Strings - Capstone Amal Al Shamsi (1)

Picking up the cutlery, he began to work his way into the steak. They had both ordered it,
medium cooked. Hamza felt that a salad he made at home could be heartier, given the portion
they were given, but it did look tasty.
Jasem soon joined in, chewing for a long time as he looked at Hamza. Eventually, he
looked away.
“What?” Hamza asked, after a while. He was already almost done with his food.
“Hm?” Jasem turned his head. He was wearing a lazy smile.
Hamza gestured to his son’s plate. “Good?”
“Yeah, it’s nice. But I ate so many croissants in the airport, waiting for the man to find
me.”
“It should have been easy, I said look for a boy that looks like he is going to a beach in
Miami.”
Jasem cackled. “Oh, okay.”
A waiter passed by in the narrow space between the tables, his protruded elbow wove in
and out to avoid the talking heads. Another, right behind him, stopped at their table to pick up a
fallen napkin. He went through elaborate motions to straighten it only to push it into the fold of
his apron.
Over on one end, there was a long bar. That corner was dimly lit and Hamza could only
see the silhouettes of the crowd that stood there, shifting ever so slightly. They drew closer to the
seated portion, lapping at the edge, before pulling back in. Across from him, Jasem gulped down
his water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What do you miss the most about
home?” The words seemed like they came from a script, one that the boy himself did not feel
inclined to read. The light-heartedness in his tone had evaporated without Hamza noticing.
Hamza tapped his palm against the edge of the table. “Probably Haya.”
“Is she an object? I said, ​what ​do you miss!”
Hamza laughed. “A person can be a what.”
“No. I don’t accept the answer.”
“What do you want me to say?”
Jasem shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t want you to say anything.”
“Really?”
“No, like I don’t have an answer I want you to say. Just say what you want. Not that
hard.”
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