"Ma'am, please let us do it," the head maid said, her voice laced with concern.
They had been on my case relentlessly since I stepped foot into the kitchen. Every one of them, in their own way, begged me to step aside. Their pleas ranged from polite murmurs to frantic exclamations:
"Let me do this!"
"No, I'll handle that!"
"Please, ma'am, don't hurt yourself!"
I sighed, finally turning to face them with a firm expression.
"If any of you talk again," I said in a tone colder than usual, "that will be the end of your job here."
The silence that followed was immediate and deafening. I hadn't meant to scare them, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
I turned back to my task, my hands moving deftly through the ingredients laid out before me. The aroma of spices and freshly chopped vegetables filled the air, a testament to the effort I had poured into perfecting this meal.
Wheew, I thought to myself, my lips curling into a soft smile.
I marveled at the array of Chinese cuisine spread out before me. If I hadn't fallen in love with science, perhaps I would have pursued a career as a chef. Cooking filled me with a sense of accomplishment that was both grounding and exhilarating.
---
It was no secret that Chinese cuisine was his favorite. I practiced it secretly, pouring hours into learning the complex techniques and intricate flavors.
On the counter sat a plate of perfectly steamed meat-filled dumplings, their soft, translucent wrappers glistening under the kitchen light. Beside them was a bowl of my secret spiced-soy sauce, its aroma rich and enticing. The fried spiced trotters and pork ribs were arranged meticulously, their golden crusts shimmering.
For the centerpiece, my masterpiece: a fragrant, bubbling hotpot filled with fresh ingredients, each chosen with care. For dessert, I had made osmanthus wine cake, its delicate floral notes balanced perfectly by the sweetness. To complete the meal, I had also prepared Lingquin wine, his favorite.
"Matilda," I called out to the maid,
"Have the dishes arranged on the table."
After ensuring everything was perfect, I left the kitchen and headed back to the bedroom. I opened the door carefully, trying not to wake Zavid, but my efforts were in vain.
"Where were you?" he asked groggily, his voice heavy with sleep.
"Cooking," I replied softly, guilt creeping into my tone.
His eyes widened as he scrambled off the bed.
"Why were you cooking?" he growled, his hands reaching for mine.
"Because I wanted to," I admitted.
He held my hands tightly, his gaze dropping to the faint burns and cuts that marred my skin.
"You could have let the maids do it," he said, his voice softening. "If we keep going like this, we'll end up quarreling, and I don't want that to happen."
"I was cooking for you," I whispered, "your favorite Chinese dishes. But I guess you didn't like that, so I won't do it again."
Before he could respond, I turned and walked into the bathroom, leaving him standing there in silence.
-
Inside the bathroom, I leaned against the door, struggling to keep my emotions in check.
All I wanted was to do something special for him. Was that so wrong? I glanced down at my hands, the burn marks and small cuts standing out starkly against my pale skin. Each one was a testament to the effort I had put into making this meal.
Mmph, I thought bitterly. I was just trying to be a caring and loving wife.
The hot water from the shower cascaded down my body, washing away the traces of flour and spices but not the lingering ache in my chest. I closed my eyes, letting the steam envelop me.
Meanwhile, David sat on the bed, his mind racing. He had seen the burns on my hands, the weariness in my eyes, and it made him feel like a complete jerk.
"Dammit," he muttered to himself. "I ruined it again. But how was I supposed to react when I saw those burns?"
He stood and walked toward the bathroom door, his hand hovering inches away from knocking. Maybe I should let her cool down, he thought, pulling his hand back.
Instead, he sat on the bed and scrolled through his phone absentmindedly, waiting for the sound of the bathroom door opening.
When it finally did, I walked straight to the closet, avoiding his gaze. I changed quickly into a pair of grey sweatpants and a pink top, my movements brisk and deliberate.
Without a word, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and walked past him, deliberately ignoring his presence.
-
"Love," he called out softly, his voice tinged with regret.
I didn't even lift my head. Instead, I turned my back to him, my silence more eloquent than any words could have been.
He stood there for a moment, watching me, before finally walking toward me. Gently, he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, his embrace warm and secure. I stiffened at first, but his proximity was comforting in a way I couldn't deny.
He rested his head against the crook of my neck, his breath warm against my skin.
"I know you're angry," he murmured. "I'm really sorry. I was just worried about why you would go there when there are maids in the house."
His words were accompanied by soft, strawberry-scented kisses against my neck, each one melting a little of the anger I felt.
I turned slowly to face him, my eyes meeting his. His expression was a mixture of guilt and longing, and for a moment, we simply stood there, the silence between us heavy but not uncomfortable.
---
"So, what's the reason for all of this?" Zavid asked, his tone playful, as he plopped a dumpling into his mouth. His dark eyes sparkled with curiosity, but I could sense a hint of something else—concern? Doubt?
I rolled my eyes at him, suppressing a grin. "Why can't I just cook for no reason?" I shot back, gesturing at the steaming pot on the stove.
He tilted his head, giving me a knowing look. "You've been cooking up a storm for days now. Something's up."
I paused, the wooden spoon in my hand hovering over the pot. A small smile crept onto my lips. "Well," I began, turning to face him fully, "I just got accepted as a surgeon and doctor at Royal City Hospital." My voice trembled slightly with excitement, my heart racing as I finally said the words out loud.
Zavid froze mid-chew, his eyes widening. He swallowed quickly and leaned back in his chair, staring at me. "You're serious?"
I nodded, feeling my chest swell with pride. "Yes! I got the confirmation this morning."
A moment passed, and then he asked, "Do you really want to work?"
His question caught me off guard. I blinked at him, confused. "What do you mean? Of course, I do. This is my dream, Zavid. You know that."
He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table. "It's just... I thought we'd have more time together. I thought..." He trailed off, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Zavid, what's this about?" I asked, my voice hardening. "I thought you'd be happy for me."
He looked up, and there was something in his eyes that made my stomach churn. "Honey, it's not like that," he said softly, reaching out to place his hand over mine.
I looked down at our hands and frowned. "Then what is it?"
"I could have gotten you an even better—"
"No," I interrupted sharply, pulling my hand away. "Don't even finish that sentence."
He looked startled, but I pressed on, my voice firm. "I don't want to get in through connections, Zavid. I want to do this on my own. I want to make a name for myself, not because of who I know, but because of my skills and my strength. This is important to me."
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my emotions. "I appreciate that you want to help, but this... this is my journey. I need to do it my way, even if it's harder."
Zavid stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded. "You're right," he said quietly. "I just... I worry about you, you know? I want you to have the best. You deserve it."
His words softened my resolve, and I reached out to squeeze his hand. "I know, and I love you for that. But trust me, Zavid. I've got this."
A small smile tugged at his lips. "You're amazing, you know that?"
I grinned, feeling the tension between us fade. "I try."
The room fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds coming from the bubbling pot on the stove. I turned back to the stove, stirring the soup, my heart feeling lighter.
For the first time in a long while, I felt like everything was falling into place.
---