kroran uyghur cuisine
“Why are you nervous?”
Stripped from the spot on the wall, your eyes skim over her person like there are better questions to be asked.
Like… Well, I don’t know. ‘Why are you so nervous?’
She’s not asking as if it isn’t okay to be something else, but you only know this because you read resolution in her eyes. Feels more like ice, comes to mind first, behave immediately afterwards. Like your mother asked you, to the tune of you can’t eat here, it’s against what we’ve learned, remember?
Your stomach twists because you are hungry.
“Is this supposed to make your mouth tingle?” you counter, more in fear at first. Maybe karma’s doing their part here, at least getting it over with since agreeing to any of this beforehand was already a trap in itself. Cry anyone a river about it, but you’re here now, succumbing to everything without really thinking because hey, it wouldn’t be considered submission otherwise. Hey, relax. You could be allergic to peppercorn, a thing you’re sure you’ve never tried before. Or is it the chili dressing? It could be the halal… chicken… part instead. In this moment, all is foreign sans anxiety. Boy, weren’t they kidding when they insisted they’d keep you company the whole day? Just to make sure you’d be in check all the while.
Alright, alright. The wall is still there. So are you. The food is good, and you’re honestly just a baby. Now listen:
Stop listening.
“Yes, it is.”
You can start again here.