The morning sun filtered through the delicate lace curtains, casting soft, golden hues across the room. Meerab stirred in bed, her eyes fluttering open as she stretched beneath the crisp white sheets. The house was unusually quiet, the typical sounds of servants bustling about their daily tasks conspicuously absent.
Murtasim had been up before dawn, a rare occurrence that had every member of the household questioning his sudden burst of energy. He had a plan—a plan that seemed simple enough in his mind. Today, he would surprise Meerab with breakfast in bed. The idea had struck him late last night, a result of the rare moments he spent scrolling through social media, where he had come across countless videos of doting husbands serving their wives perfectly plated breakfasts. If they could do it, why couldn’t he? After all, how hard could it be?
The answer, as Murtasim was about to find out, was very hard.
---
Murtasim entered the kitchen with the confidence of a man who had never set foot in one before. He looked around, the shiny surfaces and array of utensils staring back at him as if they were mocking his inexperience. Undeterred, he rolled up his sleeves, determined to make this work.
His first challenge: boiling water. Simple enough, or so he thought. He filled a pot with water and placed it on the stove, frowning slightly as he turned the knob. He waited, and waited, and waited some more. After what felt like an eternity, the water began to bubble. Murtasim allowed himself a small smile. So far, so good.
Next up was eggs—something he had seen cooked a thousand times but had never attempted himself. He cracked the first egg with a little too much enthusiasm, sending pieces of shell into the bowl. He cursed under his breath and attempted to fish them out with his fingers, only to end up cracking the yolk in the process. The second egg fared no better.
By the time he had four eggs in the bowl, they looked less like the perfect sunny-side-up eggs he had imagined and more like a sad, gooey mess. But Murtasim was not one to give up easily. He poured the eggs into a hot pan, the sizzling sound giving him a false sense of hope. That hope was quickly dashed when the eggs stuck to the pan, burning at the edges as he frantically tried to scrape them off. The smell of burnt eggs filled the kitchen, and Murtasim coughed, waving his hand in front of his nose.
The toast was the final straw. He had seen servants pop bread into the toaster a hundred times, but today, for reasons unknown to him, the bread refused to cooperate. He turned the toaster on, waited, and when the toast finally popped up, it was charred black. He groaned in frustration, tossing the burnt slices into the bin and starting over.
After what felt like hours, Murtasim managed to assemble a plate that could only be described as a culinary disaster. The eggs were a rubbery mess, the toast was burnt around the edges, and the orange juice he had squeezed had more pulp than juice. But it was the thought that counted, or so he hoped.
---
Meerab was just beginning to doze off again when she heard the door creak open. She turned her head slightly, catching sight of Murtasim awkwardly balancing a tray in his hands. Her heart fluttered, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she watched him approach.
Murtasim cleared his throat, his usual confidence somewhat shaken by the state of the tray in his hands. “Good morning, Meerab,” he said, trying to sound casual. “I, uh, made you breakfast.”
Meerab sat up, her eyes widening in surprise. “You made me breakfast?” She couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice.
“Yes,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant as he set the tray down in front of her. “I thought I’d do something special for you today.”
She looked down at the tray, her expression quickly shifting from surprise to something else entirely. The eggs were a disaster, the toast was more burnt than not, and the orange juice looked more like a science experiment gone wrong. But the effort—the sheer, earnest effort—was enough to make her heart melt.
“Murtasim…” Meerab began, struggling to keep her composure. “This is… thoughtful.”
Murtasim scratched the back of his head, clearly embarrassed. “I know it’s not… perfect, but I tried.”
Meerab picked up the fork and gingerly poked at the eggs, which jiggled on the plate like they had a life of their own. She couldn’t help but laugh, a sound that was equal parts affection and amusement. “Did you cook this all by yourself?”
Murtasim sighed, finally allowing himself to sit on the edge of the bed. “Yes, and I realize now that I may have underestimated the difficulty of cooking.”
Meerab took a bite of the toast, wincing slightly as the burnt edges crunched loudly. She quickly followed it with a sip of the orange juice, which only added to the chaos in her mouth. But as she looked at Murtasim’s earnest expression, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything negative.
“Murtasim,” she said softly, setting the tray aside and taking his hand in hers. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
Murtasim raised an eyebrow. “Even though it’s practically inedible?”
Meerab nodded, her eyes shining with warmth. “Even though.”
There was a moment of silence before they both burst into laughter, the absurdity of the situation finally catching up with them. Murtasim shook his head, still chuckling as he pulled Meerab into his arms.
“You know,” Meerab teased, resting her head against his chest, “we have a whole staff of servants who could have made this for you.”
Murtasim sighed dramatically. “Yes, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, I wanted to do something special for my wife.”
Meerab smiled, feeling her heart swell with love for the man who, despite all his flaws, always managed to surprise her. “Next time, maybe we can cook together. I’ll teach you how to make a proper breakfast.”
“Deal,” Murtasim agreed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But I’m never touching eggs again.”
They laughed again, the sound echoing through the quiet room as they held each other close. The morning might not have gone as planned, but in that moment, neither of them cared. All that mattered was that they were together, sharing in the ridiculousness of life and love.
---
Later that morning, the servants found the remnants of Murtasim’s cooking attempt in the kitchen—a sight that would be the source of much gossip and laughter in the household for days to come. But Murtasim didn’t mind. As far as he was concerned, the morning had been a success. After all, he had made Meerab smile, and that was worth more than any perfectly cooked breakfast.
