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Chapter Three: The Friendship Feast
By Friday evening, Amara's apartment buzzed with noise. Tola had invited herself over again, dragging along Kunle and two other classmates Amara barely knew. "Group project meeting," Tola had announced, but Amara suspected it was just an excuse to escape the crowded library.
Amara eyed the four of them sprawled on her living room floor.
"You do realize I don't exactly have snacks for guests, right?"
Tola grinned. "Relax. You've got your magic five-ingredient skills. We believe in you."
Amara rolled her eyes, though her cheeks warmed at the teasing. She hadn't meant for her little cooking experiments to become a reputation. But now, all eyes were on her.
She opened the fridge again—half a bag of potatoes, two chicken thighs, an onion, a can of tomatoes, and some salt. Not much, but enough. She tied her hair back. "Fine. But don't expect miracles."
The room filled with the sound of chopping, sizzling, and bubbling. The others peeked into the kitchen between writing notes for the project. The smell of simmering stew soon drowned out the faint tension of deadlines.
"Are you serious?" Kunle said, peering over her shoulder. "That actually smells like… food food."
"It is food food," Amara shot back with a laugh.
By the time the pot was ready, she ladled steaming chicken stew over mashed potatoes, placing bowls in front of her guests. Their surprised faces melted into smiles after the first bite.
"This is amazing," one of the new classmates murmured.
"Definitely better than the cafeteria," another added.
Amara sat down with her own bowl, cheeks warm but heart swelling. For the first time since moving away, her tiny apartment didn't feel so lonely.
As they ate, the conversation flowed easier. Laughter bounced off the walls, and even the dreaded group project felt less impossible.
When the last bowl was scraped clean, Tola leaned back with a satisfied sigh.
"You know, Amara… I think you've just unlocked the secret to friendship. Feed people, and they'll never leave you."
Amara laughed, but later, when everyone had gone and the dishes were piled in the sink, she wrote in her notebook again:
Recipe Three: 5-Ingredient Chicken Stew.
This time, she underlined it three times. Not just survival. Not just comfort. But connection.
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🍴 Recipe: 5-Ingredient Chicken Stew
2 chicken thighs (or any cut)
3 medium potatoes
1 onion (chopped)
1 can of tomatoes (or 2 fresh)
Salt (to taste)
Instructions:
1. Peel and boil potatoes until soft, mash lightly with salt.
2. In a pot, sauté chopped onion until golden.
3. Add chicken, brown lightly.
4. Pour in tomatoes, simmer until chicken is cooked through.
5. Serve stew over mashed potatoes for a hearty, filling meal.
Simple ingredients, but when shared, they taste like home.
They lingered long after the bowls were empty, books forgotten in the corner. The small apartment, once too quiet for Amara's liking, now buzzed with warmth and laughter.
Kunle leaned back against the wall, patting his stomach. "If this is what project meetings are going to be like, I'm signing up for all of them."
"Seconded," one of the new classmates, Aisha, chimed in. She was usually quiet in lectures, but now her eyes sparkled. "Seriously, Amara… you didn't just cook, you transformed the vibe. This feels… like home."
The words hit Amara harder than expected. Home. She hadn't heard that word spoken in her apartment before. For weeks, this place had been nothing but walls and empty shelves. Now, it pulsed with something alive.
Tola noticed her thoughtful silence and nudged her. "What are you thinking about?"
Amara shook her head quickly, smiling. "Just… that maybe five ingredients are more powerful than I thought."
Kunle laughed. "Careful. Next thing you know, you'll be running a restaurant called The Five Ingredient Café."
They all laughed at the joke, but the idea planted itself quietly in Amara's mind. Not a restaurant, maybe, but something. Something that mattered.
As the night stretched on, the project work picked up again—though less grim now. They argued over theories, teased each other about mistakes, and even planned to meet again next week. Before leaving, Aisha slipped Amara a note with her number.
"Next time, I'll bring dessert," she said with a grin.
When the apartment was finally quiet again, Amara stood by the sink, scrubbing dishes with tired but steady hands. She caught her reflection in the window—messy hair, flour on her shirt, but a smile she hadn't seen in weeks.
She dried her hands and picked up her notebook. Under Recipe Three: Chicken Stew, she scribbled a small line beneath:
Food isn't just about feeding yourself. It's about feeding moments that last.
For the first time, Amara felt the beginning of something bigger than herself. And she couldn't wait to see where it would take her.
The last of the stew was gone, but no one seemed ready to leave. Their voices overlapped, laughter spilling into corners that had once been too quiet.
Amara poured water into mismatched cups—her only set—and handed them around. It wasn't soda or juice, but the others accepted it gratefully.
"Honestly," Tola said between sips, "I think this should be a weekly thing. Study, eat, survive exams together."
"I'm in," Kunle added quickly. "But only if Amara's cooking. I don't trust Tola's noodles after last semester."
The group burst out laughing, and even Tola joined in, shaking her head.
Aisha leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "You know, it's funny. I've sat in the same lecture hall as you all semester, but this is the first time I've really… felt like I belong here."
The words made Amara pause. She wasn't used to being the reason someone else felt included. She had always been the one watching from the edges, trying to blend in. Yet tonight, because of a handful of ingredients and a cheap pot of stew, people had gathered—and they had stayed.
Her chest warmed in a way no textbook ever had.
"Then we'll keep doing it," Amara said, surprising even herself. "Five ingredients, one meal, every week. Deal?"
"Deal," they chorused, raising their cups like a toast.
The moment felt small, almost silly, but Amara knew she would carry it with her. She scribbled it down in her notebook later that night, under Recipe Three: Chicken Stew—
It's never just about the food. It's about who shows up to share it.
She closed the book with a quiet smile. For the first time since starting university, the apartment didn't feel temporary. It felt like a place where something real could grow.
As the last guest slipped out the door, Amara leaned against the frame, listening to the fading sound of footsteps in the hallway. For a moment, the silence returned—but it was no longer heavy.
The room still carried echoes of laughter, the faint scent of stew, and the warmth of company. She glanced at the table, where empty bowls and scribbled project notes sat tangled together, as if food and friendship had blended into something inseparable.
Amara whispered to herself, almost like a promise:
"This is only the beginning."
She picked up her notebook, flipped to the recipe page, and underlined the words she had written earlier. Then she set the pen down, feeling lighter than she had in months.
The "Friendship Feast" had ended, but its flavor lingered—rich, comforting, and full of possibility.
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End of Chapter Three.
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