12 April, 2025: Expectations around Qurutob

set in Dushanbe, Tajikistan

It wasn’t that Father was a particularly big fan of qurutob or that he wanted to bring the trainer to a place that only served it. The qurutob restaurant was on the ground floor of their particular apartment building, and Father didn’t have enough of a reading of this trainer to feel comfortable enough to invite him home yet. He did want to show him a baseline level of politeness and treat him for a meal, particularly since he was giving Father a free consultation. But these consultations were probably done in gyms or in parks, not in places where the smell of boiled tea wafted through the room and mixed with the residual scent of yoghurt. Father didn’t understand why this boy had agreed to it.

The young trainer had such defined muscles that it actually intimidated Father. His cheekbones were not merely sharp against his sandy skin and tightly lidded eyes. They looked as toned as the muscles on his biceps, shoulders, and legs. It was as if this boy had taken the time to make sure every part of his body had gone through a regimented programme of exercise and diet. He was a work of art in the form of a human body, and it was rare for Father to interact with people who took their looks so seriously.