The Little Cup of Tea

 

Every evening at 5 p.m., Mrs. Ali would sit by her window with a small cup of chai and two biscuits. She lived alone in a cozy little house at the end of Rose Lane, where the air always smelled faintly of jasmine and old books.

One rainy Thursday, a knock came at her door. It was Zara, the curious 7-year-old who had just moved into the neighborhood with her parents.

“I smelled your tea,” Zara said, “and it smelled like my dadi’s. Can I sit with you?”

Surprised but smiling, Mrs. Ali welcomed her in. They shared tea and biscuits — Zara with warm milk instead of chai — and talked about everything from kittens to the stars. From that day on, every Thursday became their tea day.

As weeks turned to months, Mrs. Ali found her heart growing lighter. Zara brought stories, laughter, and sometimes messy drawings that she insisted were masterpieces. In return, Mrs. Ali taught her how to knit, make perfect round parathas, and even how to whistle.

Years later, long after Zara had grown up and moved away, she returned one evening to Rose Lane — with her own daughter in hand — and knocked on the same door.

“I hope you still make tea at 5,” she said.

Mrs. Ali, now slower but still smiling, replied, “Only if you bring the biscuits.”

And so, a new little girl sat by the window, learning the magic of warm tea, sweet stories, and the kind of friendship that tastes just like home.