During the car ride, Nada threw herself onto the chair. Letting her straight blue black hair cascade over the shoulders of the coral dress she chose for the wedding. The lamppost lights reflecting in her eyes as the car passes by familiar places, familiar neighborhoods, a mini clip moves before her eyes.
The sweet smell of minted tea whiffs in her imagined scene, the fresh aroma of steeped tea with freshly picked mint from the back garden of the big house. Poured in small glass cups, decorated with delicate gold threads from home; a wedding gift from her grandfather to his bride. If those delicate cups of tea could speak, they would speak volumes, they would narrate a saga, of tears, blood, fragments, hope, love and death.
Nada loved those cups, she would hold them so delicately, scared of breaking any of them. She treated the cup as a delicate porcelain doll, tracing the curvy structure of the glass with her fingers. Closing her eyes, feeling the warmth of the glass seeping into her pores and slowly invade her limbs and body.
“Teta, teta tell me about the tea cups”. Nada would be all inquisitive about them, gazing at them, staring waiting for her grandma to narrate the story with the same zeal and glee for the fifth time this year.