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He's standing there coughing while swatting his hands in the smoke, his eyes stinging, his figure slightly bent forward.
The kitchen light flickered behind him, casting long shadows across the smoke-filled room.
Lin Yue's heart dropped. "Oh no!" she gasped, dropping her bag with a heavy thud on the floor.
Without hesitation, she threw off her coat, rushing straight into the kitchen.
The pan on the stove was in flames, licking the air and sending oily smoke into the room.
The alarm hadn't gone off yet.
She grabbed her coat and threw it over the pan, smothering the fire with swift, practiced movements.
Then, she grabbed a jug of water from the countertop and splashed it over the smoldering surface.
Steam rose with a loud hiss, and within seconds, the fire was gone, replaced by a pungent smell of burnt oil and soaked fabric.
She turned back to the man, who was still rooted in place, blinking in confusion and shock.
His pale face was streaked with soot, lips parted slightly, coughing lightly.
She walked over quickly and grabbed his hands.
"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" she asked breathlessly, her heart still racing.
He nodded slowly, coughing lightly. "I… I'm okay."
"Come on," she said gently, leading him to the sofa.
He followed, clearly dazed.
She sat him down and handed him the half-full glass of water on the table. He took it gratefully, sipping in silence as his hands trembled slightly.
She finally asked, "What were you doing in the kitchen?"
His eyes, though confused, held a flicker of sincerity. "You're tired after work. I thought maybe I could cook something for you."
She blinked.
The thought was sweet… painfully sweet.
She hadn't expected that.
But her expression turned serious as she said, "Next time, don't go near the kitchen without me. You could've gotten hurt."
He nodded.
With a sigh, she stood up and walked back to the kitchen.
The acrid smell hit her immediately.
She looked at the blackened pan on the stove.
Her chest tightened.
Five hundred yuans.
She had saved for two months for that non-stick pan.
It was sleek and efficient, her favorite piece in the whole kitchen.
Now, it was ruined. Its bottom was charred beyond saving, the once-silver handle now a smoky gray.
She closed her eyes for a second, mourning her poor pan, then dramatically opened them with a soft groan.
She picked it up and walked over to the trash bin, gently placing it inside like she was burying a friend.
After cleaning up the mess—scrubbing the counter, wiping the stove, opening windows to air out the smoke—she pulled out her utensils and began prepping for dinner.
She takes the ingredients in the fridge and gets ready to prepare dinner .
Just as she was rinsing the vegetables in the sink, she sensed a presence behind her.
He stood there silently, tall and looming.
His shadow stretched over the counter, enveloping her in quiet stillness.
She turned her head slightly to find him observing her, his gaze serious and focused.
"Do you want to learn?" she asked softly, smiling.
He nodded. "I want to learn to do it properly… like you."
She gestured for him to come closer. "Alright. First things first—wash your hands."
He complied, and soon they stood side by side, her guiding him step by step.
"This is spring onion. You cut it like this."
He mirrored her movements, brows furrowed in concentration.
"That's too thick," she corrected, showing him the correct way.
"Ah, sorry," he muttered.
She laughed. "It's fine. You'll get the hang of it."
It took them about half an hour. She cooked the rice while he sautéed the vegetables under her close supervision.
Despite a few clumsy slips, he was a fast learner, surprisingly delicate with the wok.
When the food was ready, they carried the dishes together to the small dining table.
Lin Yue arranged the rice bowls while he set down the chopsticks and cups.
They ate in comfortable silence, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound between them.
Occasionally, he would glance at her, and she at him, but neither spoke.
When they finished, she cleared the table and washed the dishes while he sat quietly in the living room.
Later, when she returned to the living room, she found him staring into space, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly, sitting beside him.
He looked up at her, his brows furrowed in a mix of worry and resolve.
"I've been thinking," he said slowly. "If I can't cook… I'll work."
She blinked at him in shock. Her heart skipped.
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