Almost 20 hours with no food per day. Salam never imagined it would have been that hard to be an orthodox Muslim in that northern European country.
She gently removed the sugary peel off the top of the rounded delicate chocolate and almond pastry, and at the glare of him she responded with a naïve smile, declaring “This is the tastiest part”.
He used to come close to people – he did not master the language that much – and at whatever time of the day you could smell garlic from his breath as if his favourite snack was slices of that raw root dipped in tzatziki sauce.
They never had the chance to speak that much – she kind of felt creeped out by him – but after that long shift she enjoyed the beer and the chat they shared, it was like turning their relationship in an intimate friendship all of a sudden.
She did not feel that comforted by the doctor’s choice of her medical treatment – a randomly chosen unknown pill from the dusty, packed up shelf.
The match was about to start. Cheap beer flood, humid sweated air, sticky bittersweet fingers. A sequence of flags on the banner up on the television, she realized she could recognize only the half of them.
Her hands started sweating when holding the bridal bouquet, Versilia roses, her mind drifting on Julian in New Zealand, her head turning to Edward sitting behind.