James took another bite, savoring the rich, smoky flavor. He let out a quiet hum of approval before glancing at Aria.
"This is incredible," he admitted, offering her a nod of appreciation. "I don't think I've ever had fish this good before."
Aria smirked slightly, crossing her arms. "It's fresh, seasoned right, and cooked just enough—not exactly difficult."
James chuckled. "Maybe not for you. But trust me, I've seen people butcher something as simple as boiling water."
Aria laughed lightly, shaking her head. "Well, at least you have good taste."
James grinned, taking another bite. Between the warmth of the meal and the quiet comfort of conversation, he felt his energy slowly returning.
James glanced at Aria as he took another bite, genuinely impressed by the balance of flavors. "Where'd you learn to cook like this?"
Aria shrugged, leaning back slightly. "Grandfather taught me the basics, but most of it came from trial and error. When you live out here, you learn fast—otherwise, you're stuck eating bland food forever."
James smirked. "So you experimented until you got it right?"
She nodded. "Pretty much. Sometimes it worked out, sometimes it was a disaster. There was one time I tried using wild spices I found in the forest."
James raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess—didn't go well?"
Aria groaned. "It was terrible. The fish tasted like burnt leaves, and Grandfather barely managed to swallow his portion without offending me."
James chuckled, picturing the scene. "Sounds like a memorable lesson."
She sighed dramatically. "Let's just say I triple-check everything now."
James smiled lightly, enjoying the casual conversation.
James asked, leaning back slightly. "Alright, since you've clearly had some memorable failures, tell me another. What's the worst meal you ever made?"
Aria groaned, rubbing her temples as if the memory physically pained her. "Oh, that's easy. It was supposed to be a simple vegetable stew."
James raised an eyebrow. "Supposed to be?"
She sighed dramatically. "I may have mixed up two herbs that looked identical. One was meant to add flavor—the other was meant to be used in tiny amounts, unless you wanted your tongue to go completely numb."
James chuckled, already seeing where this was going. "So…?"
Aria crossed her arms. "So, we sat down to eat, and within minutes, Grandfather and I were staring at each other in silent horror, unable to feel our tongues or taste anything."
James laughed outright. "Let me guess—dinner was ruined?"
Aria huffed. "Worse. The effect lasted for hours. Everything we ate afterward tasted like nothing but disappointment."
James grinned, shaking his head. "That's incredible."
She sighed. "Let's just say I don't mix herbs without triple-checking now."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Was your grandfather mad about it?"
Aria groaned, rubbing her temples. "Not exactly. He just gave me that disappointed stare—you know, the one that makes you feel worse than actual yelling."
James smirked. "The legendary silent judgment?"
Aria sighed. "Oh, it was intense. He didn't say a single word. Just got up, grabbed another bowl, and started eating like nothing had happened. Meanwhile, I was panicking, thinking I'd accidentally poisoned us."
James laughed. "So, he just suffered in silence?"
She nodded. "For hours. Didn't complain, didn't scold me—just accepted his fate until the effect wore off."
James grinned, shaking his head. "That takes some patience."
Aria huffed. "Yeah, well, I haven't messed up that badly since."
James grinned, leaning forward slightly. "So, did you ever get revenge on him for the silent judgment?"
Aria smirked, crossing her arms. "I wouldn't call it _revenge_ exactly… but let's just say I got even."
James raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
She chuckled, shifting slightly. "A few weeks after the great 'numb-tongue incident,' Grandfather kept teasing me about my failed stew. He thought it was funny."
James smirked. "To be fair, it _is_ funny."
Aria rolled her eyes. "Anyway. One morning, I made his tea like usual—but this time, I added just a little too much honey."
James blinked. "That… doesn't sound _too_ bad."
Aria grinned. "Oh, it wasn't. Except, I acted completely normal, like nothing was wrong. He took a sip, frowned, took another sip—and then spent the next five minutes trying to figure out why his tea tasted like pure sugar."
James laughed. "So, you made it impossible for him to complain without admitting defeat."
She nodded proudly. "Exactly. He suffered in silence, just like I did."
James shook his head, still grinning. "You're ruthless."
Aria shrugged. "He started it."
As their conversation stretched into the evening, the warm glow of the setting sun cast long shadows across the hut. James hadn't realized how much time had passed—how easily their stories had flowed, weaving into laughter, shared memories, and teasing remarks.
Eventually, Aria stood, brushing off her dress before reaching for a candle. She struck a match, the flame flickering to life, and carefully lit the wick, setting the candle beside his bed. The soft glow illuminated the space, creating a quiet warmth against the encroaching night.
"I should get dinner started," she said, her voice softer now. "I'll be back soon."
James watched as she moved toward the door, slipping outside into the dimming light.
Left alone, he exhaled, eyes lingering on the candle's gentle flicker. The warmth of the day lingered in his mind—Aria's laughter, the teasing exchange, the small but meaningful moments.
As the evening deepened, the soft glow of the candle flickered in the hut, casting gentle shadows along the walls. The comforting aroma of vegetable soup drifted in just as Aria stepped inside, carrying a wooden bowl filled with the warm, hearty meal.
She sat beside James, handing him the bowl without a word. As he ate, the conversation picked up again, flowing easily between them. They spoke about small things—memories, observations, thoughts about the forest and the quiet simplicity of life here.
Eventually, the bowl was empty, and Aria took it from him, standing with a quiet stretch.
"You should get some rest," she murmured, glancing at the candlelight. "I'll see you in the morning."
With that, she stepped away, disappearing into the other room to settle in for the night.
Now alone, James let out a slow breath, staring at the soft flicker of the flame. The warmth of the meal and conversation lingered, easing him into the quiet lull of sleep.
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