Malik took a few more bites. The porridge was soft and melted without chewing. It was a bit bland with only a bit of sesame oil for flavor. This kind of porridge was the kind you had to stand by the stove and constantly stir so it would neither have lumps nor end up mashed up.
The emotions of worry and concern wafting from this person were addicting warm. Malik was not in the habit of lying to himself. He knew as long as this person was in this place, he would reconnect back here. He would always come back to Harlem.
It was funny, turns out he was also as simple as the same people he looked down on.
Ravi was sitting down on the sofa next to him, there was no smile on his face, after Malik finished drinking the small bowl of porridge, he passed him another bowl, "Have some steamed eggs."