Work Text:
Fareeha could never make tea properly. Always either burning the leaves or oversteeping the brew. She eventually gave up as a teenager and switched to instant coffee. For her mother, tea was a communion of sorts. A moment of peace and reflection in a world at war. She made it like painters made masterpieces.
So, when she feels the cup’s perfectly balanced warmth in her hand, feels the hints of sugar cane and mint filling her nostrils, that’s the moment at which it’s all real. Her mother is alive.
“Thank you…” she barely whispers to Ana before the tears come.