8 - The Next Day

Hamir woke up twelve hours later, hunger gnawing at his stomach. Locating his glasses, he slipped them on his nose and looked around the unfamiliar room. He had barely any memory of the room – all he remembered was following Qaya back to her house. This must be one of her spare bedrooms, he decided.

He spotted the bottle of water and drank thirstily, wondering what time it was. He picked up his watch, neatly laid out on the bedside table and groaned. It was almost six in the evening. He had slept all day!

Smiling ruefully at the crumpled suit he had fallen asleep in, he stepped into the en suite bathroom and treated himself to a long, rejuvenating shower. Feeling more human, he donned a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and stepped out of the room. The apartment, predictably, was utterly silent. He made his way to the kitchen, and found a note addressed to him.

Such lovely handwriting, he thought to himself. Following her written instructions, he found a meal awaiting him in the refrigerator. He popped it in the microwave and switched on the television. He ate while channel surfing, and feeling guilty for shirking work, he called Qaya.

"Ah, you are up," she said by way of greeting. "Did you eat? Do you feel better? Do you need me to pick up any medication for you?"

"Hello to you too," he said, chuckling.

She laughed in response, and he felt his heart soar. "You should have woken me up for work," he said. "I am sorry I slept through the day."

"It is better for you to sleep at home than to faint at work," she replied. "I should be back by nine tonight. Would you like to go out for dinner? I can take you to your father's favourite place."

"That sounds good," Hamir said. "But wouldn't you prefer to rest at home today? You can't have had more than a couple of hours of sleep, and I'd like to check up on that sprained ankle of yours. I am a decent cook, and I can whip up something by the time you get home."

There was a long pause and Hamir wondered if he had overstepped. "That would be lovely, thank you," she said finally, her voice soft. "Are you sure you are not too tired? We can always order something."

Hamir laughed. "I am all freshened up, thanks. See you in a bit!"

"See you," Qaya said quietly and hung up.

Hamir called his father in Z Country next. Papa was an early riser, so with the time difference between J country and Z Country, this would be a good time to speak to him.

President Goldstein was a little miffed with his eldest child. As soon as Hamir said, "Hello, Papa," – he was asked by his father – "Why didn't you call me yesterday?"

"I was too tired and fell asleep," Hamir mumbled. "Sorry, Papa."

The old man was mollified quite easily. He asked Hamir about his first day in Colossus in J Country, and Hamir dutifully reported everything, including Qaya's injured foot. The only thing he didn't mention was the sudden kiss that had shocked both of them.

"That child works too hard," President Goldstein lamented. "And so do you, my son. Perhaps I should have sent someone else to J Country…"

"Don't worry, Papa," Hamir said in a soothing voice. "I'll take care of everything here."

"All right, then," President Goldstein said with a sigh.

The father and son spoke for a few more minutes and then hung up.

After speaking with his father, Hamir quickly busied himself with dinner preparations.

At five minutes to nine, Qaya walked in. She sniffed delicately and smiled at him. "Something smells heavenly," she said.

"Welcome home," Hamir told her, pouring a glass of wine and handing it to her. "How was your day?" He handed her a freshly toasted slice of garlic bread to chew on.

Qaya sipped her wine and sighed contentedly as she bit into the bread. "You sure know how to spoil a woman, doctor."

"You are rather easy to please, if this is all it takes." Hamir grinned at her. "Why don't you freshen up while I set the table? The food is nearly done."

Qaya drained her glass and went upstairs to her bedroom. Resisting the urge to change into her pyjamas, she took a quick shower and put on a casual linen shirt-dress that skimmed her knees. By the time she returned to the kitchen, Hamir had set up the table beautifully. He had even managed to dig up a candle from somewhere.

He flashed her a heart-warming smile when he caught sight of her.

"The first course awaits, my lady," he announced, pulling out a chair for her. He took a seat on the other side of the small table.

The mushroom soup was delicious, and Qaya nearly moaned embarrassingly as she tasted it.

"Decent cook, indeed," she mocked. "This is cordon bleu standard!"

Hamir threw his head back and laughed heartily. "I am glad you like it," he said. "That gives me more confidence about the main course." He picked up their empty soup dishes and deposited them in the sink. A moment later, he returned to the table with two full plates.

Qaya stared at him with wide eyes. "Is that chicken marsala? How on earth did you manage to come up with that? Did I even have the required ingredients in my fridge?"

Hamir chuckled. "I am a resourceful man," he said and placed a plate in front of her.

Qaya took a bite and could not help her moan this time. She levelled an admiring gaze at the doctor. "You, sir, are a culinary wizard."

Hamir blushed at the heartfelt compliment. His ex-fiancée had detested his experiments in the kitchen, and that had always been a bone of contention between them. He shook his head; he did not want to think of Marie.

"So the way to the boss' heart is through her stomach, is it?" he joked.

"Careful," Qaya warned, smirking. "If you get me used to such wonderful food, I might have you in a death grip and never let you go."

Hamir's body reacted involuntarily, a memory of the feeling of her body against his flooding his mind. That would not be so bad, he thought to himself.