The sun had just set, painting the sky in soft shades of pink and gold. The small kitchen of their home glowed warmly from the light of a single hanging bulb. The air was filled with the delicious aroma of simmering broth, freshly steamed rice, and the faint scent of grilled fish.
Lala had been looking forward to this evening all week. It wasn’t often that all three of them—her mom, her sister, and herself—could sit down together without distractions. Her sister had been busy with schoolwork, and Mom often came home late from work. But tonight was special. Mom had promised they would have a proper family dinner, and everyone had cleared their schedules.
“Lala, can you help me set the table?” Mom called from the stove.
“Coming!” Lala replied, hopping off the couch. She carefully took the plates from the cupboard, placing each one neatly on the table. The wooden table was small but full of warmth—its surface scratched and worn from years of family meals, laughter, and little spills.
Her sister, Soriya, entered the kitchen carrying a small bowl of pickled vegetables. “Mom made your favorite tonight, Lala,” she said with a knowing smile.
“Really? The sweet-and-sour fish soup?” Lala’s eyes sparkled.
Soriya laughed. “Of course! She even bought the fresh herbs you like.”
As Mom stirred the pot, the broth bubbled gently, releasing the fragrant steam that made everyone’s stomach growl. She turned off the stove and brought the soup over to the table, placing it in the center like a crown jewel.
“Alright, everyone,” Mom said with a content sigh, “let’s eat while it’s still hot.”
They all sat down, and for a moment, the room felt like it was holding its breath. This wasn’t just a meal—it was a gathering of hearts. The first ladle of soup went to Lala, the youngest. She took a sip and closed her eyes, savoring the rich flavor.
“Mmm… Mom, it’s perfect!” Lala said, her voice full of genuine joy.
Mom smiled, her tired eyes softening. “I’m glad you like it. Cooking for you girls makes me happy.”
Soriya passed the grilled fish to Lala, carefully picking out the bones. “Here, little sister. Eat more fish so you’ll grow tall and strong.”
“You sound like Mom,” Lala teased, giggling.
Mom chuckled. “That’s because she’s starting to take care of you like I do.”
They began eating in earnest, chopsticks clinking softly against bowls. The conversation flowed easily—stories about school, funny moments from Mom’s work, and even a little playful teasing. Lala told them how her teacher had praised her drawing in art class.
“That’s wonderful, Lala!” Soriya said. “Maybe one day you’ll be an artist.”
“Or a chef,” Mom added with a wink. “You do love food as much as I do.”
Lala grinned, feeling her cheeks warm with happiness.
Halfway through the meal, Mom brought out a surprise—a small plate of sweet sticky rice with coconut milk, Lala’s favorite dessert.
“Wow, dessert too?” Soriya exclaimed. “We’re really spoiled tonight.”
“It’s been a while since we had a night like this,” Mom said softly. “I wanted it to be special.”
They all savored the dessert slowly, the creamy sweetness blending perfectly with the warmth of the meal.
But what made the night truly unforgettable wasn’t just the food. It was the way they leaned toward each other when talking, the way laughter filled the small kitchen, and the way each of them felt completely seen and loved.
After dinner, instead of rushing to clean up, they stayed at the table, sipping tea and sharing stories from when Lala was little.
“Do you remember,” Mom began with a nostalgic smile, “the time Lala tried to ‘help’ me cook by pouring an entire jar of sugar into the soup?”
Lala covered her face. “That was so embarrassing!”
Soriya laughed so hard she nearly spilled her tea. “I remember! We had to eat bread for dinner instead.”
“Hey, I was only five!” Lala said, pouting in mock offense.
They continued chatting, the minutes slipping by unnoticed. Eventually, Mom stood up to clear the table, but Soriya and Lala stopped her.
“Sit down, Mom,” Soriya insisted. “You cooked, so we’ll clean.”
“That’s right,” Lala agreed, already stacking the plates.
Mom hesitated, then smiled and sat back down, watching her daughters work together. There was a quiet pride in her eyes—a pride that came from seeing her children care for each other.
When the dishes were done and the kitchen was tidy, they all gathered in the living room. The night air was cool, and Mom brought out a soft blanket for them to share. Lala sat between Mom and Soriya, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.
As they chatted a little more, the sound of crickets outside mixed with their gentle laughter. Lala felt her eyelids growing heavy, but she didn’t want the night to end.
“Can we do this again next week?” she murmured sleepily.
“Of course,” Mom replied, kissing her forehead. “Family dinners are the best kind of magic.”
Soriya added, “We’ll make it our tradition.”
And in that moment, Lala knew it wasn’t just the food that made the dinner so warm and full of love—it was the way they cared for each other, the way they listened, and the way they shared not just a meal, but their hearts.
The dishes could be washed a thousand times, the food cooked in many different ways, but the feeling of sitting together—sharing warmth, laughter, and love—was something that would stay with Lala forever.
That night, when she finally drifted off to sleep, her dreams were sweet and her heart was full, knowing that no matter what happened in the world outside, there would always be a little kitchen, a worn wooden table, and two people who loved her more than anything.
