Her mother was making iftar in the kitchen, she sneaked her hips next to the phone and checked if Moustafa was around.
In seconds she lowered her head fearing God would see her wide smile because he wasn’t, and she can click his numbers.
Her mother called her name, but she was too busy counting the spaces between each ghazal word she’ll mutter to the boy who sold her salt, a smile and a number for more.
She clicked, clicked, clicke- What if he thinks the way she wears her head scarf is funny? What if she’s just another costumer? What if he gave her his number just so she’d tell him she tasted the shore when the salt met her tongue?
She didn’t click the last number, put the phone back on the table, hid the number between her young breasts and went to help her mother.
Maybe god saw my smile and didn’t want me to fall in love before I bleed after all, she thought.
***
cover photo // stills from caramel (2007)