15th February 2015
“I’m home!” Ali called as he let himself in. It was a reflex, leftover from the days of coming home to Yazid unwell and…Ali didn’t like to call it needy, but it kind of was. When he’d needed Ali to come home.
Over a year ago now, though, and the sight of him in the kitchen, wrist-deep in flour and raw dough, was a beautiful reminder of that.
“Hello,” Ali said, kissing a dusty cheek. “Creating?”
“Biscuits.”
“What kind of biscuits?”
“Dunno yet, haven’t put the flavouring in. We’re out of almonds, before you suggest it.”
Ali leaned a hip against the counter. “I’m never letting you go, you realize that? You cook, you play my games with me, you do the laundry, you look after the cat, you change light bulbs…all we have to do is get you cleaning, and you’ll be fully hous
