The scent of frying onions and cumin filled our small kitchen when the front door creaked open. I wiped my hands on my apron, turning just as Rami stepped inside. His shoulders looked different, not quite relaxed, but no longer carrying that invisible weight that had bowed them for months.
"You're home early," I said, reaching to take the laptop bag slipping off his shoulder.
My mother-in-law peered over from the stove, wooden spoon poised mid-stir. "And smiling? Did the app grow gold leaves today?"
Rami actually chuckled, a rough, underused sound as he collapsed into a chair. "Yousef came back."
The ceramic bowl nearly slipped from my hands. "What?"
He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it delightfully messy. "Showed up at the office this morning with coffee and..." His voice caught slightly. "New ideas."
I set the bowl down carefully, watching as Rami's long fingers traced patterns on the worn tabletop the same way they used to dance across keyboards when he spoke abou
