TIFFANY.
“That's three dirhams,” the old woman smiled, handing me a small cloth wrapped with freshly baked cookies. I didn’t wait for Bilal to pay before I unfolded the clothes, picked one of the cookies, and took a tentative bite. It melted in my mouth instantly, a combined taste of flour and butter and dates and whatever was added to these cookies. It was heaven.
“Don’t moan like that on the street, Nurayn,” Bilal murmured from behind me as he paid the woman her money. “We are in public, which means I can’t do anything right here, not that I wouldn’t if you push too hard.”
I smiled, taking another bite as I watched the woman push a large pan of unbaked cookies into the large oven made of sand, with a small boy pushing and pulling a handle that controlled the fire. I found the whole th
