The Perfect Bowl

The Perfect Bowl

Mei and Li had been married for twenty years. Their days were filled with routine, their words predictable, their arguments worn thin. One morning, Mei found Li sitting by the river, holding a small, misshapen clay bowl.

“I was thinking,” he said, as she sat beside him. “This bowl isn’t perfect. It wobbles, and the edges are rough. But somehow, it fits just right in my hands. Maybe it’s beautiful because of its flaws.”

Mei looked at the bowl, then at Li, seeing him with new eyes. Their lives, their love, wasn’t perfect either, but maybe that’s what gave it warmth.

She reached out, placing her hand over his. They sat in silence, watching the river flow, realizing that sometimes, what they already had was exactly enough.