The days leading up to the Festival of Emberlight felt like the village was collectively holding its breath, brimming with quiet excitement. Lanterns were hung from rooftops and tree branches, fluttering gently in the summer breeze. Children practiced songs under the guidance of their elders, their voices echoing through the meadows. For the first time in years, the festival would feature a cooking competition, and the whole village buzzed with anticipation.
Noura had been invited to participate—well, more accurately, convinced to participate.
"It's not really about winning," Elias had said, leaning casually against the doorframe of her kitchen. "It's about sharing something that makes people smile. And, let's be honest, you're really good at that."
She had raised an eyebrow, skeptically flipping a sizzling slice of meat over her enchanted frying pan. "Is that your way of saying I should enter?"
He'd chuckled. "Exactly that."
So, after a bit of grumbling and a lot of internal debating, Noura signed up.
***
The morning of the festival arrived in a burst of sunlight and birdsong. Noura stood in her small kitchen, staring at the carefully arranged ingredients laid out before her. She had decided to prepare nasi campur—a vibrant plate of rice served with a variety of flavorful sides—and es dawet, a refreshing iced dessert with pandan jelly, coconut milk, and palm sugar syrup.
Of course, she had to adjust the ingredients. There was no jasmine rice here, but she found a fragrant grain called lumira rice that worked just as well. Instead of palm sugar, she simmered a thick syrup from hira bark and honey. The pandan-like leaves, called zanthera, gave the jelly its familiar green hue and aroma.
While she prepared, the door creaked open. Elias stepped inside, hair dusted with wood shavings and sleeves rolled up. "I brought the ice you asked for," he said, holding up a cloth-wrapped bundle. "The cold cellar had just enough."
"Perfect timing," Noura replied. "I'm about to start assembling the jelly."
Together, they worked in a kind of natural rhythm. Elias helped roll the meat skewers and fan the small fire for grilling, while Noura seasoned and stirred. Every now and then, their arms brushed, or they reached for the same bowl at the same time. Neither said anything about it, but the silences between their words were beginning to feel heavier, more charged.
***
By mid-afternoon, the festival grounds were alive. Villagers dressed in vibrant colors gathered in the central square, where rows of lanterns swayed above and musicians played cheerful tunes. Booths were set up around the perimeter, offering games, crafts, and snacks. In the center stood the stage for the cooking competition—five stalls, each equipped with basic tools and open flames.
Noura wheeled her ingredients to her station. Beside her, the other competitors were busy prepping: Aunt Miri, known for her pickled root stew; Garen the butcher, slicing cured meats with intimidating precision; and two others whose eyes sparkled with competitive fire.
"You got this," Elias said from behind her. He had taken up the task of guiding children to finish and hang their handmade lanterns. He leaned down slightly, his voice low. "I'll be watching."
That made her heart flutter.
***
The competition began with the clang of a ceremonial bell.
Noura moved with swift confidence. She spooned rice into bowls, layering it with slices of lemongrass-marinated grilled chicken, stir-fried vegetables with ginsara spice, sambal made from firefruit and acairis oil, and a soft-boiled egg with a glossy, golden yolk. On the side, she added crispy tempeh—well, the local equivalent, made from a fermented legume called marlun.
The air was thick with aromas. The crowd leaned in to watch, murmuring their curiosity as her dishes took shape. When it came time to serve dessert, she carefully ladled the bright green dawet noodles into wooden cups, added the sweet syrup, poured in chilled coconut milk, and topped them with shavings of ice from Elias's bundle.
Judges made their rounds, tasting, nodding, taking notes. The head of the village, two respected elders, and the town herbalist whispered amongst themselves after sampling Noura's plate.
She stepped back, exhaling. Her hands trembled just slightly.
From the crowd, Elias gave her a thumbs-up and mouthed, You did amazing.
After an hour of deliberation, the results were announced. The entire village quieted as the chief stepped forward.
"In third place, for a delightful twist on smoked root stew—Aunt Miri!"
Cheers erupted. Miri waved, beaming.
"In second place, with perfectly balanced spice and richness—Garen the butcher!"
More applause.
"And finally," the chief paused, then grinned, "for a feast that brought flavors no one expected, and a dessert that cooled both body and spirit—our champion is… Noura!"
The crowd burst into cheers.
Noura stood frozen for a moment, stunned. Then Elias was at her side, gently nudging her forward. She laughed, still a little dazed, and bowed to accept the small trophy—a carved wooden spoon engraved with the festival's sigil.
***
The evening waned into twilight. As the sun dipped below the treetops, the lanterns were lit—hundreds of them, bobbing gently on strings or prepared for release into the sky. Children ran barefoot across the grass, pointing up with glee.
Music played. Couples danced. The smell of grilled meat and sweetbread lingered in the air.
Noura stepped away from the bustle for a moment, holding two cups of es dawet. She spotted Elias near the lantern release area, crouching to help a child tie a string.
"Elias!" she called.
He looked up and smiled, waving her over.
They found a quiet spot beneath a lantern tree, where the warm glow painted their faces in gold.
"You were incredible," Elias said, accepting the drink. "I knew you'd win."
"Thank you," she said, suddenly aware of how close they were sitting. "But I couldn't have done it without you. Seriously—helping me prep, getting ice, making sure I didn't burn the chicken…"
"I did stir the sambal once," he added with mock pride.
She laughed, the sound light and natural. "That was very brave of you."
They sat in silence for a moment, sipping their dessert. The sweetness of the dawet balanced with the coolness of the ice, a perfect contrast to the heat of the day.
A lantern floated overhead, trailing soft sparks into the air.
"It's strange," Elias murmured. "I've always loved this festival. But tonight… it feels different."
"Different how?"
"Like… everything's clearer. The lights, the music, you…" He stopped himself, cheeks coloring slightly. "Sorry. That was—"
"No," Noura said, her voice barely a whisper. "I feel it too."
Their eyes met. Not a single word of love was spoken, and yet it hung between them, unmistakable. The kind of feeling that didn't need to be said to be known.
Another lantern floated by, casting its reflection in Noura's eyes. Elias reached out, hesitating just before their hands touched. She didn't pull away.
"I don't know what this is yet," he said quietly, "but I want to find out—with you."
She smiled, heart thudding. "Then let's take our time."
***
The festival continued around them, but in that small, glowing corner of the world, time slowed. They talked about silly things—the child who'd painted a dragon on his lantern, the couple who mistook the sambal for jam, the elder who'd gone back for a third serving of nasi campur.
The laughter came easy, the silences comfortable.
When the final lanterns rose into the sky, the village gathered to watch. A collective gasp escaped the crowd as hundreds of tiny lights lifted into the night, like stars reborn.
Noura and Elias stood side by side. He glanced at her, and without thinking, she slipped her hand into his.
Still, no declarations. No confessions.
Just the quiet certainty of something growing—bright and steady as the lanterns overhead.
READ MORE CHAPTER ON PATREON: https://www.patreon.com/collection/1469860