It's a quiet Friday night. I'm laying across the couch like normal, a soft classical music playing through the built in speakers. the main doors are open to the courtyard, a gentle breeze rolling in. behind me Muhammad is working to cut vegetables and make a small dinner, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. I can feel his gaze on me out of the corner of his eye but I don't say anything as I continue to type away at the laptop in my lap, a slight tension in the air beginning to tighten...