me and my comrade caramel suttaa are heading to henveiru after he mistook ‘the bakery’ on ameenee magu for soho. and on our way, we pass a BML ad that i’d noticed earlier.

‘can you park?’ i tell suttaa and he does like the good, kind young man he is.

i take a photo and return to my friend.

‘can i have a look?’ he says. he looks at it puzzled for a while, then puts his head back and roars.

‘honestly, i can’t believe i didn’t spot it.’

—

suttaa and i are soon embraced by the artfulness of soho – a restaurant with a dreamy aroma, chic decor, and, it seems, shelves of books. there’s even a line of novels and non-fiction behind a long, beige booth. a literate outpost by the henveiru cemetery. wonder if it means something.

we place our orders, a carbonara for me and a smash beef burger and an iced matcha for my friend.

‘isn’t it nice?’ i say, easing into my chair that has a curved wooden back decked out with rattan. very nice.

‘i feel like we’re in a set,’ says suttaa.

i notice a couple not too far from us who look a little anxious, perhaps it’s been a while since they ordered. the man has an icy looking drink with slices of lemon. it feels like it will hit the spot.

‘i can get it for you,’ says suttaa who’s been eyeing me eye the drink.

‘you sure?’

‘100%.’

so i call the server and tell her to get me one. she mentions a name, lemon frenzy? something.

‘so, why husenfulhu?’ asks suttaa out of the blue.

it’s something i get asked by unassuming people. and i’ve told the lore in an earlier post, see if you can find it. but i decide to be forthcoming.

‘there was this kudakatheeb in my mum’s island in raa, -’ i begin.

‘and?’

‘don’t interrupt. he would visit my mother during lunch hour, or at dinner, always when there’s food. and mother would be upset because he would end up eating her entire baiththavaa.’

‘gosh,’ says suttaa. ‘but why husenfulhu?’

‘don’t you get it, it was the katheeb’s name.’

‘oh i see,’ says my friend. ‘a hungry kudakatheeb. sounds like a good story.’

‘so, all the time he was there he’d talk about his son who was in america or europe or some such,’ i say to suttaa’s big grinning face. ‘what a great man he was, you know?’ he never smoked, never grew out his hair. and got straight As in his MBA or whatever.’

‘likely some lame incel nerd,’ says suttaa.

our order arrives along with the couple’s. i wait till the carbonara has cooled to put a forkful in my mouth.

‘jaah,’ i whisper and put the food in a napkin.

‘hot-hot,’ i say to suttaa who’s laughing. ‘i’ve burnt my palate and tongue. gah.

just then the server brings me my drink and i take a sip, it’s lemony, a little medicine-y, but i kind of like it. it cools my injured mouth.

‘go slower next time, unc,’ says young suttaa.

i wait a long while before putting the carbonara back in my mouth. it’s rich, creamy, but not yolky like it promised. hmm.

suttaa finally takes a bite of his burger. he chews, knots his brows, and looks at his patty.

‘hey, see that?’ he shows me his burger. the patty is white inside.

‘that’s not beef!’ i tell him.

then he rolls his eyes towards the couple. the man is sending his burger back. it takes me a while to figure out what’s happened.

‘he got my burger,’ says suttaa, grinning.

‘are you gonna send yours back as well?’ i ask him.

‘nope,’ he says. ‘it’s not bad, i was really feeling like some red meat tho.’

we eat in silence for a bit. i am quite liking this carbonara though it’s far from being my forte.

‘so where’s husenfulhu’s son these days?’ asks my friend.

‘i don’t have children,’ i say.

‘no you nut, the katheeb’s son, what’s he up to?’

‘oh, him. he’s in prison,’ i say, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

‘PRISON?’ exclaims suttaa.

‘yeah, for embezzlement. his father hasn’t visited us since it happened. my mother was delighted to learn about his son. told everyone she knew.’

‘mums are funny people,’ suttaa mutters and the server brings the bill: 474 MVR.

‘just pay 120,’ says my comrade.

‘i’ve paid a hundred,’ i tell him. ‘and twenty-five. don’t say i never gave you more than you asked for.’

‘funny,’ says suttaa and we head out into the damp, clingy heat of march – a pair of well-fed men adrift in a world whose true callousness is yet to touch them.