109.
The sun streamed through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the sleek countertops as Faraz cracked an egg into a sizzling pan. Murad entered the kitchen, stretching and yawning, his hair a tousled mess. He paused, raising an eyebrow as he spotted Faraz at the stove, expertly flipping eggs and humming to himself.
“Good morning,” Faraz greeted, barely looking up as he continued to cook.
Murad smirked, leaning against the counter. “Well, look who’s up early and acting like he owns the place.”
Faraz shot him a look, rolling his eyes. “If I waited for you to make breakfast, we’d both starve.”
“Or I’d order takeout,” Murad replied, shrugging nonchalantly. He strolled over to the counter, leaning closer. “And speaking of owning the place… remind me why you’re here again?”
Faraz smirked, turning back to the stove. “You’re really going to start with that? I mean, I have my own place, but here I am, making breakfast in your kitchen because you’re hopeless on your own.”
Murad crossed his arms, pretending to look offended. “Hopeless? I’m perfectly fine on my own.”
“Right.” Faraz turned off the stove, plating the eggs and giving Murad an exaggeratedly skeptical look. “Which is why you basically live here instead of that overpriced apartment you keep bragging about. Why bother, Murad? I mean, if I’m here all the time anyway, I might as well just take over your place.”
Murad scoffed, taking a seat at the kitchen island and grabbing a fork. “Sure, you might as well. Because obviously, I’d love to give up the peace and quiet just so I can listen to your endless complaints about how I organize my own kitchen.”
Faraz laughed, sliding a plate across the counter toward him. “That’s because your ‘organization’ is a disaster. Who puts coffee mugs in the same cabinet as cereal boxes?”
“It’s called efficiency, Faraz,” Murad said, taking a bite of his eggs with a smirk. “I don’t expect someone as… particular as you to understand.”
“Particular?” Faraz looked genuinely affronted, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. “I call it having standards. Something you clearly lack.”
“Oh, please,” Murad chuckled. “Standards? This coming from the guy who left his own place just to crash at mine because apparently, his ‘standards’ don’t apply to things like actual living space.”
Faraz shook his head, chuckling. “And yet, here you are, complaining about my company when you know you secretly enjoy it. Admit it, Murad—deep down, you’d be bored without me.”
Murad rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Fine, you’re a decent breakfast companion. But only because you make better eggs than I do.”
Faraz grinned, savoring his victory. “I’ll take it. But really, Murad, we should probably spend some time in our own places once in a while. We’re adults, you know.”
Murad raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Oh, we’re adults now? Could have fooled me with the way you barged in here last night, raiding my fridge.”
Faraz shrugged, unfazed. “Old habits die hard. Besides, I was starving, and your fridge is… well, it’s surprisingly stocked. I have to give you that.”
Murad tried to hide his satisfaction but couldn’t help but smile. “See? My ‘standards’ aren’t so bad after all.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” Faraz replied, smirking as he took another bite of his breakfast. “Your kitchen could still use a lot of work.”
They ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, the usual banter easing into a sense of camaraderie. It felt like old times—a reminder that, despite their complicated past and present, they were still brothers in a way. There was a quiet understanding between them, an unspoken truce they had come to over breakfast and shared memories.
After a moment, Murad cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, what’s the plan? You sticking around here for a while, or are you actually planning to head back to your own place?”
Faraz leaned back, giving a nonchalant shrug. “I haven’t decided yet. But don’t worry, I won’t overstay my welcome.”
Murad snorted, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Overstaying is sort of your specialty.”
Faraz chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe. But admit it—you’d miss me if I left.”
Murad didn’t respond immediately, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, maybe. Just a little.”
They both shared a quiet laugh, their silly morning arguments forgotten, replaced by a subtle sense of unity—a sense that, despite everything, they could rely on each other.
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