For them, it was a special day.
Yet instead of going out or choosing something extravagant,
they decided to spend the evening in their usual room.
At the center of the table sat
a small clay stove, tiled in blue, white, and brown.
Its surface looked as if it held
the memories they had quietly pieced together over the years.
At the mouth of the stove,
a blue flame swayed gently.
Its light softened the air around them.
In the little pan,
olive oil, chopped garlic,
shrimp and mushrooms.
As the heat rose,
the scent of garlic lifted slowly,
and the two of them found themselves leaning closer.
“Ajillo for an anniversary… I kind of love that,”
she said with a smile.
He answered, a little shyly,
“It’s nothing flashy, but it’s what I like best.”
The flame is never in a hurry.
The oil isn’t either.
The fire moves at its own pace,
the clay keeps its warmth,
and together they begin to warm the time they share.
The oil starts to bubble,
the shrimp turn a soft red.
They tear off small pieces of bread
and dip them gently along the edge of the pan.
“It’s hot.”
“But it’s good.”
Those few words
were enough for an anniversary night.
The blue flame,
making their shadows sway,
continued its quiet blessing.
The mini stove was not just a tool for cooking.
It was a cultural device,
casting a gentle light on their special day.
That night, the ajillo was more than a dish.
It was a small flame by which
they confirmed they would keep sharing the fire,
again and again.