IT had been one of those golden Egyptian days when the sun would shine so bright over the city of Cairo. One of those days that she would find herself going to the market until this one time when she was selecting out mangoes.
There was another customer standing just behind her, watching her scrutinize the fruit.
"How do you even know which one is ripe?" the man asked.
"Sorry?" the woman turned.
"The fruit. How can you tell?"
Without another word, the woman picked up a mango and held it close to the man's face.
"You want me to. . . bite it?" the man asked, chuckling.
"Take in the scent," the woman said, edging the fruit closer to the man's nose, "it is from the scent that you truly get the quality. Think of it like a human's soul and that is how you know."
The man closed his eyes, breathing in fresh mango. "They still look all ripe to me!"
"Then again," the woman said, "some souls require a deeper look into them to be understood."
