Bisi burned the rice again. It was the third time this week, and she laughed bitterly at herself. Cooking used to be her pride, but ever since the accident, her hands shook slightly. That evening, her younger brother visited unexpectedly. Without judgment, he joined her in the kitchen. Together, they cooked slowly, carefully, laughing at mistakes along the way. The meal wasn’t perfect, but it was warm and shared. As they ate, Bisi realized healing doesn’t happen all at once. Sometimes, it comes in small, imperfect steps.