The apartment was quiet.
Not silent.
Comfortable.
The kind of quiet that only existed when two people shared a home.
The evening sunlight filtered through the curtains.
Warm orange light painted the kitchen.
Haruto sat at the table.
Watching.
Waiting.
And trying not to laugh.
Sakura stood in front of the stove.
Determined.
Focused.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Today's mission was simple.
At least in theory.
Cook dinner.
Unfortunately, reality had other plans.
Sakura stared into the pot.
Then at the recipe.
Then back into the pot.
Then added another spoonful of salt.
Haruto slowly lowered the book he was pretending to read.
"...Sakura."
"Mm?"
"How much salt have you used?"
She paused.
Thinking.
Never a good sign.
"...not that much."
Haruto immediately knew the situation was critical.
"Define 'not that much.'"
Sakura glanced away.
The universal sign of guilt.
"Maybe..."
The woman coughed.
"...a little."
"How little?"
"..."
"Sakura."
"...three."
Haruto blinked.
"Three what?"
"...spoons."
Silence.
The kitchen suddenly felt very important.
Haruto stood.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like approaching a dangerous animal.
Then looked into the pot.
His soul briefly left his body.
"...Sakura."
"Yes?"
"That's enough soup for four people."
"Yes."
"You used three spoons of salt."
"...yes."
Haruto looked toward the ceiling.
Searching for strength.
Or divine intervention.
Whichever arrived first.
Neither did.
Sakura nervously poked the soup.
"It'll be fine."
The confidence in her voice was admirable.
The evidence was less convincing.
Thirty minutes later—
they sat across from each other.
Dinner had arrived.
The soup looked normal.
Smelled normal.
Behaved normally.
Which somehow felt suspicious.
Haruto lifted the spoon.
Sakura watched him.
Very carefully.
Far too carefully.
The trap was obvious.
The question was whether he could survive it.
He took a sip.
Then immediately understood.
The ocean.
The entire ocean.
Every drop of seawater on Earth.
Had somehow entered this bowl.
Haruto felt his blood pressure increase.
His ancestors probably tasted it too.
Somewhere.
Somehow.
Across time itself.
Sakura smiled nervously.
"...well?"
Haruto looked at her.
Then at the soup.
Then at her again.
The woman clearly knew.
She absolutely knew.
Yet she was still hoping.
That made it harder.
Much harder.
"It's..."
Haruto searched desperately for words.
Any words.
Preferably alive ones.
"...warm."
Sakura narrowed her eyes.
"Haruto."
"It's definitely soup."
"Haruto."
"It's very memorable."
"Haruto."
He sighed.
Then laughed.
A real laugh.
The kind he couldn't stop.
Sakura stared.
Then covered her face.
"...it's bad, isn't it?"
"Very."
She groaned.
The sound echoed through the apartment.
Then she grabbed her spoon.
Tasted the soup.
And immediately choked.
"WHAT IS THIS?!"
Haruto nearly fell out of his chair laughing.
Sakura looked horrified.
"WHY IS IT SO SALTY?"
"You made it!"
"I FOLLOWED THE RECIPE!"
Haruto picked up the recipe.
Read it.
Then pointed.
"Sakura."
"What?"
"This says teaspoons."
The room became silent.
Sakura slowly looked down.
Then back up.
Then down again.
Realization struck.
Hard.
"...oh."
A pause.
"...oh no."
Haruto laughed harder.
The woman threw a napkin at him.
It missed completely.
Eventually they ended up eating convenience store food instead.
The failed soup remained on the counter.
A monument to overconfidence.
Night settled outside.
The city lights flickered beyond the window.
And somehow—
the ruined dinner became one of those memories.
The small ones.
The meaningless ones.
The precious ones.
The kind people never realized they would miss.
Sakura rested her head against his shoulder.
Quiet.
Comfortable.
Happy.
"Next time I'll do better."
Haruto smiled.
"I know."
"You're not allowed to laugh."
"No promises."
Sakura pinched his arm.
Hard.
The apartment filled with laughter.
He wished moments like this would last forever.