I can smell the onions. They caramelize, they stick to the pan. I can hear her scraping. I can see the fresh bread.
“French onion soup”, she says.
How do I tell her? All I want is rice and my mother’s rasam.
I grinned a lot (and jumped a little) when I saw that this microstory was the editor’s pick! This is what Christine had to say:
With delicate, loving detail, Anusha sets up a scene full of warm, homey comfort – and then turns it on its head with five words: “How do I tell her?” There’s a longing in the last line that caught me completely unawares. It’s a nostalgia we’re all familiar with, coupled with an unwillingness to admit it lest we hurt someone. A simple story, beautifully crafted.