i arrive late with moosaalhu to our dinner date at cinder. nadheemadhi is waiting with our full-bearded friend suleyman, a man of mean.

‘sorry,’ i say to nadheemadhi who is smiling viciously. ‘i should’ve told moosaalhu 7pm instead of 7.15. bugger always finds a way to be 15 minutes late.

‘we’ve ordered an appetiser,’ says nadheemadhi.

‘ooh, nice,’ i say before pouncing on the pumpkin, feta and rocket salad. ‘jesus, it’s cooold!’

‘exactly,’ says suleyman. ‘nobody was expecting cold pumpkin. besides, it’s not even the one we wanted.’

‘we wanted a different salad,’ explains nadheemadhi.

i shake my head. moosaalhu looks at me knowingly. why? what has this got to do with me?

we order the food and some drinks, some claypot rice, hoppers, and pittu for the table and thai iced tea for me.

‘i hear you’re having gatherings without me,’ says nadheemadhi. moosaalhu looks at us curiously.

‘hey, it’s not like i didn’t give you an invite,’ i tell her.

‘it was on the day,’ she says. ‘i’m not an afterthought. i’m a main character.’

‘you’re a real character alright,’ i mutter. nadheemadhi looks at me and touches her nose.

‘you’ve got something there,’ she says.

goddammit. i take a temporary break to blow my nose.

the drinks arrive. my thai iced tea tastes like a milkshake. i have to tell everyone.

‘this tastes like a milkshake!’

‘my tiramisu shake tastes like tiramisu,’ says suleyman.

‘well, i’ll be fucked if it didn’t.’

‘hey easy on the language,’ says moosaalhu.

we sip from our drinks in silence for a moment.

‘it’s great they have a huge window to the kitchen, right?’ says nadheemadhi. suleyman snorts.

‘seagull did that in the 90s,’ he says dismissively.

‘excuse me if i wasn’t beyfulhu enough for seagull in the 90s.’ snaps nadheemadhi.

‘you weren’t even out of your diapers then,’ says suleyman grinning.
‘where’s our food?’ i say, attempting to break this conversation. ‘do they expect us to be entertained by a live kitchen?’

just then the food arrives and i make short work of the hoppers and lunumiris. spicy af.

‘try the pittu,’ says nadheemadhi.

‘it’s good,’ says moosaalhu.

‘yeah,’ says nadheemadhi. ‘the two claypots taste the exact same tho.’

‘well, i like my hoppers,’ i say, chewing. ‘i wish they had katta sambol though.’

we chase our mains with tiramisu french toast. it’s not bad, maybe a little too friendly with the cream cheese.

we finish our meal and lean back, releasing a collective sigh into the restaurant. it empties of customers before we get our bill – they are not in a hurry to clean us of our money. and it’s fairly reasonable, amounting to about 260 each for all that food.

‘i’ll give it a solid six,’ i say.

‘yeah, that’s about right,’ says nadheemadhi. ‘it’s the early days though, things can only get better.’

‘huh, that just means you’re an optimist,’ says suleyman and nadheemadhi grins.

i look at moosaalhu who taps his nostril a couple of times.

goddammit. how many times must i…