Food of Love

Nadia had never heard a sound like that before. It was strange and sad, yet so intriguing she couldn’t stop herself from moving towards its source. Up and up the stairs she went until she was right outside of his door.

She paused and gently put her right ear against the door.

The music suddenly stopped. He must’ve heard her, she thought. She felt a cold flush as she started going down the stairs as fast and noiselessly as she could manage.

When she got to her broom, she breathed a sigh of relief and continued sweeping the hallway.

What kind of music was that, she wondered. For a second, she thought she could ask her father. But that wouldn’t be a good idea. He may already be suspicious of her infatuation with the young and handsome teacher.

Plus, her father, the stern high school principal that he was, had made it very clear to the whole family that the young teacher who would be renting a room at their house was not to be treated like a family member. He was a schoolteacher and must be treated as such; with respect AND distance.

Nadia opened the closet and put the broom away. She then paused and listened in hopes of hearing that sound, or any sound, from upstairs. But there was dead silence, so she headed to the kitchen to help her mother.

Being a family of 12 meant that her mother was constantly cooking. There was always a hungry child in the house who couldn’t wait till the next meal. Although, they officially had to. Her father believed in discipline and order, which meant that they could only eat during mealtimes. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. No snacks. At least not in front of father. But her mother was too sympathetic and sensitive to her children’s wishes. They could usually rely on her to smuggle a piece of fruit, some nuts, or leftovers.

Now that the teacher was staying in their house, would he also dine with them? Nadia wondered.

“Mother, will the teacher join us for dinner tonight?”

“No dear. He is to have his meals in his room. That is how your father has arranged with him. And speaking of his meals, I’ll need your help in delivering some of them. Mostly when I’m too busy.”

As the eldest daughter, Nadia was used to doing lots of errands for her mother. Mending, washing, and wiping the furniture regularly to keep it free from mold. Living near the Caspian Sea was a blessing and a curse. It meant fresh breeze and spectacular seashores, but also an unbearable humid climate at times. 

“That would be fine,” Nadia said in a rather high-pitched tone. She then quickly changed the subject, hoping that her mother didn’t detect her excitement.

“I cannot believe that tomorrow is the first day of school already,” Nadia said.

“I cannot believe you’ll be starting 9th grade, “her mother said with a sigh.

“I know. I’m so happy to be finally starting high school,” Nadia said as she stood up a little taller.

She was hopeful that high school would bring her new adventures. Maybe even romance. What if he was her teacher? In her heart’s heart, she hoped so. And if not, she hoped to see him around the school a lot.

“Now remember, although your father is the high school principal, you are not to call him father. He’s Mr. Kazimov and you are to treat and obey him like all the other students.”

Nadia nodded. It was an easy thing to remember. She already feared and obeyed her father like everyone else in town. There was no other way to perceive or interact with him. He was fierce, rigid, and harsh. He had to be. It was not easy guiding high schoolers in a town where poverty meant that most parents wanted their kids at work, not school. Parents who did not, or could not, appreciate education.  Partly because they were illiterate and did not know any better. But mostly because they were too stressed, overworked, broke, or drunk to deal with a ‘future’. Not while they were barely surviving the present.

“Of course, you are the perfect daughter. I can always count on you,” her mother added with a kind smile.

This was not an overstatement. Nadia was the perfect daughter. Always respectful and obedient to her parents, she went above and beyond to help them with raising her 3 brothers and 6 sisters. And although two of her brothers were older, they were a lot less responsible and available. Which meant that Nadia and her mother did almost everything in the house.

“I wonder if the young teacher would like my cooking.”

“It’s impossible not to love your cooking, “Nadia said firmly.

“Well, at least my cooking is better than the way he plays the violin.”

“What do you mean? What’s a violin?”

“It’s an instrument that plays music. I’ve been hearing it from upstairs. I think he’s practicing it.”

So that’s what the strange and sad music was. A violin. He played the violin. How romantic, Nadia thought although she wasn’t quite sure what a violin looked like or how it was played.

Their conversation paused as they heard footsteps that didn’t sound familiar. They weren’t as light and brisk as the children’s, nor as pounding and loud as father’s. They were strong, steady, yet, graceful.

A long shadow appeared in front of the kitchen. Then, a tall, lean, and shapely figure came to light. The face was striking. Black eyes, very thick black eyebrows, a chiseled jawline, and strong features, all framed with silky raven hair. He was even more handsome in close proximity, Nadia thought.

“Good evening, ladies.”

Nadia and her mother bowed.

“Sorry to be barging in here, but I’m about to leave for the bookstore shortly and was wondering if I could have some strong tea, please. I’ve got a headache and am hoping it will cure it.”

“Of course, you may. I’ll have Nadia bring it to you shortly.”

“Greatly appreciated, ma’am.”

He then smiled at Nadia whose cheeks were slightly more peach-colored than usual.

“The headache must be from the long travel you had yesterday,” said mother.

“Yes, I believe so too. And the warm weather doesn’t help either.”

“Is the town you’re from cooler than here?”

“Slightly, ma’am. Maybe about 1 or 2 Celsius.”

“Sorry, remind me again the town you’re coming from.”

“It’s not really a town. It’s a village about 128 Kilometers southeast of here. It’s called Lahij. It’s rather small in size, but I’ve always found it immensely charming.”

“You must miss it.”

“It’s too early to say, but I’m sure I will start missing it.”

“And your family? Are you married with children, sir?”

“No. I’m single. My family includes my parents. I’m the only child.”

“Oh, it must be wonderful to be the only child. You get all the attention,” Nadia inadvertently broke her silence.

“It could be. Or, you could grow up bored and spoiled,” the teacher said with a playful smile.

“You certainly aren’t spoiled, sir. To have come all this way to help my husband with his school is certainly a sign of a responsible and dignified character.”

“You’re too kind ma’am.”

“I mean it. And if my husband hasn’t thanked you for volunteering to teach at his school for a year, please allow me to thank you Mr…..Mr…..”

“Gilan, but please call me by my first name, Fuad.”

“Thank you, Faud. Your work is truly appreciated.”

He smiled, bowed, and left.

Nadia could hear the teacup, saucer, and sugar bowl jiggle on the tea tray as she walked upstairs. They always jiggle, she told herself. It’s normal. But somehow, she knew the jiggle was more than usual.

When she reached his door, she put the tray down and knocked. The door was opened immediately.

“Oh, thank you, Nadia!”

She bent down to pick up the tray, but he beat her to it.

“I got it.”

He then bent and picked up the tray which gave Nadia the opportunity to catch a glimpse of his room. There was a neatly made bed, a drawer, and a small bookshelf in a corner. In the middle of the room, there was a large desk piled high with books, an open notebook, and a fountain pen. And leaning against the table was an oddly shaped piece of wood with strings on it. That must be the violin, Nadia thought.

He picked up the tray and gazed at Nadia. It was not a threatening gaze. Not a hunter looking at a prey gaze. But a genuine one. Full of admiration and respect.

Nadia bowed and quickly went downstairs. She couldn’t say anything. Not even “you’re welcome”. Yet, there was so much she wanted to ask him. Like, what was his favorite subject to teach, what was he writing, and, if he could play the violin for her. 

But everything had to wait until they met again. Hopefully in the classroom.