The wall clock ticks. Loud. Loud. Loud.
Tick, tick, tick. Tariq covers his ears. "Not yet," he grumbles.
The grandfather points. Golden baklava. Steaming mint tea. "This is waqt," he says.
The first bite is sweet and crunchy. Tariq's shoulders drop.
The sun crawls across the tiles. Tariq picks up the clock. Tick. Tick. Tick.
"We have time," he whispers. A smile spreads across his face.
The next morning, the clock clicks. One. Two.
Tick. Tick. Tariq is already tying his own shoes.
The grandfather raises an eyebrow. "Ready?" he asks.
Tariq grabs his coat and heads for the door. "Let's go!"
The market street waits. Vendors call out. Fresh bread smells in the air.
This time, Tariq is ready.