Heidi Kim

Mr. Laurent decided I should stay at home for two days to rest my arm. It wasn’t badly hurt, but it ached when touched, and I wasn’t going to risk pushing it. No kitchen duty for me. At first, I thought about protesting, but after everything that had happened in the last few days, I realized maybe it was the universe’s way of telling me I needed to slow down for once.

I spent most of the day in my small apartment, the one I’d kept after moving out of my mom’s place. It was nothing fancy, just a few mismatched pieces of furniture, a tiny kitchen with barely enough counter space to cook anything elaborate, and a bed I only used when I absolutely had to. But today, it felt like a sanctuary.

I slipped out of my work clothes, the faint smell of garlic and onions still lingering on my apron, and changed into something comfortable, an oversized hoodie and some leggings. I grabbed a blanket from the couch and wrapped it around me, curling up by the window with a book I hadn’t touched in ages. The world outside was overcast, a heavy gray sky hanging low, and I could hear the sound of raindrops lightly tapping against the window. It was quiet, peaceful.

For once, there were no orders to fill, no dishes to perfect, no customers to impress. I didn’t even have to think about the upcoming competition or the stress of my job. I let out a long sigh, leaning back into the couch, the weight of the day’s tension finally starting to lift. I closed my eyes for a moment, just breathing in the stillness.

It wasn’t often that I had time for myself. Between the chaos of the kitchen and the demands of running the restaurant, it was easy to forget that there was more to life than just cooking. But in that moment, I realized how much I’d missed it, the quiet, the space to just be.

The soft hum of my fridge was the only sound in the apartment as I took another deep breath, letting my muscles relax for the first time in days. There was no rush today, no pressure to keep up with everyone else. Just me, myself, and a few fleeting thoughts.

The stillness was interrupted when my phone buzzed on the table beside me. I glanced down at it, half expecting it to be a message from Mr. Laurent, but instead, it was Vina. When I was at her place, she wanted to exchange numbers. I wanted to protest at first, but she wouldn’t let me go until I gave her my number.

“Hey, still alive? 😗”

Cute. I chuckled softly, typing a response with one hand while the other rested on my stomach.

“Barely,” I text back.

“Taking the day off must feel great.” The reply came almost immediately.

“True, finally have time to relax.”

“Not gonna lie, I kind of miss your strictness. It’s quiet in here without you.” I rolled my eyes at her teasing. She wasn’t wrong, though. I could only imagine how different the kitchen felt without my usual clattering of pans and constant orders to the staff and other chefs.

“You’ll survive. Just don’t burn anything down while I’m gone,” I typed back, hitting send before I let the phone drop back onto the table.

I leaned back again, staring out the window. The rain was still falling, slow and steady, and the gray clouds seemed endless. It was the kind of weather that made you want to stay inside and do nothing, and for once, that’s exactly what I was doing.

But even in the quiet, something tugged at my chest. A restless feeling that wouldn’t let go. Maybe it was because I wasn’t used to being still for long periods of time. Maybe it was because my mind kept drifting to the kitchen, to what I’d be doing tomorrow, to the competition. Or maybe it was just the fact that, deep down, I knew there were still things I hadn’t faced, emotions I hadn’t dealt with.

I exhaled, not even realizing I had been holding my breath.

“Focus, Heidi,” I whispered to myself. “Don’t let her be the reason why you’re getting distracted.”

As the rain continued to tap against the window, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something, someone, was still on my mind. The clock seemed to move slower that day. I spent most of the afternoon just lounging, flipping through old cookbooks, taking random naps, and letting the quiet surround me.

By the time the evening came, I felt restless again. The peaceful solitude I had at first now felt suffocating. It was too quiet, too still, and I longed for the familiar buzz of the kitchen, for the heat of the stove beneath my palms.

I stretched, groaning slightly, and grabbed my coat off the chair. I figured a walk would clear my mind. Something to get my blood moving before I had to face another day of work.

As I walked outside, I spotted a small cafe near my apartment. I didn’t even notice that there was a new cafe there. I entered the cafe and decided to buy two Matcha lattes. Who's the other one for? I didn’t want to admit but Vina handled the kitchen pretty well when I was injured. The way she instructed the other chef to do their part, finalizing the orders before releasing them, and her overall performance were just beyond my expectations. I guess I wanted to thank her for not causing chaos.

It was already closing time when I went there. I don’t know if there were still people left so I entered through the back door. I then spotted Vina, of course, she’s still here. She was always so focused when she worked, like she could shut out everything else. Her hands moved with practiced ease, wiping down counters, putting away ingredients, making sure everything was in its proper place. I found myself watching her a little longer than usual, something about her presence keeping me rooted in the moment.

“Hey,” I said, nudging her shoulder gently as I stepped up beside her.

