Dedicate to all females on the last Roza
At Suhoor, he came toward the dining room and paused a moment near the kitchen’s door, his hair ruffled, one pajama leg rode up his knees. He was groggy from sleep. Yawning.
His wife was busy preparing Sehri for them. She tossed paratha on the tawa. Omelet in the pan. Black tea simmering in the pot. His wife’s hands moving dexterously from one pan to another. A kid screamed from the room. She removed pan from the heat and darted towards the room. Half an hour left in Sehri.
His parents were offering nawafils in their room. He intended to help her wife and stepped inside the kitchen. He arranged the table with plates and glasses, and helped her by pouring tea into the cups.
All of them sat down at the table, and reached for their share. She picked up paratha from the pot and looked toward him. He patted her arm.
“One or two paratha?” she asked.
“One,” he replied.
