Nurin POV
Ayaz's Secret Haven
“Not really,” I replied. “Just grab those two glasses of juice.”
I carried the plates to the dining table—the food was freshly cooked, the aroma still rising in gentle steam.
“I hope you like it,” I told Hamze. “It’s nothing fancy, but I really hope it tastes okay. And… sorry again for taking over your kitchen. I just missed cooking.”
I took a seat on the left side of the table while he sat on the right. He smiled at me.
“It’s more than okay,” he said. “Thank you for preparing lunch. I owe you one. Just don’t hold this against me.”
I smiled back. “It’s not a big deal. Whether you owe me or not depends entirely on how you judge the food.”
We both laughed.
He picked up his spoon and fork, but I stopped him with a grin. “Really? You’re going to eat that with utensils? This kind of food tastes way better if it’s served on banana leaves—but since we don’t have that, the next best thing is eating with your hands.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No way. I’m not eating with my bare hands.”
“Yes, you are,” I said, still smiling. “I already washed mine. Now go wash yours—I’ll wait.”
With a sigh and a smirk, he stood up and went to the sink to wash his hands. When he returned, he looked at me, slightly puzzled.
“So... How exactly do we do this? ” he asked.
“You don’t know how to eat with your bare hands? ”
“I do—but only when it’s finger food or junk food,” he admitted.
I chuckled and demonstrated. “You just keep your fingers together like this. Technically, we’re supposed to eat with our right hand, but sometimes we use our left, too. No rules here—just enjoy.”
“What do you call this? ” he asked, looking curiously at the food on his plate.
“It’s Malaysian cuisine,” I explained. “We call it Nasi Lemak. The rice is cooked with spices and coconut milk. It’s usually served with sambal, a spicy chili-based condiment. This dish here is rendang. I wanted to make the traditional beef rendang, but that takes about two hours to cook, so I used chicken instead. Normally, we serve it all on banana leaves for presentation.”
I pointed to his drink. “And that’s green apple juice.”
I began eating first to give him the cue, and he followed—though a bit awkwardly. It was cute, actually. He seemed to be struggling with eating rice using his hand—probably his first time doing so.
He was clearly enjoying the food.
After a few bites, I stood up and went to the kitchen to get the rest of the dishes: a large bowl of rice, a plate of chicken rendang, and a small wok of sambal. I arranged them on a tray and brought it all back to the dining table.
“I figured you might still be hungry,” I said, placing everything down.
I sat beside him, picked up the serving spoon from the rice bowl, and scooped two generous portions onto his plate. Then I added a serving of chicken rendang and a bit of sambal. As I did, I noticed him watching me closely.
I looked up. “What? Is something wrong? ”
He smiled softly. “No. It’s just… no one’s ever done this for me before. Well, aside from my mom.”
I pulled my hand back. “Oh—sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep—”
“No,” he cut in gently. “I like it. Honestly, I haven’t had a simple, homemade meal like this since college. Thank you.”
Then he looked back at his plate and continued eating, and I couldn't help but smile.
It took us about 35 minutes to finish our meal. Once we were done, we cleared the table together and brought all the dishes to the kitchen sink. Hamze rolled up his sleeves and started washing them.
“I’ll clean this up,” he said. “Just take a rest.”
“Okay… mind if I check out your mini-forest? ” I asked.
“Sure,” he replied. “Just be careful. I haven’t cleaned it up since I got back from military camp.”
“I’ll manage,” I said with a smile.
I stepped outside and made my way toward his mini-forest. I decided to use my phone for taking pictures—it was convenient, and my camera was still inside the house.
From the front edge of the mini-forest, I spotted two distinct trees. If I wasn’t mistaken, one was a Mediterranean cypress, and the other looked like a Judas tree.
I snapped a few photos of both. They were beautiful, but I found myself struggling to get the right angle. It was frustrating—I couldn’t even remember the basic rules of mobile photography. After several tries, I finally captured a shot I was happy with.
I kept walking deeper into the forest, and soon I was surrounded by a colorful variety of flowers. I hadn’t noticed them before—not near the garage, not even at the entrance. Now, seeing them up close with my own eyes, I felt like I was discovering a hidden garden tucked quietly behind his home.