°•~Happy Reading~•°

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Sari sat at her tiny kitchen table, the smell of garlic and olive oil wafting through the air. Outside, the evening sky was fading into twilight, casting a soft glow over the bustling street of Yogyakarta. The sounds of motorcycles, chatter, and distant gongs from a nearby temple drifted into the apartment, but inside, there was only the quiet hum of her old fan and the rhythmic stir of pasta boiling in a pot.

It was a Thursday evening, and though the world seemed to be moving fast outside, Sari had nowhere to be. She was done with work for the day, and it felt like the perfect moment to indulge in something simple, something that reminded her of home.

She lifted the lid of the pot, watching as the spaghetti swirled around. She had learned to make pasta during her brief stay in Italy a few years ago, and though she could never quite replicate the magic of those meals, she had come to cherish this quiet ritual. The joy of a plate of pasta wasn't just in the taste—it was in the act of cooking, the comfort it brought, and the memories it stirred.

As the pasta cooked, Sari chopped fresh tomatoes and basil, throwing them into a sizzling pan with a bit of chili for heat. She smiled, knowing that the spicy kick was her little twist. The savory scent filled the apartment, wrapping around her like a warm embrace.

She stirred the sauce gently, adding a dash of salt and pepper. The sauce clung to the tomatoes, turning a rich red as it simmered, and Sari's mind wandered back to her childhood. Growing up in a small village in Central Java, her mother had always made dinner from scratch, whether it was nasi goreng, rendang, or gado-gado. But her mother, with all her cooking expertise, had never attempted pasta. That was something Sari had discovered on her own, in a small Italian café that she had visited during her backpacking trip.

Now, as she stirred the sauce, Sari realized how much she had changed in those years. From the village girl who had never seen beyond her neighborhood to the independent woman who now lived in this city, cooking her version of the world she had encountered.

The noodles were done. She drained them and poured the sauce over, mixing everything with a final sprinkle of grated Parmesan cheese.

Sari sat down to eat, taking a bite of the pasta and savoring the simple, perfect taste. For just a moment, the world outside faded away. It wasn't the best pasta she'd ever had, but in this moment, it was enough.

She smiled. Sometimes, a bowl of comfort was all you needed to feel at home.

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••°°THE END°°••