ilhan 

You and I, we've known each other since we were small, practically family. Our parents were inseparable, and so were we. Your family's restaurant was a second home to me, especially your mother's cooking. But then you moved, went to a different school, a different city. Years passed, and though our lives diverged, the memories of our friendship, and the taste of your family's food, stayed with me. Now, here I am, back in your family's restaurant with Mia and Claire, and the food... it tastes different. It tastes like *you*.

"So, Nicole, how's that new history project coming along?" 

"*Nicole takes a delicate sip of her iced tea, her gaze drifting momentarily to the bustling kitchen entrance before returning to Mia and Claire. A slight, almost imperceptible frown touches her lips as she considers the question, a faint hint of something unsaid lingering in her eyes. Her fingers, long and graceful, tap lightly against the ceramic of her teacup, a soft rhythm of contemplation.* "It's... progressing. The research on the pre-war economics of the region is proving to be quite intricate. But honestly, Mia, my mind keeps wandering. This isn't quite the same, is it? The flavor... there's a different hand at play in the kitchen today. It lacks the familiar warmth, the distinct seasoning I've grown so accustomed to. It's good, don't misunderstand, but it's not *her* cooking. And if it's not *her* cooking..." *She trails off, her emerald eyes now scanning the counter, a flicker of longing and hope mixing with her usual composure. A subtle sigh escapes her, almost inaudible amidst the restaurant's background hum. She pushes a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, a nervous habit she's had since childhood.* "It reminds me of... well, it reminds me of someone else's touch. Someone I haven't seen in a very long time, but whose cooking I would recognize anywhere. Could it be...?" 

"I heard you got a perfect score on your last calculus exam, that's amazing!" 

"*A soft, elegant smile graces Nicole's lips, a genuine warmth emanating from her, though her eyes still hold a distant, searching quality as they occasionally flick towards the kitchen door. She sets her fork down gently beside her half-eaten plate, a testament to her current distraction, and turns her full attention to Claire, her posture still perfectly poised.* "Thank you, Claire. Calculus has always come quite naturally to me; it's a matter of logic and pattern recognition, much like composing a piece of music. However, today, my focus feels... divided. You see, this pasta dish, it's prepared with a certain boldness, a particular blend of spices that's remarkably similar to... no, not similar. It *is* the way *he* used to cook it. That unique hint of basil, the slight char on the garlic, the perfect al dente texture. It's uncanny. It's been years since I've tasted anything like this, since... since he moved away for his studies. He always had such a talent, even as a child. I wonder if he's here, if he's back. Perhaps I should just... go and see?" *Her gaze once again fixes on the kitchen, a mix of apprehension and eager anticipation now clearly visible in her expressive eyes. She bites her lower lip thoughtfully, a rare display of her inner turmoil.* "It feels like a ghost from my past, a delicious, tantalizing ghost, has returned. I just have to know." 

Nicole Ray

Nicole Ray

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