Chapter 3 — Cooking for you for the rest of your life

My face is reflected in the glass door—normal, tired, a little confused. That's it. Don't think anymore. 【Chapter 4】 Monday morning. I still woke up at six o'clock as usual and went to the kitchen. Today I made beef with black pepper sauce, served with okra sauteed with garlic, and the soup was squash rib soup. Arriving at the company, I put down my lunch box. At eight forty, Kieu Mong showed up on time. But today she wasn't like usual, she smiled at me and sat down. She stood next to her work station, took out a paper bag from her backpack and placed it on my desk.
“What is it?”
“For you.”
I opened it. Inside is a pair of chopsticks. Made of ebony, extremely delicately crafted, the chopsticks tip is engraved with bamboo leaf patterns.
“My previous pair of bamboo chopsticks were cracked.” she said. “I saw it last Wednesday.”
I did have a pair of cracked chopsticks. But those were the chopsticks that came with the thermos, I never thought about changing them.
“This… how much money, I will transfer it to you.”
"No need." She shook her head, sat down and opened the computer.
The tone was very casual, as if this was something completely not worth discussing. I looked at the chopsticks. It feels very good to hold, a bit heavy in the hand. I don't know much about the price of ebony, but looking at the quality of this craft, it's definitely not cheap.
—Wait.
Isn't she poor? Buy this type of chopsticks again? I turned the chopsticks over and looked at the bottom. There is no brand, but the feel to the touch and the level of polish are completely unlike those sold on the sidewalk.
“Luong Vien.”
"Huh?"
“Approximately how much does a pair of ebony chopsticks cost?”
He took out his phone to search: "Depending on quality, there are several dozen to several hundred. This pair is yours..." He took it over to look. “Handcraft engraved patterns, at least more than three hundred.” Three hundred. A person who hasn't been able to drink milk tea all month spent three hundred dollars to buy me a pair of chopsticks? I frowned slightly. Something's not right. But I don't think too deeply. Maybe she has been saving for a long time and can also find discounted items online. Who doesn't sometimes want luxury once in a while? Life continues to pass. July. I'm so hot I want to die. The company's air conditioner was adjusted down to twenty degrees, but every day going from home to the subway station, I still sweated all over. One day, at lunch, Kieu Mong suddenly asked me: "Mr. Ky, have you ever thought about learning to make sweets?"
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"It's so complicated. Cooking only requires chopping and stir-frying, but making sweets requires weighing flour, sugar, and measuring temperature. I don't have the patience."
"OH." She bowed her head and took a bite of rice. “So what if I want to eat?”
My chopsticks stopped. I raised my head to look at her. She also looked at me. His expression was very serious, not like he was joking.
“What do you want to eat?”
“Pudding. Caramel pudding.”
“…Let me research.”
That night I watched three instructional videos, bought pudding molds and caramel sauce. At noon the next day, next to her lunch box was a small glass cup, inside was a caramel pudding that was still shaking slightly. The moment she saw it, her whole body lit up. No exaggeration. It's really like that—the eyes lit up, the back straightened, the corners of the mouth curled up uncontrollably.
“For me?”
"Yes. First time making it, I don't know how it tastes."
She couldn't wait, immediately picked up a spoon and scooped a piece. Pudding vibrated on the spoon and then was brought into the mouth. She close your eyes. Silence for two seconds. Then he opened his eyes and looked at me, with a very serious expression and said: "Ky Hoan." This was the first time she called me by my full name.
"Huh?"
“From now on, can you do it once a week?”
"…Okay."
I agree. I don't know why I agreed so quickly. Maybe because she called me by my full name. It could also be because her expression was so real— That's it. Just making a pudding. But since that week, it seems like things have quietly begun to change flavor. She started sending me messages. Not the type to mention my name in the work group. It's a private message on WeChat. Wednesday at half past nine:
"Mr. Ky, can you make red bean rice cakes next week? I saw it on Tieu Hong Thu."
Friday at six p.m.:
“Today's fish-flavored stir-fried meatballs are delicious, but I feel like they could be a little sweeter.”
Ten o'clock Sunday morning:
“Mr. Ky, what are you doing?”
I looked at the last message for a long time. She never looked for me on weekends. This is the first time. I replied:
“At the supermarket, buying food for next week.”
She immediately replied:
"Can you buy me a bottle of Yakult? I'll pay on Monday."
“Aren't you supposed to drink these?”
“Suddenly wanted to drink.”
I put Yakult in the cart. An aunt next to me looked at me, then looked at the chat interface on my phone screen, revealing a meaningful smile. I turned the phone face down. 【Chapter 5】 August. Feeding has entered the fifth month. I was able to remember exactly all of her food preferences: No coriander, bitter melon, eggplant. Prefer sweet foods more than salty foods. Prefer soft main dishes, rice is better than dumplings, sticky rice is even better. Must drink soup last. If you eat a particularly delicious dish, your eyes will squint.