The older I get, the more I’m enamoured with complicated love stories. Like a moth to the proverbial flame, I am sucked into the vortex of the to-ing and fro-ing, the hand-wringing and the mistakes. Don’t get me wrong, a straightforward romcom where the missteps are small or outrageous is fun. Butterflies and a madcap dash through an airport? Like popcorn for the soul. But crying in the rain when you realise that maybe you just can’t make it work, even though you know you love each other? That’s like Sunday dinner with an extra Yorkshire pudding. I want to get into that mess and feel all the feels. I want to ugly cry and yearn and walk away with a million “what ifs”. And perhaps this is down to my age. When I was young and looking for my person, I wanted the simple boy-meets-girl story with a promise of a happily ever after. But older now (and arguably only very slightly wiser), and having been with my person for two decades, I realise that falling in love is cheap. You can get it a hundred for a pound. Making that love work is where the story lives. I want to doubt a happily ever after because that feels real. If they end up apart, I want to know the journey mattered, and if they end up together, I want to know they earned it. And it is this kind of love – the kind that is complicated by family, faith and the frailty of humanity – that sits at the heart of Peanut Butter & Blueberries, currently playing at Leeds Playhouse.

Written by poet, author and educator Suhaiymah Manzoor-Khan, Peanut Butter & Blueberries opened at London’s Kiln Theatre in 2024, where it enjoyed a sell-out run. Now the play journeys north in a Leeds Playhouse production directed by Sameena Hussain. The story follows Hafsah, an ambitious young woman from Bradford, and Bilal, a rather more laid-back student from Birmingham. The two meet whilst attending university in London, and an unlikely shared affection for peanut butter and blueberry sandwiches (a combo I am putting into action immediately) develops into something considerably more complex. Both are practising Muslims, and as their relationship deepens, they must negotiate the competing demands made by their faith, family obligations and personal aspirations. Beneath the familiar flutter of the will-they-won’t-they romance lies a story that asks what it means to build a life with someone when the world outside the relationship refuses to stand still.

Khadija Raza’s set is simple in all the best ways. Sunk into the stage is a circular revolve backed by a curtain of grey fringe through which a small collection of furniture appears and disappears. We see a park bench, a table and a bike, just enough to allow the stage business to be grounded in time and place as we move between university life, family homes and the world beyond. But the set does more than just move us from scene to scene. Under movement director Natasha Harrison’s direction, we watch as Hafsah and Bilal circle one another, sometimes turning in opposite directions, their paths almost colliding before separating again. At other times, they move together, caught in the same orbit. It’s an effective piece of visual storytelling that adds a rich layer of subtext to a romance where physical intimacy is restrained.

To see my full review, please visit Northern Arts Review

See you in the shadows my loves,

Sean x