The tale of the Istanbulish Hummus Bowl @moshesindia

Table for two, please. She walked in with a book in hand and a frown on her face. Her childhood friend followed her in, also engrossed between the pages of The Renaissance Rendezvous. The café was mostly empty, with just a couple of tables occupied. But the view was spectacular—A sea of freshly printed books lined the walls below. Readers, dreamers, wanderers and thinkers strolled between the aisles, admiring their dear friends, while the girls waited at the table. The waiter plastered one of his fake smiles “One Istanbulish please,” she said pointing at the menu. The waiter nodded his head more profusely than he should have and left. “Why don’t you ever eat anything?” She asked. “It’s not always good to be on such a strict diet.” Her friend blinked and said softly, “I don’t feel like it.” Within minutes the hummus with its spicy chicken beamed at her from the plate on the table. She took the pita bread and devoured it, eyes shut. The tomato sauce, sautéed garlic, mint and coriander mixed with the hummus made her love affair with food even stronger. She relished each bite as she sat there, chatting about life and the lead character of her book. Just then, a stranger from the other table walked upto them and said, “Hi, sorry, please may I take this chair?” She looked at him with utter disbelief. She wanted to say, “In case you didn’t notice, there’s someone sitting there.” But instead, she sat there silently. He took her silence for a yes. She flinched and shut her eyes. But when they opened, her friend was gone. She was alone. Then she looked to her right. She was right there, sitting next to her.

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