Chapter Six – After Hours
The academy kitchen was quieter at night, almost unrecognizable without the clatter of pans and Marco's booming voice. The fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead, casting long shadows across the tiled counters.
Amira set her notebook down with a sigh, flipping back to the page of ideas she and Daniel had scribbled earlier. They had survived Day One of the Duet Challenge, but surviving wasn't enough. If they wanted to win the showcase spot, their dish needed more than skill—it needed magic.
She wasn't expecting the door to swing open.
"Well, well. I thought I'd find you here."
Her head snapped up. Daniel leaned against the doorframe, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair slightly mussed like he'd just run his hands through it. He looked infuriatingly at ease, like midnight kitchen visits were his natural habitat.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, sharper than intended.
He smirked, sauntering closer. "Same as you. Making sure tomorrow doesn't blow up in our faces."
Amira huffed, looking back at her notes. "I don't need your help right now."
"That's funny," he said lightly, sliding onto the stool across from her. "Because last time I checked, this is a partnership. You don't get to pick the convenient hours for me to exist."
She bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to look at him. The truth was, part of her had expected him to come. Maybe even wanted him to.
Daniel reached for her notebook before she could stop him, flipping through the pages. His brows lifted. "You've got half a dozen variations of the same dish here. You're overthinking."
"I'm refining," she snapped, snatching the notebook back.
He leaned in, his voice dropping, softer now. "You're scared."
Her breath caught. "Excuse me?"
"You're scared of failing. Scared of me getting the credit. Scared that if we actually win, you won't know if it was because of you or… us."
The word hung in the air, heavier than it should have been.
Amira's pulse thundered in her ears. She wanted to deny it, to throw another sharp remark his way—but he wasn't wrong. And the way he was looking at her, like he saw straight through the walls she kept building, made it hard to breathe.
She turned away, busying herself with the ingredients laid out on the counter. "We should test the spice balance again."
Daniel didn't push. Instead, he moved beside her, close enough that his arm brushed hers as he reached for the pan. Together, they worked in silence—measuring, stirring, tasting. Their movements fell into that strange rhythm again, like two halves of a recipe that only worked when combined.
When she leaned in to taste the sauce, he was already there, holding the spoon steady for her. Their eyes met as the flavor bloomed on her tongue—rich, fiery, perfectly balanced.
"Well?" he asked quietly.
Amira swallowed hard. "It's… good."
He smiled then, not his usual cocky grin but something softer. Warmer. It unsettled her more than any smirk ever could.
The silence stretched, thick with unspoken things. Finally, Amira shoved the pan away, reaching for her notebook again. "We should write this down before we forget."
But her hands shook as she scribbled, betraying the storm she refused to admit to herself.
Because somewhere between rivalry and teamwork, something else had begun to simmer.
And if she wasn't careful, it was going to boil over.