Copper Kettle Memories

The golden glow of the late afternoon sun slipped through the small, paned windows of Kacsakő Bisztró, casting soft shadows across the tables. The warm, rustic interior felt like a cozy embrace. The low hum of conversation mixed with the soft clinking of glasses and the gentle tapping of silverware on porcelain. The bistro’s scent was intoxicating—the smoky fragrance of roasted duck mingled with earthy notes of paprika, garlic, and fresh herbs. Anna’s stomach rumbled in response, but it was the comfort of the familiar that warmed her heart.

She looked around, taking in the atmosphere. Wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and simple floral curtains fluttered slightly in the breeze from the open windows. The lighting was low, creating an intimate ambiance. Each table was neatly set with small, white candles flickering gently, casting an almost dreamlike glow.

Anna spotted Zsófia immediately—she had always been able to find her, no matter the crowd. The years hadn’t changed that. The same easy smile tugged at Zsófia’s lips as their eyes met.

“Anna!” Zsófia’s voice was familiar, like a lullaby. She stood and embraced her, and in that moment, the years between them vanished. The hug was simple but full of so much—years of absence, unspoken words, and silent apologies. For a moment, Anna forgot the rest of the world.

“I’ve missed you,” Zsófia whispered, her words soft against Anna’s ear.

“Me too,” Anna responded, trying to hold back a lump in her throat.

They sat, and the waiter, a middle-aged man with a welcoming smile, quickly brought over the drinks. The smell of red wine filled the air as Zsófia poured a generous glass. It was a local variety, earthy and rich, with hints of berries that brought the warmth of the Hungarian countryside into the room.

“Remember the first time we had wine here?” Zsófia asked with a smile, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass.

Anna’s lips curled into a soft smile. “It was horrible, but we thought it was the best thing we’d ever tasted.”

Zsófia laughed, and it was like music. The sound danced in the air between them, mixing with the gentle crackling of the fire in the corner.

“It was definitely better than the coffee we used to get at that tiny place by the library.” Zsófia grinned.

Anna laughed too, her gaze softening. “We were so young, just figuring everything out.”

“I think we still are,” Zsófia mused. She reached across the table, her hand resting lightly over Anna’s. The gesture, simple but intentional, anchored Anna in the present.

As the waiter returned to take their meal orders, the light changed in the room. The late afternoon sun began to dip lower, casting a warm, amber glow through the windows. The smell of gulyás and roasted meats thickened in the air. Anna inhaled deeply, the rich aroma of paprika and slow-cooked beef pulling her back into a memory she hadn’t realized she missed so much—the countless afternoons spent here after long study sessions. The feeling of comfort, of safety.

When their food arrived, the steam from their plates rose in gentle spirals. Anna’s gulyás was deep red, the broth rich and comforting, flecked with fresh herbs and tender beef. The small, round dumplings nestled within the stew were perfectly soft, absorbing the flavors of the hearty broth. Zsófia’s duck was roasted to perfection, the skin golden and crispy, the meat tender and succulent. The scent of caramelized onions and thyme wafted from her plate.

The first bite was bliss. The food at Kacsakő Bisztró had always been simple but extraordinary. It wasn’t just about the flavors; it was about the memories that came rushing back with every mouthful. The soft crunch of the duck skin reminded Anna of the way Zsófia used to laugh at her love for crispy food. The gulyás, familiar and rich, wrapped around Anna’s senses like a warm hug.

“It’s perfect,” Anna said, savoring the warmth. “I’ve missed this so much.”

“I think I missed this more than I missed you,” Zsófia teased, and Anna felt a flicker of something between them—a shared history that still bound them together.

The sound of the plates being cleared felt distant, as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of them. The bistro buzzed with life, but in this small corner, it was just them—just two people who had once shared everything and were now rediscovering each other, one slow conversation at a time.

Their laughter mingled with the soft clinking of glasses, but at times, it was the silence between them that spoke the loudest. The way they both stopped and gazed at each other for a moment too long, the way their eyes spoke volumes without a single word being uttered.

At one point, Zsófia paused mid-sentence, studying Anna’s face. “You’ve changed,” she said quietly. “But in a good way.”

Anna looked back at her, her brow furrowing slightly. “I don’t feel like I’ve changed much.”

“No, you have,” Zsófia said softly, her hand brushing Anna’s. “But it’s like... you’re more yourself now. More grounded.”

Anna felt a small warmth spread through her chest. It was a strange, reassuring feeling to hear someone say that. It felt like she had spent so long trying to figure out who she was, but Zsófia, somehow, saw her clearly.

“I think we both are,” Anna said, her voice barely a whisper. “I think we just needed this—this moment. To remember who we were.”

Zsófia smiled, a small, knowing smile that reached her eyes. “And who we are now.”

It was then that Anna noticed the small copper kettle on the table, filled with herbal tea. It had been there since the beginning, but now it stood out to her, its polished surface glinting in the dim light. It was a symbol of their time here, of the countless cups of tea they’d shared during late-night talks. The kettle, simple and unassuming, was a reminder of their connection—a small but meaningful piece of the past that had always been a part of their relationship.

The tea wasn’t special—it was just tea—but in this moment, it felt like everything they had ever needed.

After they finished their meal, they lingered, not wanting to leave the comfort of each other’s presence. The candles on the table flickered as the light outside dimmed. The sounds of the restaurant had softened now, replaced by the quiet murmur of the evening. They both knew that this was the moment when everything had shifted, when the distance between them had finally closed.

As they stepped outside, the cool night air kissed their skin, but it was the warmth of the evening that stayed with them, like an invisible thread that tied them together once again. And though the streets of Szentendre were quiet, Anna and Zsófia knew their reunion was just the beginning of a new chapter.

As they walked along the cobblestone streets, a gentle breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees lining the streets, and they both paused, taking a deep breath of the cool air. They exchanged a look, and in that shared glance, there was an understanding—an unspoken promise.

“Next time,” Zsófia said, her voice soft but determined, “we don’t wait so long.”

Anna smiled, the weight of everything they’d shared lifting from her chest. “Next time,” she echoed, her heart light.

And with that, they parted ways, but the warmth of the evening lingered with them both. The reunion had been a turning point, a rediscovery not just of each other but of themselves.

For the first time in years, Anna felt like the past wasn’t something to be afraid of. It was something to embrace, a part of her that she could carry forward, alongside the new beginnings.