Location: Anamarija's home, Slovenia
Saturday
Even before I fully woke up, I could smell it—rich, warm, almost overwhelming aromas drifting lazily through the air, wrapping around my senses in a way that felt both comforting and impossible to ignore, a mixture of something baked, something savory, something sweet, all blending together into a scent so full and alive that it felt like the morning itself had already begun without us, like the house had been awake long before we ever opened our eyes.
Chak's arms tightened around me as if on instinct, pulling me closer against the steady warmth of his chest, his presence grounding, familiar, and his voice—low, rough with sleep—brushed softly against my ear.
"What smells so good?" he murmured, his words slow, still caught somewhere between dreams and reality.
"I don't know," I whispered back, my voice quiet, almost reluctant to disturb the moment.
I shifted slightly in his arms, just enough to turn toward him, my fingers moving without thought as they slipped gently into his hair, brushing through the soft, slightly messy strands, and for a moment I simply looked at him—really looked at him—the way his lashes rested against his skin, the way his expression softened in sleep in a way he never allowed when he was fully awake, the way he seemed… unguarded.
It was rare.
And it made something in my chest tighten.
Leaning in, I pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering just for a second.
"Good morning," I murmured.
"Morning," he replied, his lips curving faintly as he pulled me closer again, returning the gesture with a slow, warm kiss of his own, one that made it even harder to leave the bed.
"We should go see what smells like that," I added quietly, though I made no real effort to move.
Reluctantly—far too reluctantly—we untangled ourselves from each other and from the warmth of the blankets, the air immediately feeling cooler without him beside me, and we dressed slowly, still caught in that soft, hazy space between sleep and waking, neither of us quite ready to let the moment end.
When we finally made our way downstairs, Chak turned toward the bathroom, while I followed the pull of those scents that had only grown stronger, leading me straight into the kitchen.
The moment I stepped inside, the heat wrapped around me like a wave, thick and alive, almost overwhelming.
It felt like stepping into a sauna.
The kitchen was full—completely alive—with pots of every size covering the stove, steam rising into the air, something baking in the oven, ingredients spread across every available surface, movement constant and purposeful.
"Good morning," I greeted, my voice soft but filled with quiet amazement.
"Good morning," Anamarija replied warmly, her mother echoing the greeting with the same gentle kindness.
"What are you making?" I asked, unable to hide my curiosity as my eyes moved across everything.
"For Easter," Anamarija said simply, as if it explained everything.
"Come closer," she added, gesturing me toward her.
I stepped beside her, watching as she pointed things out one by one, her voice calm, steady.
"In this pot, we're cooking ham. In the oven, there's bread. Here—this is potica, it's rising before baking. This is vegetables for French salad. And over there—that's horseradish."
I followed every movement of her hand, trying to take it all in, every detail, every step.
"And here," she continued, pointing to two different pots, "are eggs—these are dyed with red cabbage, and these with onion skins."
I stared at them, fascinated by the deep, natural colors, so different from anything artificial, something about them feeling more… real.
At that moment, Chak walked in, his presence immediately grounding.
"Good morning," he said, stepping close beside me.
"Wow… you two have been busy," he added, clearly impressed.
"Thank you," Anamarija's mom replied with a soft laugh.
"Coffee?" she offered.
"With pleasure," Chak said without hesitation.
"Yes, please," I added, before slipping away briefly to get ready.
When I returned, Chak was already sitting at the table, coffee in hand, a small plate of cookies in front of him, completely at ease as if he belonged there, and I sat beside him quietly, observing everything around us—the movement, the rhythm, the way everything seemed chaotic yet perfectly under control, like something practiced and familiar.
Anamarija and her mom spoke in their language, their voices blending together in a melody I couldn't understand, yet somehow it still felt warm, welcoming.
Chak's arm slipped around me, pulling me slightly closer.
And just like that—
the moment settled.
Then the kitchen filled again—Malai, Kit, and Taeng entering, still half-asleep, their presence shifting the energy once more, followed shortly by Vikran, whose arrival seemed to complete the room.
Before anything could settle, Anamarija clapped her hands, sharp and decisive.
"Okay—everyone," she said firmly. "We're organizing this properly."
And just like that—
everything changed.
Roles were assigned, tasks given, movement beginning, each of us pulled into something shared.
Flour on hands, laughter between instructions, hesitation turning into confidence as we worked together, step by step, until we found ourselves gathered around the table, watching dough transform under Taeng's uncertain but determined hands, watching each other try, fail, adjust, and succeed in small, quiet ways.
When it was my turn, the weight of something so simple felt strangely heavy, my movements careful, almost too careful, aware of every eye even when no one said anything, the faint embarrassment warming my skin as I tried to spread the filling evenly, silently hoping it would be enough.
And it was.
Piece by piece, step by step, we created something together—rolled, shaped, brushed, finished—until two poticas rested side by side, imperfect but real, made by all of us.
And for a moment—
no one spoke.
Because it wasn't just about the food anymore.
It was about the way we stood there, together, sharing something simple, something quiet, something that felt… more.
---
Time moved forward in a blur of warmth and motion—washing hands, laughter echoing softly, Taeng hesitantly preparing the French salad under Anamarija's calm guidance, the bread coming out of the oven golden and perfect, the poticas taking their place inside, and Kit almost stealing the filling before being stopped just in time.
