Chapter 8 — Cooking for you for the rest of your life

After work, we walked towards the subway station as usual. That day the wind was very strong, blowing the ginkgo leaves on the side of the road and rustling down. When she reached the subway station door, she suddenly stopped.
“Mr. Ky.”
"YES?"
“Do you feel like there's something missing between us?”
I looked at her. The wind blew her hair over her face, and she raised her hand to tuck it behind her ear.
“What's missing?” I asked.
“Missing a word.”
I know what she's talking about. Silence for a few seconds.
“Kieu Mong.”
"Yes."
“Your Maybach—”
Her expression changed.
“You looked it up?”
“I saw it.” I said. "Your family is not poor. Your family is very rich."
She didn't deny it.
"YES."
"So why do you come here to work? A programmer's salary to you—"
“I want to make money myself.” She interrupted me. “It is not related to family conditions.”
"I know." I said. “But what I want to talk about is not this.”
I stopped for a moment. The wind blew from the subway station door, cold.
"Every month I earn twelve thousand. Renting a house together. No house, no car. Cooking is the only thing I can bring out." I looked at her. “Are you sure?”
She looked at me. There was no hesitation in those eyes.
“Ky Hoan.” She called.
"YES."
“I have been eating your cooking for seven months.”
"YES."
“Do you know how many meals are in seven months?”
“About… one hundred and fifty meals?”
“One hundred fifty-three meals.” she said. “I counted.”
My throat is a bit dry.
“One hundred and fifty-three meals,” she took a step forward, half an arm's length away from me, “is that enough for a bride price?”
The wind blew a ginkgo leaf onto her shoulder. Golden in color, under the streetlight, it looks like gold flakes. I raised my hand and took the leaf down. The finger touched her shoulder, she didn't avoid it.
"Insufficient." I said.
She blinked.
“So—”
“You have to eat for a lifetime to have enough.”
She was taken aback for a second. Then everyone burst into laughter. Not a secret smile, but a crouch, covering his mouth, his shoulders shaking.
“Have you been preparing this question for a long time?” She laughed so hard she couldn't breathe.
“No. Just thought of it.”
“You lied.”
"Real."
She laughed enough before standing up straight. Then she tiptoed. Lips gently touched my chin. As light as a ginkgo leaf falling to the ground.
“So starting tomorrow,” she took a step back, her face red as if on fire, “can I add a portion of sweets to the lunch box?”
“You still have the ability to have both legs and heads.”
“Anyway, it's a lifelong thing.” She turned around and ran towards the ticket gate. “We must discuss the conditions before signing the contract.”
I stood in place. The autumn wind blew into my collar, cold. But somewhere in my chest— It's hot. 【Chapter 9】 After falling in love, life didn't change much.
—At least that's how it looks.
We don't make it public, nor do we post cheesy photos of us together in our friends circle. In the company, only Luong Vien knew, because this guy's eyes were as sharp as an eagle's.
“Yesterday when you got off work, you two held hands, right?”
“You're dizzy.”
“I'm standing three meters away from you two.”
“…Then why don't you say hello?”
“It's embarrassing to bother you two.”
I kicked him once. The way we are together every day is almost exactly the same as before. Bring rice, eat, walk together, sometimes she comes to my house. The only difference is— Show After dinner, she will lean on my shoulder. Not at the company, but at my home. She came over on the weekend, after eating, we sat on the edge of the bed, everyone looking at each other's phones. After watching for a while, she will lean over and put her head in the crook of my shoulder. Not very heavy. But the feeling of existence is very strong. The first time she did that, my entire right arm was stiff for ten minutes. She didn't realize it at all. Or pretend not to notice. By November, she started leaving things at my house. A pair of slippers. A toothbrush. A bottle of facial cleanser. A charger. They all appeared quietly. One day I opened the shoe cabinet and inside there was a pair of pink cotton slippers. One day when I went to brush my teeth, next to the cup was an extra toothbrush that I didn't buy.
“When did you put it in?”
“The week before arriving.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Having said that, will you chase me away?”
"Are not."
“So it's okay.”
She laughed. It's the "I knew you wouldn't refuse" kind of smile. It's so righteous that I can't say anything. One evening in mid-November. I worked overtime until after eight o'clock, and on the way home I received her phone call.
“What time will you get home?”
"Fifteen more minutes. What's wrong?"
“Nothing, just asking.”
When I got home, I smelled a strange smell. Is it—a burning smell? The light in the kitchen is on. I went over to look. Kieu Mong stood in front of the kitchen, her apron askew and her hair messy. In the pan in front of her, she didn't know what was, burned black in one piece. Next to it was a basin containing something misshapen, suspected to be fried eggs. Hearing the noise, she turned her head, her face filled with guilt.
“Are you… cooking?” I looked at the battlefield.
"YES."
“What dish?”
“The original plan was stir-fried eggs with tomatoes and stir-fried green vegetables.”