrangement came to be a staple in her life, but she’s not complaining. Kaveh is a nice kid, and she enjoys the company.
“On the contrary, he’s quite the romantic at heart,” she says, shoes clicking against the pavement. “I think he got it from his father.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Ah, isn’t it? They’re strikingly similar,” she says, recalling her son’s adolescent antics with fondness. In so many ways, Alhaitham reminds her of him. Thinking of Alhaitham’s ever-present blush, she says, “These days, he’s always smiling to himself. Always red as a ripe tomato when he comes home.” Then she lowers her voice to a whisper. “I stumbled across a poem he wrote the other day—very endearing and very romantic, if you ask me.”
Kaveh giggles. “Wow. And from a Haravatat, no less!”
She laughs along, amused at the Akademiya darshan rivalry. Kshahrewars and Haravatats are always at odds—not that any of it matters at her age.
“What about you?” she asks, nosy as ever. “Any romantic prospects?”
Kaveh flusters, cheeks blooming beet-red like her Haitham. “No, no,” he says, waving a hand. “I don’t have time for romantic pursuits.”
“Nonsense! Studies should never get in the way of love, should you happen to find it.” She pauses from the walk home and unclasps her locket. She opens it and shows Kaveh. “My late husband. I met him in my third year of the Akademiya.”
“That’s beautiful,” says Kaveh with a lovesome smile as she reclasps the locket onto her neck. “I take it you’re school sweethearts, then?
“Oh, heavens no,” she says, aghast. “We fought like cats and dogs during our school years. It was only well after we graduated that we got close and fell in love.”
Kaveh laughs. “I don’t think I’ll have as grand of a love story as yours.”
“You never know,” she says as they turn the corner onto her street. “I can take that now, dear. Thank you so much for your help again.”
Kaveh hands her the basket, and she only struggles minimally to hold it. Thank goodness that her house is only a few doors down.
“No problem, khalti. Have a good afternoon,” he says, bidding her farewell. He walks off in the opposite direction, presumably to go study or go to class, as she lugs the basket home.
Kaveh is such a cordial kid. She’ll have to introduce him to Alhaitham sometime.
----------
“You should invite your friend over for dinner,” Noor suggests on a casual Tuesday.
Alhaitham continues to sweep the living room—one of his weekly chores. “He’s probably busy,” he says dismissively, shutting her down.
Like her grandson, Noor is not so easily deterred. “Ask him tomorrow if he’s free on Friday night.”
“Most students are busy on Friday nights, Bibi.”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it?” she challenges. Alhaitham huffs and turns away, sweeping the corner of the room. “Is there a reason you don’t want me to meet your friend?”
“No.”
“Alhaitham,” she says, her tone dripping in warning.
“I’m not lying. He’s always busy.”
“Are you afraid he’s going to say no?”
Alhaitham’s movements falter. “Why would— I’m not afraid,” he says with a slight crack. He continues sweeping, more aggressively this time.
Raising children is rewarding but also incredibly complicated. Noor has done it once, and it doesn’t get easier on the second try. Still, equipped with the wisdom she’s gained in her seven decades of living, she gives parenting her best shot.
She walks over to Alhaitham slowly and places a hand on his shoulder, placating his hasty motions. She keeps her hand there, and after a few moments, he settles down and holds the broom steady.
“Haithoomi,” she says as her grandson turns to meet her gaze, “you cannot live your life in fear of rejection. Whether he says yes or no, you’ll still be friends come the next day.”
It’s in these moments that Noor remembers that Alhaitham is new to friendships. Evidently, he’s never cared for someone so much before—besides her. He’s bared his truest self to his friend, and any no—big or small, no matter the circumstance—will feel like a rejection of himself.
“Hm,” grunts Alhaitham in response, eyes turning toward the floor.
She pinches his cheek, still round with stubborn baby fat. “Ask him tomorrow. If he says no, then I’ll cook your favorite. Deal?”
“You can still cook my favorite if he says yes,” mutters Alhaitham, words garbled but intelligible.
She retracts her hand. “Then there’d be no point in making a deal,” she says, shaking her head in fond exasperation. “Anyway, I’ll be getting started on dinner. Make sure to sweep under the divans, yeah?”
“You say that every time.”
