The wind outside howled, the falling snow buried the trees and grass under it. But beyond the velvety curtains of the one of the snow-covered ancient houses was warmth, the mood filled with laughter and warmth.

My cousin Zara and I stood in the kitchen of the warm ancient house, looking at a recipe book. It was a day of heartfelt conversations and tenderness. I was at a family gathering of my mother’s side of the family, where it was a tradition for the family to meet up a few days before the New Year, and for my aunt to make a traditional soup. But, as she was not feeling well and could not make it this time, we took matters in our own hands.

Waiting for the water to come at a boil, Zara and I came across a dilemma. We lacked an ingredient, a special type of seasoning. So we decided to switch it with something else. But being kids, we argued over what to put instead of the missing ingredient.

I moved my head in disagreement and shouted, “No, we are not putting that!”

Zara stomped her feet on the ground, balancing the tension and screamed back, “Well… we are not putting the ingredient you are saying either!”

As we continued to argue, I pushed her back and she fell back on the counter, knocking over the pot of hot simmering soup on her hand. Her screams of pain brought everyone into the kitchen.

My careless mistake weighed heavy over my consciousness. My heart sank as I saw tears stream down like raindrops on Zara’s face. I was ready for a major scolding from everyone. My grandma took Zara out to put some ointment on her hand.

Zara’s mother and my mother came to me, made me sit me on the chair with them and softly spoke to me about how it

was okay, and this had happened with them as Zara’s mother had once accidently burned my mother’s hand while making tea for the first time.

“These silly little mistakes teach us the great lessons in life!” Zara’s mother comforted me.

“And your lesson from this is to make up to people and learn to work together,” my mother added.

Feeling the remorse that was slowly overcoming me settle down, I was willing to make things right. With help from my mother and aunt, I started to make the soup again. When it came to the part of the recipe where I had to put something in place of the missing ingredient, I put in what my cousin had wanted. Slowly a savoury fragrance enveloped the house and nostalgia blossomed like a flower in the hearts of everyone in the house.

I poured the soup in large bowl and took it to the dining table where everyone awaited. I sat down next to my cousin and hugged her as aromatic scents filled the space between us.

I had learnt my lesson, no matter what mistake I make, I was going to face it with a passion to make things alright.