The kitchen door creaked open around midmorning.
Noura looked up from her mortar, where she had just begun grinding a new batch of herb paste. A small figure stood in the doorway, blinking at the sunlight and the gentle swirl of steam rising from the hearth.
He couldn't have been older than eight.
"Mika," said Garrick, who was chopping wood nearby. "You lost again?"
The boy stuck out his tongue. "Nope. I followed the smell."
Noura raised an eyebrow, wiping her hands on her apron. "And what exactly did it smell like?"
Mika stepped inside with exaggerated steps, sniffing loudly.
"Like something warm. And round. And like vegetables, but not boring."
Noura laughed. "That's oddly specific."
"I have a very advanced nose," he said, grinning.
***
Mika came often after that.
He never asked for food, not directly. But he always showed up around meal prep time, peeking in curiously, offering to carry jars or peel vegetables. He told stories about beetles that glowed in the dark and races he held against shadows. He talked fast and smiled wide, but behind his eyes was something quieter. Something older than eight.
One afternoon, Noura found him sitting cross-legged by the fire, staring at the pot she'd just started to boil.
"Do you cook every day?" he asked.
"Mostly."
"I don't like what we eat at home. It's always mushy. Or too salty. Or green and bitter."
"Who cooks at home?"
"My grandma," he said. "She works on the field so she's always tired. She says food's food, and as long as it fills you up, it's good enough."
Noura stirred the pot slowly.
"My mom used to make good food," Mika said, quieter now. "She died when I was three. I don't remember much, but I remember that."
Noura's heart clenched.
"I'm sorry."
Mika shrugged. "Not your fault. War came and took a lot of people. Papa too. Grandma says we're lucky to have each other."
"You are," Noura said softly. "But also… I think good food matters."
Mika tilted his head. "Even if it's just soup?"
"Especially if it's soup."
***
That night, Noura stayed up sketching a recipe in her notebook.
She remembered her childhood in Jakarta—the rainy season, when her mother would make Sup Merah. Red soup. It wasn't complicated, but it was bright and happy and perfect for days that felt heavy.
She would make it for Mika.
But she wouldn't just use any ingredients.
She would make every part from scratch, including the sausages.
Because if any child deserved a dish made with love in every layer, it was him.
***
The next morning, Noura rose before dawn.
The divine kitchen tools hummed softly, as if sensing her intent.
Step One: Make the sausages.
She ground forest hen meat in the divine mortar, blending it with saltflower, wild onion, a pinch of nut-pepper, and a paste made from sweet root and sunberry. She folded in mashed starch tuber for binding and shaped the mixture into small links using cleaned sheep casing from the butcher. They sizzled in the divine pan, golden and fragrant, releasing little bursts of juice when pricked.
Step Two: Build the broth.
She sautéed garlic, wild shallot, and diced stonefruit tomato in oil until soft. Then she added water, a piece of forest leaf that smelled like bay, and simmered the base slowly.
Step Three: Add the soul.
She chopped carrots into stars, sliced green beans, and cut yellow squash into cubes. Everything went into the pot. When it reached a gentle boil, she added the sausages.
The scent was bright. Comforting. Like a sunny afternoon turned into steam.
***
When Mika arrived later that morning, the soup was ready.
He didn't ask questions. He just stood still, nose lifted, smiling like he hadn't smiled in days.
"I made this for you," Noura said. "Wanna try it?"
He nodded, mouth already watering.
She served it in a shallow clay bowl, garnished with wild parsley and a drop of tangy herb oil. Mika took one sip, then a bite of sausage, then a spoonful of broth and vegetables.
Then he set the spoon down.
And burst into tears.
Noura froze. "Oh, Mika. Did I do something wrong?"
He shook his head quickly. "No. It's perfect. It tastes like home. Not my grandma's home… like something I dreamed about."
Noura knelt beside him. "You okay?"
He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "Can I come again tomorrow?"
She smiled. "Of course."
He finished every drop.
Noura's heart swelled with happiness as she watched Mika enjoy the meal she had prepared. Seeing someone savor her cooking filled her with a deep sense of fulfillment. There was something truly special about sharing food—it wasn't just about nourishment, but about warmth, care, and connection. Every bite Mika took seemed to strengthen the bond between them, and Noura couldn't help but smile.
She remembered how her little brother back home would always light up whenever she cooked. Dimas, her ever-enthusiastic taste tester, adored her red soup the most. The way his eyes sparkled when he took the first sip was a memory she cherished. "One day, I'll make it for him again," she thought wistfully.
A pang of homesickness tugged at her chest. She missed her father's steady presence, her mother's gentle laughter, and Dimas' endless energy. But life had brought her here, to this unfamiliar world, where she had somehow found a new family—people who made her feel like she belonged. And among them, Mika stood out. Meeting her had been a stroke of luck, a bright spot in this strange new reality.
***
As Mika walked away, her steps were light, her smile unwavering. The delicious meal Noura had made lingered on her tongue, filling her with gratitude. She turned back once, waving enthusiastically. "I'll bring fresh ingredients next time!" she called out. "Grandma would love your cooking—maybe it'll even help her live to a hundred!"
Noura laughed, waving back. The idea of cooking for Mika's grandmother filled her with excitement. Food was more than just sustenance—it was love, tradition, and hope. And if her dishes could bring even a little more joy and longevity to someone's life, then that was all the motivation she needed to keep cooking.
As Mika disappeared into the distance, Noura sighed contentedly. Though she missed her old home, this new life was slowly weaving its own kind of happiness around her heart. And for now, that was enough.
That evening, Noura copied the recipe into her grandmother's book.
Sup Merah (Red Soup)
Ingredients:
500g forest hen or chicken, ground1 tbsp wild onion, minced1 tsp nut-pepper2 tbsp mashed sweet root (substitute for sugar)2 tbsp mashed starch tuberCasing (optional)3 cloves garlic2 shallots3 stonefruit tomatoes, diced2 carrotsHandful green beans1 yellow squash1 bay-scented leafSaltflower and oil to taste
Instructions:
Combine ground meat, wild onion, nut-pepper, mashed root and tuber. Mix well. Shape into sausage links. Cook in pan until golden.Sauté garlic, shallots, and tomatoes until soft. Add water and bay leaf. Simmer.Add carrots, green beans, squash. Boil gently.Add sausages last. Simmer until vegetables are tender.Serve hot with fresh herbs or a drop of herb oil.
Later that night, Mika returned with a small piece of paper.
"What's this?" Noura asked.
"A drawing of your soup," he said proudly. "And me eating it."
It was messy, colorful, and perfect.
She pinned it next to the recipe.
The kitchen smelled of tomatoes and memories.
And the hearts inside it? Big enough to hold them all.
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