The morning sun over Elderwood was dimmed by a haze that clung unnaturally to the trees. From her kitchen window, Noura noticed the smoke drifting in lazy tendrils across the horizon—too low, too thick for morning mist. It was a sign. Something was wrong.
Word spread quickly. A group of bandits—or possibly wild beasts driven mad from the deeper woods—had started harassing merchant caravans traveling the southern pass. Two traders who were expected days ago never arrived, and scouts reported broken wagons and scorched earth near the old pine trail.
Elias stood by the bulletin board in the village square, his brow furrowed. He had barely taken two bites of Noura's early morning tempeh porridge when he saw the posted notice: All adventurers and capable defenders, report to Elderwood Watch. He looked back at Noura, who had followed him there with a pot of warm stew in hand, her apron still dusted with flour.
"You're going, aren't you?" she asked, eyes quietly searching his.
He gave her a sheepish smile. "Duty calls. It'll be a quick scout. I'll be back before you run out of your secret chili paste."
Noura managed a half-laugh, but her stomach tightened. She handed him a wrapped bundle. "Then take this. Dried eggplant chips and rice puffs. They keep well. Don't forget to eat."
With Elias gone, the kitchen felt strangely silent. The laughter he brought each morning, the way he taste-tested everything with exaggerated flair—it left a void.
The market was quieter too. Several stalls were shuttered, and those open had little to offer. Spices from the south were missing, and the fisherman hadn't returned since yesterday. Even flour was scarce. Noura stared at the empty pantry shelves and sighed. She had customers to feed, but the usual dishes were now impossible.
She wandered the back of her storage room, fingers brushing against sacks of jungle rice, jars of fermented vegetables, and a crate of root crops she had almost forgotten. She opened a small jar of dried anchovies, their salty scent sharp and bracing.
"Time for some kitchen magic," she murmured.
That afternoon, she transformed her humble ingredients into something new. Her lunch special: Sayur Labu Fermentasi—a thick pumpkin stew layered with tangy jackfruit and a fried anchovy crumble on top. The texture was rustic, the flavors deeply nostalgic.
Lira, who helped serve at the stall, took a bite and blinked in surprise. "It tastes like something my grandma would have made on a rainy day. Comforting, odd, but perfect."
Mika chimed in, nodding enthusiastically. "And it smells like home."
Word spread faster than Noura expected. By sundown, the stew was sold out. Villagers lingered around the stall longer than usual, sharing stories, asking for seconds, offering bartered goods in place of coin. A little boy handed her a crayon drawing of the dish labeled: "Magic Soup by Miss Noura."
That evening, Noura sat behind her stall, exhaustion creeping into her bones. She watched the fading glow of the village and listened to the quiet hum of voices drifting from nearby windows.
But sleep didn't come.
Every creak outside made her heart leap. She paced the kitchen, stirred pots unnecessarily, and ended up starting a new broth just to occupy her hands. She wrapped the scarf Elias had left behind around her shoulders, burying her nose into the faint scent of woodsmoke and lemon balm.
She remembered his laugh—boisterous, free—and the way he always leaned too close when tasting her cooking. She remembered how his fingers brushed hers when handing back empty bowls.
Had she let him in too quickly?
Or maybe, she thought, maybe it wasn't about quick or slow. Maybe it was about real.
A knock. Just as the horizon blushed with the first light of dawn.
She rushed to the door and yanked it open.
Elias stood there—mud-splattered, tired, and with a bandaged arm. His hair was tousled and his expression sheepish.
"Before you scold me," he began, his voice hoarse, "I brought you a gift."
From his cloak, he pulled a pouch of wild honeycomb and a bundle of rare mushrooms. "Found these near the ridge. Thought you might like them more than battle stories."
She pulled him inside.
"You're soaked," she said, guiding him toward the stool by the fire. "Sit. You smell like smoke."
"Compliment or insult?"
"Observation. Now sit still."
She dabbed gently at the wound on his arm. "It's shallow," she said softly. "But you're not cooking anything for a week."
He grinned. "Can I at least peel potatoes?"
"You'll sit, rest, and do nothing that might make that wound worse. Understood?"
Elias leaned back with a soft groan. "You're terrifying when you care."
She didn't reply. Instead, she prepared a healing broth using the mushrooms he had brought. The result was Sup Jamur Rempah Hutan—wild mushroom broth steeped with pandan, lemongrass, and forest ginger. The flavor was both delicate and grounding.
As he took his first sip, Elias's eyes closed in bliss. "This... this tastes like the warmth of someone waiting for you."
Noura chuckled. "And here I thought you preferred chili explosions."
"I like both," he said, leaning slightly forward. "Spice that kicks... and warmth that stays."
Their eyes met, and in that moment, no words were needed.
Later, as the sun rose higher, Lira and Mika stopped by the kitchen. Upon seeing Elias seated and Noura fussing over him, they exchanged mischievous glances.
"Should we come back later?" Lira teased. "Looks like the newlyweds need a moment."
Noura flushed scarlet. "Lira!"
Mika laughed. "Relax. We're just glad he's alive. Though, if you two get any closer, I might have to plan a menu for the wedding feast."
Elias raised his spoon. "As long as Noura cooks, I'll say yes."
That night, the village held a small gathering to thank the returning patrol. Though supplies remained tight, spirits were high. Noura contributed a large pot of her Sup Jamur Rempah Hutan.
Children danced, elders told stories, and for a brief moment, the fears of the smoke and threats beyond the woods seemed distant.
Noura stood beside Elias under the starlit sky, the night air crisp around them. He looked at her with quiet affection.
"You kept the village fed," he said. "Even when it wasn't easy."
"You came back," she replied. "Even when it wasn't safe."
A soft breeze rustled the trees. Somewhere, someone began singing an old lullaby.
Elias took her hand.
Recipe Highlight: Sup Jamur Rempah Hutan
Ingredients:
A handful of assorted forest mushrooms (or oyster, shiitake)1 stalk lemongrass, bruised2 slices of forest ginger (or regular ginger)2 pandan leaves, tied in a knotSalt to tasteA dash of wild honey
Instructions:
Simmer water with lemongrass, ginger, and pandan leaves for 15 minutes.Add mushrooms and cook for another 10 minutes.Season with salt and a small dash of honey.Serve warm. Best shared with someone worth waiting for.
As dusk settled once more over Elderwood, the last wisps of smoke faded from the treetops. But in the hearts of those who endured, warmth and courage simmered gently—like broth, slowly coaxing comfort from hardship.
And for Noura and Elias, something deeper was beginning to take root. Not rushed. Not fragile.
Just real.