Kairo's heart fluttered in anticipation as he stepped into the bustling restaurant. It was the grand opening of Épicurienne, a new fine dining spot in the heart of the city. The soft hum of conversations blended with the clinking of silverware, and the air was thick with the scent of fresh herbs and spices. Yet, despite the cacophony of sensory delights, Kairo felt a familiar tug in his chest.
He couldn't taste food the way others could.
It wasn't that he didn't love food—quite the opposite. He had spent years developing a reputation as one of the most renowned food critics in the country, known for his delicate, poetic descriptions of dishes that were always praised for their depth. The only problem was that Kairo couldn't truly taste food. His senses had been dull since childhood, and while he could distinguish textures and aromas, the actual taste—sweet, salty, sour—eluded him.
But Kairo didn't let it stop him. His reviews were never about his personal experiences with the dishes; instead, he focused on the stories of the chefs, the artistry, the craftsmanship. In his world, food wasn't just about flavor—it was about the love, the passion, and the soul behind each plate.
Tonight, however, there was something different in the air. Perhaps it was the extravagant nature of the event, or perhaps it was the quiet buzz of excitement that surrounded him. Tonight, Kairo was about to meet someone who might change everything.
"Mr. Kairo," a voice said, breaking him from his thoughts. A young woman in a sleek black dress smiled warmly, extending her hand. "Welcome to Épicurienne. I'm Clara, the manager. It's an honor to have you here."
"Thank you," Kairo said softly, returning her smile with a gentle nod. "It's a beautiful space you have here."
Clara led him to his table, where a small, perfectly folded napkin sat on top of a gleaming silver plate. The meal would be a tasting menu—a series of courses that would unfold in front of him, one bite at a time. Kairo already knew that he wouldn't be able to experience the full depth of the flavors, but that didn't matter. He would still find the stories, the heart behind each dish.
As he settled into his seat, his eyes caught a figure across the room—a man sitting at a dimly lit table near the far corner of the restaurant. He looked out of place in the sea of brightly dressed patrons. His dark, almost black hair was pushed back lazily, his face partially obscured by a book he was reading. The man wore a look of quiet disdain, his sharp features carved with an intensity that made Kairo pause.
Who was that?
"Excuse me, Mr. Kairo," Clara said, her voice drawing him back into the present. "Your first course is ready."
Kairo turned his attention back to the waiter who had arrived with a delicate plate in hand. The dish was an intricate masterpiece—small, vibrant vegetables arranged in an artful pattern, a dusting of herbs scattered over the top. It was beautiful, of course, and Kairo could already tell that it had been prepared with a level of care that only the best chefs could achieve.
But as the dish was placed before him, Kairo's gaze wandered back to the mysterious man. He hadn't noticed before, but there was something striking about his presence. The cold, aloof air surrounding him seemed almost... protective, as if he didn't want to be seen, but couldn't help but be noticed.
Kairo's curiosity piqued, but he quickly refocused on the meal in front of him, lifting his fork and taking a bite. The textures were exquisite—crisp, tender, delicate. It was everything Kairo expected, yet there was an emptiness to it. The flavor, the richness, the layers... none of it reached him the way it should.
Still, Kairo's expression didn't falter. He smiled softly to himself, closing his eyes as he savored the moment. He wouldn't let the limitations of his senses stop him from appreciating the artistry behind the food. That was what mattered.
But then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—movement. The man, who had been reading his book, had set it down and was now looking directly at him. Kairo's heart skipped a beat.
The man's cold gaze locked with his.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The rest of the room faded into the background, and Kairo was completely aware of nothing but the silent intensity between them. Then, as if realizing that he had been staring, the man's eyes flickered away, and he returned to his book.
Kairo blinked, the spell broken. He returned to his food, but his thoughts lingered on that brief, fleeting connection. Who was he?
A strange flutter of excitement stirred in his chest. This evening had barely begun, but Kairo could already tell that it wouldn't be an ordinary night.