#yeetyeet

"Here you are!", she smiled looking at the shiny packet. She had brought a small family pack from her own world, and now, standing near the small campfire, she was determined to share it with the curious elves. She tore open the packet, the bright, colorful packaging catching the attention of Gildor and Glorfindel, who watched with keen interest. She worked quickly, her fingers moving nimbly as she prepared the ramen. She was accustomed to the routine—boiling water, adding noodles, adjusting the seasoning and then stirring the broth to perfection. She was aware of their gaze but pushed it aside, focusing on her task. She could hear bits of their language floating around her—words she couldn’t quite grasp, the melodies of their speech like soft music to her ears. But she could feel their curiosity.The elves crowded closer to her, intrigued by the foreign ingredients she had brought with her. They poked at the packaging, trying to understand it, but even the writing on it made no sense to them. To Mîr, it was comforting to see their fascination—it was a small step toward connection.

She turned to the pot, stirring the noodles as they swirled around in the steaming broth. The aroma of the spices began to fill the air. Gildor, sitting nearby, leaned forward slightly, sniffing the air in fascination.

“What… is this?” Gildor asked in his melodic tone, his eyes wide as he stared at the packet of ramen she had opened earlier. The brightly colored packaging stood out starkly against the earthy tones of their surroundings. He reached out a hand, his fingers brushing lightly against the plastic, as if trying to decipher what it was.

Mîr smiled, though she couldn’t find the right words to explain. She had tried a few phrases in their language already but none of them seemed to make sense. She motioned to the pot, then to herself, and mimed eating with a spoon. She hoped they would understand. Glorfindel, always observant, watched the exchange from the edge of the campfire. He came forward, his gaze was fixed on her with a mixture of intrigue and amusement.

As she ladled the finished ramen into bowls, she handed the first one to Gildor, who took it with a smile, though he still seemed unsure about the entire process. His delicate fingers held the bowl, and he sniffed the steam rising from it before taking a cautious sip. His face lit up with surprise, then slowly broke into a grin. “It… is good,” he said slowly, almost as if testing the words before they left his mouth. The other elves around the fire began to murmur. Their interest piqued as they watched Gildor’s reaction.

Mîr watched them intently, trying to gauge their reactions. She smiled quietly to herself. She was getting better at understanding their body language, but the words? They were still a mystery. She handed a bowl to Glorfindel, who raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar dish.

“I’m sure you’ll like it,” she said in her own language. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought..Glorfindel took a spoonful, his face unreadable for a moment. Then, to her surprise, he gave a small nod of approval and spoke a few words in the elven tongue that she couldn’t quite catch.

“You’re really good at this,” Mîr muttered under her breath, but she didn’t know if anyone had heard her. She was starting to feel a little more at ease as the elves continued to try her ramen. Gildor had begun to ask her about it but his questions were all in their language. It was as if they wanted to know where she came from, what she had done, and how she had learned to make such a dish.

By the end of the day, she began scribbling a few more words in her diary. She noted down the words they used for “good,” “delicious,” and “strange” in her journal, hoping she could make sense of them later.

“Ramen wins all,” Mîr said confidently, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. Her laughter grew louder, almost manic as she scribbled the words down with quick, frenzied movements. Suddenly, she heard a sharp intake of breath behind her. She turned her head and saw Glorfindel watching her intently. His usually composed demeanor wavered as his gaze met hers. He was surely judging her for her maniac laughter. She looked back at him, her laughter subsiding. Before he could say anything, she scrambled up and bolted into the tent nearby. Her heart raced, a mix of exhilaration and embarrassment bubbling up inside her. Through the thin tent fabric, she could still hear Glorfindel’s laughter bubbling out. She felt a flicker of something deeper than amusement—something like belonging. She would learn their language, earn their trust, and, in time, master this world just as she had mastered her ramen noodles.

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