Heidi Kim

The kitchen had grown colder in the past few days, but it wasn’t because of the draft coming from the back door. No, it was the icy tension between Vina and me. I could feel it every time she walked past me; the distance between us was palpable. The silence that had settled in the air was louder than any words we could’ve exchanged.

It wasn’t like before, when we’d snap at each other with a bit of banter. No. Now, it was like we were living in separate worlds, sharing the same space but avoiding contact at all costs.

I had been triple-checking every single order she made, especially today. I couldn't afford another mistake, not after the fiasco with the shrimp. Every plate that came through was scrutinized under my watchful gaze, the weight of my responsibility pressing down on me.

Vina had barely said a word to me since the incident. She’d stopped experimenting with the dishes, opting to stick strictly to the recipes, as if she had suddenly realized that this wasn’t some playground for her to ‘level up’ recipes.

I could tell it was eating at her. She hated being told what to do, but she hated more that I had to step in to keep things in order.

I was at the station, carefully placing an order of seared tuna, when I saw Vina approach, her eyes fixed on her ticket. I watched as she carefully placed her dish under the heat lamps, double-checking it before pushing it toward me.

I didn’t say anything at first, just nodded, silently inspecting her work. But then, I noticed a small garnish had been added to the dish that wasn’t in the recipe. It was a detail, small, but it was still something extra she’d added.

I let out a breath. “Rossi, this isn’t part of the dish. The garnish is supposed to be a simple microgreen salad. Not this.” I motioned to the garnish she’d added.

She stared at it for a moment, and then, with a tight smile, she pulled it off. “Right. Got it. Sorry, chef.”

Her tone was sharp. Too sharp. But I wasn’t going to let it slide. Not now, not with everything that had been happening.

I exhaled slowly, glancing over at her. “If you can’t stick to the recipe, we’re going to have problems.”

Her eyes flickered up at me, and for a split second, there was something in them, defiance, frustration, maybe even a little sadness. She quickly masked it with a neutral expression.

“I’m doing my best, Chef Kim,” she replied, her voice stiff, as she returned to her station.

I watched her for a moment longer before my gaze shifted back to the order. The bell rang, signaling the next order. There was no time for hesitation.

As I started moving around the kitchen, making sure everything was ready, I noticed Vina out of the corner of my eye, a slight tension in her posture as she worked. I couldn’t help but wonder if she resented me. I knew I had been hard on her. But what else could I do? I couldn’t risk the reputation of the restaurant, and more importantly, my own career, on some half-baked dish or her lack of focus.

The hours dragged on, but the day seemed to go by quicker than I expected. At the end of the shift, I was exhausted. Mentally and physically.

“Chef, you’re staying late again?” Emily asked, poking her head into the kitchen as I wiped down the counters.

“Yeah, I’ve got to check on the ingredients for tomorrow,” I replied, not really paying attention as I organized the prep station.

Emily gave me a sympathetic look. “You’ve been like this for days, Chef Heidi. Maybe take a breather? I’m sure you don’t need to triple-check everything. Vina’s got it, right?”

My eyes flickered to Vina, who was standing at the grill, her back to me. She had been quiet all night. It felt strange, the way she worked like she was on autopilot. Like she was trying to avoid doing anything that would draw attention.

“I don’t know, Emily,” I said, wiping the counter a little harder than necessary. “I can’t afford to mess again.” Emily didn’t push. She just nodded and left me to my thoughts.

I knew Emily meant well, but there was no way I could leave the kitchen unfinished. Not with the competition looming. The restaurant needed to have a signature dish, something that would solidify our place at the top. And Vina, though she claimed to have the best ideas, was unpredictable.

I couldn’t let her mess this up. The competition for the new signature dish was two months away, and the pressure was unbearable. It felt like a weight around my chest, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. I wanted this win. I needed it.

But deep down, there was something gnawing at me. Something that told me I was on the verge of losing everything I had fought for. Was I becoming too obsessed? Too controlling?

I glanced over at Vina again. She was plating the last few dishes for the night, carefully and deliberately, but there was no spark in her. No experimentation. No creativity. It was like she had given up on finding her own path.

Just then, she caught me watching her, and for a brief moment, our eyes met. It was the first time we had really looked at each other in days.

Her gaze held a certain vulnerability. I almost felt sorry for her, almost.

Vina cleared her throat. “I’m going to head out,” she said quietly, turning her back to me as she grabbed her coat.

I nodded, but I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. The words were stuck in my throat.

She paused at the door, her hand resting on the handle. “Heidi… I know you’re trying not to let your guard down. I know you’re trying to stay on top,” she said, her voice soft but tinged with something I couldn’t quite place. “But don’t forget, it’s not just about you or the recipes. It’s about the people who work here, too. You can always rely on us, not just yourself.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, and before I could respond, she was gone, leaving me standing in the middle of the kitchen, alone with my thoughts. What did she mean by that?

I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair. The kitchen suddenly felt too big, too quiet. My gaze drifted to the empty doorway, the echo of her words settling heavily in my chest. Can I really rely on others? Rely on her?

Relying on others meant I could make mistakes, but mistakes were normal. At least, that’s what everyone else believed. But for me? A mistake wasn’t just a misstep—it was a weakness, proof that I wasn’t good enough, that I wasn’t in control.

I clenched my jaw, shaking my head. I had spent years making sure no one could ever see me falter. If I relied on people, if I let myself trust too much, what would happen when they left? When they start to feel disappointed with me?

The kitchen had always been my safe place, a world where I could be in charge, where the only thing that mattered was precision and skill. But lately, it had changed. The walls weren’t just mine anymore. The air carried her voice, her laughter. My focus, once razor-sharp, wavered when she was near.

I turned to the counter, staring at the plates we had worked on together. My fingers brushed against the edge of one, the lingering warmth from when she had plated it still faint beneath my touch.

Could I really let my guard down?

Could I really let her in?