“And I’ll say it so long as you keep forgetting,” she quips, walking off to the kitchen. A smart brain her grandchild has, and an even smarter mouth! She hopes that his friend has a mouth that can rival his.
----------
“Lots of groceries today,” Kaveh comments as Noor puts three whole slabs of meat, sealed in a bag to prevent contamination, into the basket. “Hosting a special dinner?”
“You could say that,” she says with a hum as she guides the two of them to the next stall.
Like she predicted, Alhaitham had nothing to fear—his friend accepted the dinner invitation, and with great enthusiasm at that, according to Alhaitham. Her main goal for tomorrow is to make a good first impression and provide a welcoming atmosphere for her darling grandson’s close friend—and what better way to do that besides cooking a delicious homemade meal?
“I need some onions,” she mutters, mentally cataloguing what ingredients she needs to buy.
“There’s a stall with vegetables on discount over there, if you want to check it out,” says Kaveh, gesturing to the right.
“Good catch! I’m always looking to save a little extra mora,” she says with a wink. “Now, my eyesight’s not as good as it used to be—can you lead me to the stall you’re talking about?”
“Of course,” Kaveh says, and although Noor’s vision isn’t perfect, she can still see his kind eyes shimmering in the market’s dingy lighting before he takes her hand and guides her toward the stall.
The warmth of his hand clasping hers and the gentleness of his guidance fills her heart with a tender feeling. Noor has always prided herself on her good judgment of character, and she could tell that Kaveh was a compassionate kid from day one. Ever since that day, week after week, he’s only proven to be more caring, more giving. In such a short span of time, she’s grown to care for him as well through their short grocery-shopping trip conversations and exchanges.
Alhaitham’s friend comes to mind. Perhaps it’s unfair, even rude, to think so, but she hopes his friend is like Kaveh—unfailingly selfless, lovably modest, and steadfastly kind. Someone soft enough to complement her Haitham’s rough edges, yet someone strong enough to challenge his often rigid perspectives. Somebody she can trust her only remaining family with.
“This is the stand,” says Kaveh, pointing to a sign that says, All vegetables 50% off!
Noor blinks, wondering how they walked across the bustling market so quickly. She must’ve been more spaced out than she realized.
“Thank you, dear,” she says, quiet affection in her tone. She pats Kaveh’s cheek, like she does to Alhaitham from time to time.
Kaveh leans into the touch ever-so-slightly. “I’m always happy to help.”
“That, you are,” she says, glancing at the hefty basket he’s carrying without complaint. “Let me grab a few of these, and we’ll head out together, okay?”
“Okay!” Kaveh chirps, bright as can be. He stands patiently off to the side, letting her examine the vegetable stocks.
A great kid, indeed. As she sifts through the onion selection, she can only hope Alhaitham has found someone as wonderful as Kaveh to stay by his side.
----------
Cardamom and cinnamon fill the kitchen with their enticing aromas. Her mouth waters from her own cooking—a skill that she’s mastered over her many years of living. Alhaitham said his friend wasn’t a picky eater, and she trusts his word for it. Still, she’s a bit nervous.
She’s never met any of Alhaitham’s acquaintances before, and she’s not sure Alhaitham has ever gotten close enough with another to call them his friend. As much as this is a first for him, it’s a first for her. Even her son didn’t bring home friends when he was Alhaitham’s age. She hadn’t even met his partner until he told Noor he was going to marry her, for goodness’ sake!
As she’s plating the food, the doorbell rings—a shrill sound. Alhaitham has the keys to the house, but today, he’s with a guest. It’s only proper for her to greet them at the door.
After making sure the stove and oven are off, she makes her way to the entrance. Hand on the doorknob, she gently opens the door to the sight of two teenagers.
As expected, Alhaitham stands there, fidgeting with his fingernails. Rubicund coloration blossoms on his soft, healthy cheeks. His gaze darts away, as if antsy his pupils will give away something that she’s not seen before.
But it’s not her grandson who catches her attention first.
“Khalti?”
Kaveh, radiant as ever, stares back at her with wide garnet-jeweled eyes. Assorted flowers—cecilias, dendrobiums, and brilliant chrysanthemums, from what she can tell—sit in a bouquet in Kaveh’s hands. His mouth, after having spoken, remains open—parted in surprise.
She’s certain her expression reflects the same surprise she reads on his face.
