‘brother!’ hasanfulhu exclaims over the phone.

‘what’s up brother?’ i ask, eating a piece of cinnamon that i got from pick n save, the cornershop near holm deli. although it must be said that i’ve never saved anything from there. all i’ve done is consume.

‘what are you on about?’ asks hasanfulhu. ‘wanna grab dinner?’

‘heck yes!’ i say. i haven’t eaten all day, i’m trying out that one meal a day thing, OMAD. ibrahimdi said i shouldn’t do it too often but what does he know? he’s not even thirty.

‘where?’ asks hasanfulhu.

‘maagiri, let’s have biriyani.’

‘cool,’ says my friend and hangs up.

hasanfulhu and i meet downstairs – i haven’t seen the man in weeks. he looks unkempt, his hair is disheveled, his beard untrimmed, and his dark linty t-shirt must have been on his back for at least a week.

‘you’re not looking so hot either,’ he says.

‘i need to do my laundry,’ i tell him as we walk to maagiri. by this time the crowds and traffic have subsided, and this part of male is comely. as we walk by the parking lot opposite majeedhiyya, the scent of a flower fills the air. it’s a tiny white flower that has a fragrance reminiscent of guleynooranmaa, but wilder. i should find out its name.

we enter maagiri and hasanfulhu lets out a sigh.

‘i hadn’t realised how hot it was,’ he says.

we take the lift to the terrace. it’s crowded as hell with three big groups taking up most of the available space. but somehow, we manage to find seating for two and the server asks us what we’d like.

‘beef biriyani,’ i tell him.

‘anything to drink?’

i look at hasanfulhu who shakes his head.

‘just water,’ i say and the server nods and disappears.

‘been a while since we came here eh?’ hasanfulhu says, rolling his tobacco. ‘you got a light?’

‘no man, i don’t smoke.’

‘oh yes, i often forget.’

‘it’s because i live with a woman,’ i tell hasanfulhu. ‘she has a nice civilising effect on me.’

‘she keeps you on a leash, you mean,’ says hasanfulhu chuckling to himself. ‘how is the dear old lady? i haven’t seen her in months.’

‘she’s OK,’ i tell him.

a gust of wind hits us.

‘good god, how can we hope to eat here? this wind will scatter all our rice,’ i tell hasanfulhu who smiles.

i take a look around. the sky is soft – gentle airbrushed clouds, purple with a touch of pink hang like an enormous painting to my left, so pretty that it had to be remarked on. hasanfulhu takes out his phone to take a photo, then thinks the better of it and puts it down.

‘not all beauty needs documenting,’ he says to me. ‘something you wouldn’t understand, eh?’

the server brings our meal in a small metal pot, along with some paaparu and raita. and we dig in.

‘it’s as good as ever,’ i grunt.

‘maagiri doesn’t disappoint,’ says my friend eating rapidly, like we’re in the midst of an emergency. there’s only one person i know who eats faster than i, and it’s hasanfulhu.

then i notice a pair of servers hovering by our table.

‘what’s going on?’ i ask one of them, who’s looking at us funny.

‘sorry sir, but did you come here maybe two weeks ago?’

‘no, first time we’ve been here in months,’ i tell him. ‘why do you ask?’

‘thing is, two people came and left a bill unpaid. 600 rufiyaa total. looking like you.’

‘why would you think we’re them?’ i ask. ‘is it because of this?’ i gesture at my clothing with my hands. ‘just because we dress like this, you think we’d eat and dash?’

the server looks a bit embarrassed.

‘don’t get angry sir, you looked very familiar that’s why only.’

‘we have very typical maldivian faces,’ says my friend, and the servers nod, stand in a huddle for a bit then and leave.

‘how dare they!’ i tell hasanfulhu. ‘it’s tenamount to calling us thieves.’

‘tantamount,’ corrects hasanfulhu. ‘but if you really were to steal something, wouldn’t it be food?’

huh.

the bill is 234MVR for the lot. i offer to pay but hasanfulhu waves his hand and taps his card on the machine.

what a generous man, our hasanfulhu.

‘let’s go to city gelato,’ i tell him. ‘my treat.’

‘i thought you hated city gelato,’ he says. ‘why the change of heart?’

‘well it’s the only half decent place where you can get an ice cream for under 50 bucks these days.’

‘really? what about cafeier?’

‘they are insane now. 55 per scoop, sometimes 60.’

‘hmm,’ says hasanfulhu scratching his beard. ‘let’s give it a miss this time, not feeling like it.’

‘OK, but don’t say you never got anything from me.’

hasanfulhu laughs a little and in the picturesque dusk beneath greying clouds we begin our walk back home.