Chapter Five – Flames of Rivalry
The kitchen buzzed with energy, louder than usual. Pots clanged, knives sliced, and the hum of voices swelled as Chef Marco announced the day's challenge. But this wasn't like any other lesson. The air was heavier, charged, as though everyone knew something big was about to happen.
Marco clapped his hands together, his voice carrying across the tiled walls. "Today is not just another practice. Today, we begin the Duet Challenge. Two chefs, one vision. The winning pair will represent this academy in the citywide culinary showcase next month. It is prestige. It is opportunity. It is everything."
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the students. Amira's heart lurched. The citywide showcase was legendary—scouts from top restaurants, critics, and investors all in one place. A golden ticket for anyone serious about making their mark.
Her excitement dimmed when Marco finished, "The pairs I announced this morning will remain the same throughout this challenge."
The words hit her like a bucket of ice water. She dared a sideways glance at Daniel. He was smirking, of course. Like he'd won a prize.
"This is a nightmare," she muttered.
"This," Daniel countered smoothly, leaning just close enough for only her to hear, "is destiny."
"Destiny doesn't roll its eyes this hard," she shot back, but her pulse betrayed her—racing, alive.
---
The room broke into action, partners huddling to brainstorm. Amira grabbed her notebook, flipping through recipe ideas. "We need something bold, something that stands out," she said, mostly to herself.
Daniel, infuriatingly calm, leaned against the counter like they had all the time in the world. "Bold, sure. But not pretentious. Something that screams confidence."
"You mean something that screams you," she replied dryly.
His grin widened. "Glad we're on the same page."
She exhaled through her nose, scribbling ideas. "Pasta's too safe. Risotto's overdone. We need balance—comfort with surprise."
Daniel's gaze lingered on her, sharper now, less teasing. "I agree. But the trick isn't the dish. It's how we execute it together. You can't cook like I don't exist."
The words unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. Because deep down, she knew he was right.
---
As they set up their station, Bianca's sharp voice carried over from two counters down. "Well, this should be interesting. Amira and Daniel, the academy's favorite soap opera. Can you two cook without tearing each other apart?"
Laughter rippled through the room. Amira's cheeks burned, but Daniel didn't flinch. Instead, he raised his voice, deliberately smooth. "Don't worry about us, Bianca. Worry about keeping your soufflé from collapsing this time."
A chorus of oooohs followed, and Bianca's glare could have sliced through steel.
Amira shot him a look. "Do you try to start wars?"
He winked. "Only when they're fun to win."
---
They began prepping—Amira chopping herbs with sharp precision, Daniel searing meat with practiced ease. At first, they moved like two strangers forced to share space, each trying not to bump into the other. But as minutes ticked by, something shifted.
Their rhythm started to align. She passed him ingredients before he asked. He adjusted the heat just as she reached for the pan. Their hands brushed again—accidental, maybe—but neither pulled back immediately this time.
The sauce bubbled, rich and fragrant. Amira leaned in, tasting carefully, her lips brushing the spoon. Daniel's gaze lingered on her mouth a beat too long before he caught himself.
"Well?" he asked, voice lower.
She swallowed, setting the spoon down. "It needs heat. Chili flakes."
He smirked. "I like it when you're bold."
Her cheeks flushed, but she shoved the jar toward him anyway. "Just add it."
---
By the time Marco circled back, their dish was nearly complete—seared lamb with a spiced herb crust, laid over creamy lemon risotto. The kind of plate that balanced their opposite energies: her discipline, his daring.
Marco inhaled deeply, eyes narrowing with interest. "Mmm. Impressive. Perhaps you two are not such enemies after all, no?"
Amira forced a tight smile. "We work fine."
Daniel, of course, leaned closer, murmuring just loud enough for her alone. "Fine is not the word I'd use."
Her pulse betrayed her again. And the worst part? She couldn't stop wondering what word he would use.
---
That night, as she packed up her knives, Layla came bouncing over. "Girl, do you realize what just happened? You and Daniel—"
"Don't start," Amira groaned.
"—cooked like you were made for each other," Layla finished with a knowing grin. "Everyone saw it."
Amira's protest died on her lips. Because the truth was, she'd felt it too. And that scared her more than anything.
Because working with Daniel wasn't just stirring the heat in the kitchen. It was stirring the heat inside her, too.
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