A basket appeared, filled slowly with everything we had made, and when Chak quietly announced that the meat was done, there was a brief moment—small, but real—when pride crossed his expression as Anamarija's mom praised him, and together they lifted it out, placing it into a large bowl as steam rose between them.
---
**Two hours later.**
Everything was ready.
The basket stood complete, filled with ham, bread, horseradish, eggs, and potica—every piece carrying a part of us.
"Once we come back, we'll eat," Anamarija's mom said gently.
And for once—
waiting didn't feel so hard.
---
**One hour later.**
When we returned and sat around the table, something had shifted.
The first bite said everything.
Warmth. Flavor. Comfort.
"This is better than any prestigious restaurant," Malai said without hesitation.
Chai simply nodded, too busy eating to speak, while Kit had already gone back for more.
And me—
I looked at Chak.
He looked at me.
And in that quiet moment—
we both smiled.
---
**The next day.**
It wasn't even nine when Anamarija woke us, her voice light but certain, calling us to breakfast before disappearing to wake the others, leaving behind a quiet that didn't last long.
Soon enough, the house came alive again, and when we stepped into the dining room, the table was already set—full, abundant, everything from the day before now arranged beautifully, ready to be shared.
For a moment, I just stood there, taking it all in.
Because it wasn't just food.
It was effort.
Tradition.
Care.
We sat.
Waited.
And when we were finally told we could eat, everything moved at once—laughter, conversation, hands reaching, flavors mixing, reactions immediate and honest.
Kit praising the meat, Chak quietly claiming it, Taeng proud of his salad, Malai declaring it better than any restaurant again, Chai nodding in agreement, Vikran silent but present in a way that spoke enough.
And somewhere in between—
Chak's hand found mine under the table.
A small gesture.
A quiet one.
But this time—
he didn't let go.
And neither did I.
Because in that moment, surrounded by warmth, laughter, and something that felt so unexpectedly real—
I realized—
this was more than just a morning.
More than just a meal.
It was something I would carry with me long after it ended.
The path slowly opened up as we walked, the trees thinning just enough for the light to spill through more freely, until the quiet sound of water reached us before we even saw it—soft at first, then clearer, steady, grounding.
And then—
the river.
It stretched out in front of us, calm but alive, the surface reflecting the pale sky above while the current moved beneath it, constant and unhurried, like time itself didn't matter here.
No one spoke at first.
We just… stopped.
Standing there, side by side, looking at it.
The air felt different near the water—cooler, fresher, carrying something clean that made you breathe a little deeper without even realizing it.
Malai crossed her arms loosely, her gaze fixed ahead.
Chai stood beside her, quiet as always, his attention fully on the slow movement of the river.
Taeng stepped a little closer to the edge, hands in his pockets, watching the water like he was trying to follow its path.
Kit, of course, stayed close to him.
Closer than before.
Vikran stood just behind Anamarija for a moment, his presence steady, almost protective, before his hand moved gently to her waist, pulling her back against him in one smooth, natural motion.
She didn't resist.
Didn't even hesitate.
If anything, she leaned into it slightly, her body relaxing as his arms settled around her.
It was quiet.
Simple.
But it said everything.
I felt Chak shift beside me.
When I turned slightly, he was already looking at me.
Not saying anything.
Just… looking.
The kind of look that didn't need words.
My heart slowed.
Or maybe it sped up—I wasn't sure.
All I knew was that everything else seemed to fade for a second.
The river.
The others.
The quiet sounds around us.
It all softened into the background.
Chak stepped closer.
One hand came up, resting lightly at my waist, pulling me just a little nearer.
Close enough that I could feel his breath.
I didn't move away.
Didn't want to.
And then—
he leaned in.
The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant, like he was giving me time to pull back if I wanted to.
I didn't.
My fingers curled slightly into his shirt as I leaned into him, closing the small distance that had never really been there to begin with.
Warm.
Familiar.
Real.
It wasn't rushed.
It didn't need to be.
For a moment—
it was just us.
---
Somewhere to the side, I heard a quiet laugh.
Kit.
Of course.
When I pulled back slightly, I glanced over just in time to see him lean toward Taeng again, completely unapologetic, like the world around them didn't exist.
"Kit—" Taeng started.
But he didn't finish.
Because Kit kissed him.
This time not quick.
Not teasing.
But real.
Taeng froze for half a second—
and then didn't pull away.
His hand came up almost instinctively, catching lightly at Kit's sleeve, like he needed something to hold onto.
And that was it.
No more complaints.
No more pretending.
Just… staying there.
Behind us, Vikran's hold around Anamarija tightened slightly, his chin resting briefly against her shoulder as they both looked out at the river, quiet, steady, like they belonged exactly where they were.
I turned back to Chak.
He was still close.
Still looking at me.
There was something softer in his expression now.
Something unguarded.
My hand found his without thinking, fingers slipping into his.
He squeezed gently.
And this time—
neither of us let go.
The river kept flowing.
The world kept moving.
But in that moment—
it felt like everything had slowed down just enough for us to stay there.
Together.
Exactly as we were.