Sinatra_Z - Another love story (fiction)

*Alas, another attempt at writing romance. Oiyoooo....Hope you like it.


Fish curry with ladyfingers,
fried poppadom,
Kangkung Belacan,
soy sauce,
and white basmati rice.

Every friday,
she would cook him lunch, because he would come home from work before going off to Friday prayers. Since Friday is a special day (not to mention malam Jumaat) on this day she would cook his favourite food.

Just like a good sweet thoughtful wife.
She likes eating with him, apart from the weekends which they would usually dine out this is one of the few moments where they would have lunch together at home.

She likes watching him roll up his sleeves and the wet face look from the "air sembahyang".
They would talk about what she did this morning, about his work, what are they going to do tomorrow and what ever that comes. They even do the dishes together.

If he is home early,
they would then have a cup of coffee together. Black. One cube of sugar.

And he enjoys it too, he would always try his best to make it and never miss their Friday afternoon session.

It's short and sweet, and it ends with him leaving the house wearing slippers, a songkok on his head and a sajadah in his right armpit.

However,
like all marriages there is always a twist in it. A well kept secret. No.. no our husband here does go to the mosque and listens to the lecture. Oh no sir, the twist happens after Friday prayers. The 20 minute gap he has before starting work.

He gets in his car,
starts off the engine and head to see Saffiyah.
Yes Saffiyah, in arabic it means the confidante, the pure one. And like all confidantes it is usually done in secret and quietly.

Oh of course, he loves his wife no doubt about it but Saffiyah is special. Like the name itself he longed for the Purity that Saffiyah has. It's just that Saffiyah has what his wife could not give, does not have. Yes there is that guilt in his heart, but temptation and lust eclipses that feeling.

5 minutes from the mosque (which is why he deliberately choose this mosque),
near enough from the mosque and far enough from home.
There right in front of his face, like home, was...

Fish curry with ladyfingers,
fried poppadom,
Kangkung Belacan,
soy sauce,
and white basmati rice.

Was it all facade? Why does he do this?
That is a question that he just cannot or not bothered to deal with. It's just that the sweaty mamak's at Saffiyah Curry house makes better curry than his wife, pure curry. Which is not really a hard thing to do, probably there's kas-kas inside or just a used marinated underwear which makes the curry taste more uumph.

His wife,
as much as he loves her, is a horrible cook. Which is why they always dine out on weekends.
He tried to help her in improving her cooking, but after 2 years he has gotten to the fact that his wife has not much talent in that area.

But he knows,
that every Friday his wife would frantically rush back home and cook those dishes. That she would marinate the fishes early in the morning before going to work. That she would skip the shopping with colleagues, takes of the office attire and cook him that meal. And he knows damn well that if he were to not show his appreciation, that if he seems maybe a bit hesitant to eat it that it would be an insult, a sin to her devotion and love.

He can't give her expensive diamond rings. A nice sports car or that fancy dress she saw at Pavilion. He has bills to pay, mortgage to settle and loans to be repaid.

He can't afford tickets to France,
shiny necklace or Godiva chocolates all the time.

But he can,
at least, the little least ask for seconds. Smile and get all excited.

So was it all a facade? The smile? The happiness? The enthusiasm on the dining table.

No it wasn't. He was smiling and enthusiastic to spend an afternoon with his lovely wife. Horrible food is a very small price to pay for something that precious.

Some men don't show their love with flowers,
or a heart shaped box of chocolates,
or a serenade.

Some men show their love in the most unnoticeable, insignificant and quiet manner.
And those sort of men is what you ought to look for.

P/S -
That is why he would jog every Friday evening.