Marwa was sitting at the table, pouting at Marian as he strolled down the steps. Marian had chosen to wear grey socks and pants, topping off with a thick coral sweater. She was wearing her off-white hijab, patterned with alternating teal and coral-coloured chevrons, tightly fit to her head. A bejeweled feather pinned the fragile cloth together. “I almost thought you were going to skip breakfast again and I’d have to drink cold tea,” she said in her stubborn voice, spreading orange and elderflower marmalade on a slice of wheat toast with a butter knife. She wore fitted white leather gloves.

“Mother laid out the red carpet for you this morning, shutting me away from my assignment.”

“Oh? Gaia came by this morning, didn’t she? I don’t think you were so focused on your assignment.”

Marian looked at her, “Hush child.”

Marwa glared at him with murderous intent, squeezing the handle of her knife. She hated it when he addressed her as a child. Seeing this, Marian smiled and sat down at the table across from his sister. Firmly grasping the mug before him between his hands, Marian closed his eyes as the warmth quickly flourished throughout his body—goosebumps spreading across his arms, his hairs standing up. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip. Hot milk tea made with Arabic black tea, one teaspoon of brown sugar, and a squirt of raw agave syrup. Lovely. “You even took out the tea bag, what a lovely woman you are Marwa,” Marian spoke gently, looking up into her cocoa butter eyes from his teacup with a warm smile.

Marwa sat up, holding her glare and the mug upright with the knife sat inside, joining her mother in the kitchen. Similarly dressed in an off-white hijab with vibrantly-coloured floral patters, their mother had an assembly line set-up with multiple branches using her telepathy: One lifting up the dirty dishes and soaking them in hot, soapy water; another taking those dishes and scrubbing them with a rough sponge; then she personally took them from the air and rinsed them under slowly running water.

Behind Marian, their other mother lazily shuffled down the steps and approached Marian’s chair, leaning over the top and caressing her son’s face. The sillage of lavender and roses filled Marian’s nostrils as her cheek pressed to his, sliding her hands atop his. “Good morning mother. As usual, you smell wonderful,” Marian said, leaning his head against her cheekbone.

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek, nodding. She pointed to his mug, and Marian set it on the table. His mother took the mug, still a third full of tea, and walked away with it into the living room.

Marian sat up, pushed in his chair, picked up his bag, and walked outside to his day.