Rifah Tashfia

The cream colored bowl held the steaming, almost translucent yellow broth with traces of white, garnished by an array of green onions slashed in an angle.

"What was their idea of fun?"

There was a letter from Yana’s grandmother on her nightstand. Which was weird, because just ten minutes ago, she and her parents stood on their porch as her grandmother drove away. Why would she leave a letter? Picking it up, Yana turned it over to see her name scribbled on top. Inside, with neat handwriting:

Zainab took the cup in her hands and flinched when the heat burned into her fingers. She brought it to her lips, tasting the flavour.

This review does not contain any spoilers.