By the middle of the second week, Julia had begun to find a rhythm in the kitchen. The first week had been chaos: rice cakes flying, sauces burning, noodles sticking together. Now, though, she approached each recipe with careful attention, her hands moving more confidently across the counter. The kitchen, once intimidating, was beginning to feel like her own domain—a place where she could control at least one part of her life.
Adeline watched her closely, chopping vegetables with a practiced ease. "You've improved," she said one morning as Julia stirred a pot of bulgogi sauce. "Still a bit heavy on the sugar, but that will come with practice."
Julia smiled, trying to hide her satisfaction. Praise was rare in her life—real praise, that didn't come from her father's expectations. Here, in this sunlit kitchen, she could be recognized for her efforts without fear of judgment.
"Thank you, Adeline," Julia said softly, stirring the sauce with a precise flick of her wrist. "I… I feel like I'm finally learning something for myself."
Adeline's eyes softened. "That's what cooking is. It's not just about feeding yourself or others. It teaches patience, focus, and respect for life. Every ingredient matters. Every motion matters. You can't rush it. You can't cheat it. And—most importantly—you can't rely on someone else to do it for you."
Julia's fingers tightened around the wooden spoon. Those words resonated deeply. For so long, she had relied on tutors, on her father's guidance, on expectations set by others. Now, even in something as simple as cooking, she was learning to trust herself. To make decisions. To face failure and keep moving forward.
---
Later that afternoon, the front door opened again, and Nephis appeared in the hallway, arms crossed and a sharp look on her face. Julia stiffened instantly, her memories of the first encounter rushing back. She assumed the worst: Nephis was here to observe, to judge, perhaps even to challenge her claim to Khalil's attention.
"Hello," Nephis said, her voice polite but cool, tinged with curiosity. "I'm Nephis. My mother mentioned you've been… learning to cook?"
"Yes," Julia said carefully, wiping her hands on her apron. "I've been practicing."
Nephis raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. You seem… determined."
Julia bristled slightly at the vague critique. Determined? Ambitious? Or proud? She had heard these words before from people who didn't understand her, who assumed that her confidence was arrogance. She forced herself to smile. "I'm learning."
Nephis tilted her head, studying her. "Well, I'll be around. If you need help… I suppose I could offer some tips. Not that I expect you'll need them."
Julia's stomach twisted. The words were not outright hostile, but the tone was sharp, teasing, almost predatory. She nodded politely. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."
As Nephis left, Julia exhaled slowly. She wasn't sure why she had immediately assumed the girl's presence was threatening. Maybe it was the lingering unease that Khalil's absence brought. Maybe it was the instinct to protect herself. Either way, she reminded herself to focus on what mattered: her cooking. Her freedom. Her own life.
---
The days passed in a steady rhythm. Morning light spilled into the kitchen as Julia chopped, stirred, and sautéed. Adeline introduced new recipes gradually, each one a small challenge that pushed Julia's skills further. Japchae was tricky—the noodles stuck together constantly, refusing to cooperate—but after several attempts, she had mastered the balance of flavor and texture. Kimchi pancakes required precision with batter consistency and pan heat, but she learned patience with each crispy golden flip.
Evenings were a mix of satisfaction and exhaustion. Julia would taste her dishes carefully, noting where she had succeeded and where she had failed. Some nights she would linger at the counter, staring at her own reflection in the glossy refrigerator door, realizing that for the first time, she was doing something entirely on her own. No one was dictating her moves. No one was judging her failures—except for herself, and even that judgment was tempered with growing pride.
---
One afternoon, as Julia attempted her first English dish—shepherd's pie—Nephis appeared again. This time, she didn't announce herself. Julia had been so focused on browning the minced meat that she jumped when a shadow fell across the counter.
"You really focus, don't you?" Nephis said lightly. "Not bad for a beginner."
Julia forced a smile, setting down her spoon. "Thank you. I'm… trying my best."
Nephis leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Adeline speaks highly of you. But tell me… is this for Khalil? Or for yourself?"
Julia froze. Her mind raced. Was she supposed to say anything? Should she lie? "For… myself," she said carefully, not wanting to reveal too much.
Nephis' eyes narrowed slightly, a faint smirk forming. "Interesting. For yourself. I'll be watching your progress."
Julia bit the inside of her cheek, unsure how to interpret that. The girl's tone was teasing, maybe even friendly, but there was a sharpness to it that kept Julia on edge.
---
As the week progressed, Julia began experimenting with her own tweaks to the recipes. She added her own touches to the sauces, adjusted seasoning according to taste, and even tried slight variations on textures. Adeline watched patiently, offering gentle corrections and occasional words of praise.
"You're learning to trust your own judgment," Adeline noted one morning, slicing vegetables with swift, precise movements. "That's the most important skill you can learn here. Not just cooking… but confidence."
Julia nodded, stirring the bubbling sauce in her pan. Confidence. That word lingered, warm and potent. She had learned to survive. She had learned to endure. And now, she was learning to create. Each dish was proof that she could shape her own life, one step at a time, without waiting for anyone else to give her permission.