[ kaveh, who has on an apron blooming profusely with sunflowers, turns to look. ]

Ah, there's you. [ he says, and lifts a hand to beckon. what wafts from the kitchen is potato and the scent of rendered fats, heady. a thing, sharp reminder of woodsy spring. kaveh is holding a spatula. it manages not to be menacing. ] Put down your things, and come help me see if I've put enough salt into the curry. I'd ask Alhaitham, but he'd have ten things to say about the number of spices I've put him, to which I'd tell him that he wasn't complaining last night when I had a similar number in the kebabs.