Across the neighbourhood, Yasmine Tadros already sits at her desk. The quiet morning hours are the only time this English teacher and author can write without interruption. With two published novels and a third taking shape, she treasures these moments before her children wake. Today is special: International Women's Day meets the 8th day of Ramadan, and their families will fast together and share iftar as they have for decades.
---
By 1:00 PM, Huda reviews her set mock-ups for tomorrow's ad shoot when her mother, Samira, appears at the doorway.
"Catherine called," she announces. "She's bringing goulash with eshta for dessert."
Huda smiles, seeing her mother's quiet anticipation. The friendship between Samira and Catherine, Yasmine's mom, began in university, lasting through marriages, children, and all the silent stances women take to preserve what matters.
In her home, Yasmine helps her six-year-old daughter, Sofia, with homework while four-year-old Youssef plays nearby. Her husband, Marc, moves through the apartment gathering toys, and sharing domestic responsibilities that his own father never assumed.
"Don't forget, we're going to Teta Samira's for iftar today after maghrib prayer," Yasmine reminds the children.
"But, mama, we're not Muslim," Sofia says with a child's direct curiosity. "Why do we even fast?"
Yasmine smiles and sits beside her daughter. "When Teta Cathrine and Teta Samira were still in their first year of university, Teta Catherine noticed Teta Samira struggling during finals week in Ramadan. She was fasting and unable to study. Teta Cathrine decided to fast for Ramadan with her to encourage her."
Sofia's eyes widen. "For the whole month?"
"Yup, for the whole month," Yasmine confirms warmly. "Teta Samira was so moved but she made Teta Catherine promise to fast only one day for Ramadan after that. What started as encouragement and solidarity between the Tetas became our family tradition since then."
---
By afternoon, Teta Samira's kitchen is filled with the women of the two families. Catherine and Samira prepare dishes with the harmony of women who have cooked side by side for decades.
"Ibrahim thinks I've suddenly changed the molokhia recipe," Samira mocks, stirring. "As if I haven't been making it the same way for the past forty years."
Catherine laughs. "Men think they notice when things change, as if they're smarter beings. Farid still thinks only he can tell that the apartment gets colder when I'm upset."
Samira laughs. "At least he cares that much."
When Yasmine finally arrives with her family, the children immediately find Khalo Karim, Huda's twenty-eight-year-old brother. Unlike his father, Karim notices the subtle signs of fasting in the women—the slight paleness, the careful conservation of energy, him and Marc always try their best to help.
"Take Yasmine and go watch with the kids," he tells his sister quietly. "Marc and I will set the table instead."
In Huda's room, away from the kitchen's and dining room activities, the friends speak honestly.
"I started my period this morning," Yasmine admits. "I was so tired that I almost canceled. The headache wouldn't let me be"
Huda nods in understanding. "This Ramadan tradition isn't just about food," she says. "Sometimes it's just about showing up, being present, and gathering with family and loved ones. If you had told me earlier I would've prepared more of the food"
They talk about work—Yasmine's novel, Huda's challenging projects—finding in their careers spaces where they exist first as people, not only as daughters or mothers.
When the call to prayer sounds across Alexandria, the two families break their fast. Dates are passed around, water and qamar el-din sipped hurridly, the shared relief of hunger suspended. The meal speaks to their shared heritage—roa'a', fatteh, grape leaves mahshi, molokhiya, duck and kebab halla—Egypt's distinctive flavors binding them together.
---
When Yasmine finally arrives with her family, the children immediately find Khalo Karim, Huda's twenty-eight-year-old brother. Unlike his father, Karim notices the subtle signs of fasting in the women—the slight paleness, the careful conservation of energy, him and Marc always try their best to help.
"Take Yasmine and go watch with the kids," he tells his sister quietly. "Marc and I will set the table instead."
---
In Huda's room, away from the kitchen's and dining room activities, the friends speak honestly.
"I started my period this morning," Yasmine admits. "I was so tired that I almost canceled. The headache wouldn't let me be"
Huda nods in understanding. "This Ramadan tradition isn't just about food," she says. "Sometimes it's just about showing up, being present, and gathering with family and loved ones. If you had told me earlier I would've prepared more of the food"
They talk about work—Yasmine's novel, Huda's challenging projects—finding in their careers spaces where they exist first as people, not only as daughters or mothers.
---
When the call to prayer sounds across Alexandria, the two families break their fast. Dates are passed around, water and qamar el-din sipped hurridly, the shared relief of hunger suspended. The meal speaks to their shared heritage—roa'a', fatteh, grape leaves mahshi, molokhiya, duck and kebab halla—Egypt's distinctive flavors binding them together.
Around this table, the deeper meaning of their fast emerges: not merely abstaining from food but being fully present despite physical tiredness. These women notice when glasses need refilling, guide conversation toward stories that connect rather than divide, and show through actions how traditions become meaningful when practiced with kindness.
---
Later, when the men discuss current news and the children play, the women gather in the sitting room and share their observations.
"I the current economy is making a lot of regular clients try to get the same work for less," Huda says. "Last night, a client told me that they want to save on material that they didn't want to use real wood for the background stools in the shoot. I couldn't think of what to do about it all night yesterday, but this morning I decided to use foam covered with faux wood paper, it was as if hunger cleared my thinking."
Catherine nods. "Yasmine's writing changes during Ramadan too on the day she fasts with you— becomes more focused."
"I like to believe that it's about finding clarity through limitation," Yasmine adds, smiling proudly.
---
By the time they prepare suhour, Alexandria has quieted. From the balcony, the Mediterranean stretches dark and vast, the lighthouse beam sweeping across waters that have witnessed centuries of wars.
Standing together in rare stillness, Huda and Yasmine watch the city lights together as Yasmine lies her head on Huda's shoulder.
"Will our children understand why we keep these traditions?" Yasmine asks softly.
Huda considers this, watching the lighthouse beam complete its circle. "They'll create their own," she says. "And that's what's right."
In this simple exchange lies their true inheritance—not just recipes or rituals, but resilience and solidarity inherited from women before them. As Alexandria breathes around them, as Ramadan continues, as International Women's Day ends, they embody a simple truth: that meaning comes not from rigid tradition but from its thoughtful reasoning, in beauty created despite constraints, in the quiet revolution of women supporting women across generations.
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