The cake was delicious. Thick slabs of dark chocolate encased a scrumptious layer of mousse, and delicate chocolate shavings embellished the entire creation. She was sitting at the kitchen table savouring a fifth bite of the delectable store-bought cake when her brother happened upon her. He chuckled and shook his head in amusement when he saw her satisfying her sweet tooth at such a late hour. She grinned back, then returned to her dessert plate, still delighting in the last few bits of her treat when he sat beside her, observing her cake closely for the first time.
“You’re actually eating that?” he asked, “it’s haraam!”
“It is not!”
“It is too!”
There was a brief moment of indecision, and then: “It doesn’t say so on the container!”
“I looked. There are no ingredients on the container. But can’t you taste it?”
“Taste what?”
“It tastes strange.”
“It tastes awesome! It’s the best chocolate mousse cake I’ve ever eaten!”
“Ah, but it’s got alcohol in it! Why do you think you can’t stop eating it? When have you ever felt inclined to eat another piece of cake immediately after finishing the first?”
“But why would they put alcohol in cake?” she asked pathetically.
“Can’t you taste it?”
“Of course not! How would I even know what alcohol tastes like?”
“Whatever. It’s haraam.”
“It is not!”
“It sure is. You can keep eating it if you want, but it’s haraam.”
“Well, I disagree!”
“Go ahead then! It’s haraam though.”
“You’re mean and I hate you,” she yelled.
He laughed and walked away.
Her plate was already empty, but she picked up the abandoned cake tray that had so proudly displayed the cake for all to see. Staring blankly at the last few pieces of chocolate shavings stuck to the bottom of the open tray, she slammed the clear plastic cover onto it. A whiff of sweet air puffed out of the container, making her stomach churn.