Friday Morning at Teta’s

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Story Title: “Friday Morning at Teta’s”

Every Friday morning, just after Fajr prayer, the air in Teta Samira’s house would fill with the rich aroma of freshly ground Arabic coffee and a hint of cardamom.

It was a ritual. Not just for her—but for the whole family.

By 9 a.m., her grandchildren would start to arrive—some sleepy, some already fighting over who gets the “big cup.”

But they all knew the rules:

“No coffee until you say what you’re grateful for.”

Teta believed coffee wasn’t just a drink. It was a pause.

A moment between the chaos of the week and the peace of Friday.

That particular Friday, her eldest grandson Omar—normally quiet—stood up with his cup in both hands.

His voice shook slightly.

“I’m grateful… that even when I feel like I’m falling apart, this place still makes me feel whole.”

The room went still.

Teta didn’t say anything. She just reached out, poured him a second cup, and gave him that look only grandmothers can give—half smile, half strength.

Later that day, Omar sat beside her in the kitchen and asked,

“Teta, why do you always pour the second cup without asking?”

She chuckled, “Because the first cup is for the body… but the second? That one’s for the heart.”

Moral:

Sometimes, the warmest places are not cafés or fireplaces—but familiar kitchens, quiet mornings، وكوب قهوة يوم الجمعة.