6 - Going Home

Hamir grinned at her. "If you really want to thank me, guide me to a takeaway place that's open at this hour," he said casually.

The lift doors opened before Qaya could reply.

"Weren't you supposed to go out for dinner with the others?" she asked as the elevator descended.

Hamir shrugged. "I figured I'd wait for my boss," he said cheekily.

Qaya was appalled. She had not even noticed. She should have ensured he had actually gone out for dinner. She stammered an awkward apology.

"Hey, don't worry," Hamir said softly. "They brought me a donut, so I'm good."

"Where do you live?" she asked, determined to get him a proper meal.

"Just around the corner. Sky Towers," he replied.

Qaya could feel her jaw hit the floor. Once again, the lift doors came to her rescue and opened.

"What's wrong?" Hamir asked as they walked to the car.

Qaya shook her head. "Just surprised. We live in the same building."

Hamir whistled. "Sly old man…I wouldn't put it past him to buy the flat next to yours. I've got one of the duplex flats on the thirty fifth floor."

Qaya sighed. "You really are my new neighbour, aren't you? I should have known. #3501 is mine."

Hamir shook his head fondly, thinking it was exactly something that his Papa would do. "I am not sure whether I should apologise or be relieved. Have you had the floor to yourself for long?" he asked.

Qaya nodded. "The other flat has always been empty. The President probably bought it at the same time as I did." She smirked. "Well, at least it saves you the trouble of having to drive me home…and I shall treat you to a homemade dinner and fulfil my neighbourly duties."

Hamir laughed and drove off.

"Do you often cook at this hour?" he asked.

Qaya shrugged. "If I feel like it."

Hamir frowned. "Are you on a crash diet or something equally stupid?"

Qaya laughed. "Do I look like I need to lose weight that badly?"

"Of course not; you are perfectly proportioned," he said bluntly. "I ask because I didn't see you eat lunch or dinner."

Qaya blushed and thought for a moment. Had she eaten? "I might have forgotten," she admitted reluctantly. "I did have lots of coffee and cookies, though."

Hamir rolled his eyes, irritation creeping up from within. "You're eating with me as long as I'm here," he said in a no-nonsense voice. "Doctor's orders."

Qaya huffed. "Yes, Dr. Goldstein," she said sarcastically.

Hamir couldn't resist a chuckle. "And here I thought you were a foodie; Papa told me you took him to fantastic eateries whenever he visited," he told her in voice full of doubt. "It is rare for Papa to be wrong."

Qaya bristled and pouted. "The President is not wrong!" she defended immediately. "I am a foodie. I was just busy and forgot to eat today."

Hamir chuckled again, expertly driving into the parking lot of their residential complex.

"Be warned," Qaya said, as they entered the lift together. "I can cook a sum total of ten things, six of which are breakfast food. I do have a good collection of frozen food and ready-to-eat items, though."

Hamir laughed. "At this hour, I'm good with instant noodles, too. I'll have whatever you're having – and I'll help you. I like to think I'm a fairly decent cook. It's just that I haven't had any time for grocery shopping."

"Sorry," Qaya said guiltily. "I should have sent you off early on your first day. When did you arrive from C City?"

"Early this morning," Hamir replied breezily. "Don't worry about it."

Qaya's guilt became several pounds heavier instantly. She had really been thoughtless. "You must be jetlagged. Why don't you take tomorrow off and rest at home?" she suggested. He must be exhausted after the long flight and having to work all day…and most of the night, she thought ruefully. She really ought to have sent him home earlier today.

Hamir grinned at her. "Nah, I'm good," he said jovially.

"That would be impossible," Qaya retorted.

The lift doors sprang open before Hamir could reply. Qaya led him into her apartment, switching on the lights as she went.

Hamir looked around curiously. The décor was soft and cosy, made for comfort rather than style. The walls were lined with overflowing bookshelves, and books covered pretty much every surface he could see. Glass doors led to a balcony, with a large swing chair and a small side table piled with books.

"You read a lot, eh?" Hamir asked, amused.

Qaya flushed and pulled out a spare pair of house slippers for him. "Sorry about the mess."

Hamir chuckled and shook his head, following her into the kitchen. "It's nice…comfortable. Mine is a soulless replica straight out of a magazine. It gave me the chills when I arrived in the morning to drop off my bags. I suppose Thomas had it cleaned and furnished in a hurry. Half the things are still wrapped."

Qaya frowned as she gathered ingredients for a quick meal – she had frozen meatballs, so spaghetti and meatballs would be workable. "What about domestic help? Did he get you someone?"

"No, but I am sure I can manage. I have lived on my own for many years now," he replied, smiling. "I will set things up properly over the weekend."

"And how will you manage until then?" she asked, chopping tomatoes.

Hamir shrugged and moved next to her, picking up an onion to chop.

"Stay here," she told him. "I have plenty of rooms. We will get your flat sorted over the weekend. My maid might be agreeable to taking on your home as well."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I would not wish to impose on you."

Qaya looked up at him. Without her heels, he was a good six inches taller than her. She noted the lines of fatigue around his eyes and mouth, despite his earlier assurance that he was fine. Tears ran down his chiselled face.