The next morning, the sun finally returned after three days of rain, casting a soft golden light into the kitchen as Ryo arrived early. He was determined. Miyu's words still echoed in his mind like a challenge wrapped in quiet sincerity.
"When you figure out what you're really feeling, cooking will get easier."
He had always thought of cooking as skill, discipline, and technique. But now, he began to realize it was also about vulnerability—about putting a part of yourself onto the plate. That was new territory.
He prepped in silence, letting his senses guide him. This time, he didn't follow a recipe. He thought of warmth, of hesitation, of someone who hid everything behind a cool stare but still stayed just long enough to show she cared. He thought of her.
The broth he simmered wasn't just flavored—it told a story. The garlic was roasted gently to bring out its sweetness, not its sting. The herbs weren't sharp, but mellow and comforting. The noodles were handmade, uneven, imperfect—like feelings that refused to be fully understood.
As the pot began to bubble, the door opened.
Miyu walked in, earlier than usual. Her hair slightly damp, probably from walking under the dripping eaves. She glanced at Ryo but said nothing.
He offered her a quiet nod. "Hungry?"
She raised an eyebrow. "What's the catch?"
"No catch," Ryo replied, ladling the soup into a small bowl. "But this… this is what I've been trying to make. Want to be my first critic?"
She looked at the bowl warily, then walked over, took a seat, and slowly picked up the spoon.
She tasted it.
A long pause followed.
"…It's good," she said simply.
Ryo tried not to smile. "Just good?"
She set the spoon down. "It's honest."
That word. Honest. The same one she had used to describe him.
Their eyes met for a brief second before Miyu stood up, brushing off her skirt. "Don't let it go to your head. I'm still not impressed by you."
"Yeah," Ryo said, his grin escaping now, "but you finished the whole bowl."
She rolled her eyes and turned away, but he noticed—her steps as she walked out were lighter.
Ryo looked back at the pot, steam rising like a quiet applause. For the first time, he felt like he wasn't just cooking to prove something.
He was cooking for someone.