“Kaveh,” she says, a warmth spreading in her chest as realization sets in. “Are these for me?”
Bashful, he nods. She gently takes the bouquet from him
“Thank you,” she says, inhaling the colorful floral scents. “They’re beautiful.”
Kaveh beams.
Meanwhile, Alhaitham looks between them as his mind attempts to make a picture without all the pieces. “You two know each other?”
Noor cracks a smile. “Yes. Yes, we do.” Opening the door all the way, she ushers the two of them in. “You’re not going to stand outside forever, are you?”
They shuffle in and take off their shoes by the entrance, although Alhaitham remains visibly lost, made obvious by the way his eyes keep darting between her and Kaveh like they’re hiding some grand secret.
“It smells delicious in here,” Kaveh says as Noor places the flowers in an empty vase. “What are you cooking?”
“Biryani and scented meat balls,” she answers, leading them to the kitchen. “I’m almost done setting the table, so you can take a seat.”
“Do you need help?” asks Kaveh.
She waves her hand. “How could I make a guest work in my own home? Sit! Haitham, grab the napkins, won’t you?”
Wordlessly, Alhaitham pulls out the napkins and sets them next to the pot of biryani, while Noor puts the plates out. They sit at the table together—Alhaitham and Kaveh sitting next to each on one side, and Noor on the other.
Noor and Alhaitham scoop biryani and meat balls into their respective plates, and she smiles at Kaveh to let him know he can do the same. She takes a bite of the meat ball and relishes in the richness of its flavor. She hopes Kaveh enjoys them too—she knows Alhaitham will.
“You haven’t said how you two know each other,” Alhaitham mutters, then shoves a handful of biryani in his mouth. He looks at her in betrayal, as if she deliberately hid their connection from him.
“I accompany her while she shops at the market sometimes,” responds Kaveh after taking a bite of a meat ball. “Though I didn’t know you’re the grandson she’s always talking about!”
“Hm. Only saying good things, I hope,” he says, eyes still focused in her direction, like he’s worried she’s said something unflattering about him.
“Just about how smart and sweet you are,” says Kaveh, teasing. He pokes Alhaitham’s cheek as he’s chewing, and Alhaitham swats his finger away.
If possible, her grandson's cheeks flare redder in embarrassment. Or maybe affection? A mixture of the two, she presumes.
Regardless, her chest lightens. She knows Alhaitham’s heart has made a good choice.
“Is the food to your liking, Kaveh?” she asks, saving her Haitham from further mortification.
“Oh, yes!” Kaveh says, covering his mouth as he swallows a mouthful of biryani. “It’s very flavorful! Thank you so much for making this dinner and inviting me, khalti.”
“Please, call me Bibi,” she says, a soft smile dancing on her lips.
Kaveh looks at her in surprise, similar to the expression he wore earlier at the door. Next to him, Alhaitham pauses chewing, shock evident on his face.
“Thank you, Bibi,” Kaveh says at last, a blush rising on his cheekbones.
Alhaitham stares at her, questions written in his eyes, but she pays him no mind. “Ah, eat up!” she says to Kaveh, scooping more food onto his plate. “You’re a growing teenager, so you need all the fuel you can get!”
Kaveh smiles, saying thank you after thank you. He takes another bite of a meat ball, and she basks in the delight of seeing him enjoy her food.
She meets Alhaitham’s gaze, still pinned on her. Her soft smile turns knowing, borderline mischievous. Alhaitham puffs out his cheeks and looks down at his plate.
Pressing her lips together, she holds back the amusement brimming within her. As minutes fly by, the teenagers bicker and joke and laugh, and she occasionally butts in with a comment or two of her own. Seeing her Haitham so carefree, so childish for once, brings peace to her soul.
She has a gut feeling that they’ll be standing together, surrounded by friends and the dendro nation’s one-of-a-kind scenery, with matching rings on their fingers. They’ll be laughing, just as they are now, with a quiet kind of security found in the truest of loves. Then, when Kaveh calls her Bibi, it’ll only be natural—expected, even. If they aren’t family yet, they will be, once time reaches that destination.
But hey, it’s only a hunch. And what does she know? Eyeing their bumping shoulders, she smiles, small and genuine.
Hopefully, they get to stay by each other’s side for a very long time.