Vina turned, arching an eyebrow at me. “Heidi? What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice light but tired.

I couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at my lips. She was so serious, but when she let her guard down, there was this softness about her that I hadn’t seen much of, especially after our… heated moments in the kitchen.

“Uhm, I got you something,” I said, offering her the small cup of matcha green latte. It wasn’t much. I think the one she made would be tastier.

Vina’s eyes flicked from the cup to me, and for a moment, I thought she might turn it down. But then she shrugged and took it from my hands, bringing the warm mug to her lips. “What’s this for?” she asked, her voice softer now.

I leaned back against the counter, crossing my arms. “For taking charge in the kitchen because ugh… I got into an accident.”

She chuckled quietly, her gaze drifting over to the counter where her tools were now neatly placed. “It wasn’t a big deal,” she said, though I could tell by the way she avoided looking at me that it kind of was. “You were hurt. Someone had to step up.”

“I wasn’t that hurt,” I muttered. But she didn’t seem to care about my protest. Instead, she took another sip, and a small smile crept across her face.

The silence stretched between us for a moment, and I found myself looking at the way the dim light from the overheads cast shadows on her face, softening her features in a way I hadn’t seen before. There was a rawness to her, an honesty that made her different from anyone else I’d ever worked with.

“You’re awfully quiet. What’s going on in that head of yours?” She said, breaking the quiet.

I raised my brows. “You really want to know?”

She gave a nonchalant shrug, though the slight glint of curiosity in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed. “I have to deal with you all the time, so I might as well know what’s rattling around in there.”

I laughed softly at her remark, but as I did, I realized how much I appreciated this, these little moments with Vina where everything felt a bit more normal. A bit more human. I wasn’t used to being this open with people, but for some reason, she made it easy.

“Alright, fine,” I began, my voice quieter now. “I’m just thinking about the competition.”

Vina tilted her head slightly. “Are you somehow nervous? It's still months away.”

“Nervous?” I laughed again, this time a bit more bitterly. “I wouldn’t say nervous. Just… focused. Creating a new signature dish is a big deal. People must love it, not only because it’s new but tasty at the same time, but that’s not really what I’m thinking about right now.”

Her interest was piqued, and she leaned in a little, waiting for me to continue. I hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether I should share what was really on my mind. But there was something about her tonight, something that made me feel like maybe it was okay to open up a little.

I sighed, pushing off the counter. “You know… I’ve never really told anyone why I wanted to become a chef.” I suddenly confessed.

“... Are you okay telling me this?”

“Why not? I wouldn’t lose anything if I told you my past,” Vina didn’t say anything, just waited for me to continue. Her eyes were soft now, her posture a little less rigid, and for once, I didn’t feel like I was being judged.

“Growing up, it was just me and my mom,” I started, the words feeling heavier as I spoke. “I never met my dad; all I remember was mom working all the time. I was pretty much left to raise myself.” I chuckled darkly at the memory. “I was nine when I started making my own meals, just trying to survive. I learned how to use the stove, how to make rice, and how to fry an egg. All the basic stuff. By the time I was in middle school, I was making full dinners for myself.”

Vina was quiet, watching me closely as if trying to understand where this story was going.

“I think,” I continued, my voice softening, “I think I started cooking because it gave me something to hold on to. My mom wasn’t really there, not emotionally. She was always busy with work. I guess I figured if I could make a meal, something that tasted good, maybe she’d notice me for once. Maybe I’d feel like I mattered to her.”

There was a lump in my throat now, and I paused, trying to keep myself from breaking down right then and there. But Vina was still listening, not interrupting, just letting me talk.

“She would come home late sometimes,” I said, swallowing. “And I’d cook her dinner. Sometimes, she’d notice, and sometimes, she wouldn’t. But when she did… when she said something like, ‘This tastes good,’ it felt like it was the only time I could connect with her. The only time I felt like I was doing something right.”

I let out a shaky breath, staring down at my hands as I spoke. “That’s when I realized—this is what I want to do. I wanted to make food that brought people together, food that made them feel something. Like, when my mom ate my meals, it was the closest I got to her showing me she cared.”

Vina was silent for a long moment. I could feel the weight of the words I’d just said hanging between us, thick and heavy, but there was no judgment in her eyes. No pity, just understanding.

“And then…” I swallowed hard, continuing despite the growing lump in my throat. “Then she died when I was in my senior year in high school. I was alone, physically this time. But cooking… cooking was the one thing that kept me going. I knew I could be good at it. So, I worked harder. I didn’t finish school and just applied for a job that hires someone who knows how to cook. Luckily, a diner was kind enough to hire me even if I didn’t meet their standard, but being a cook in a diner motivated me to keep cooking, pushing myself because I knew it was the only thing I could do that mattered.”

I looked up at Vina then, meeting her gaze. “That’s why I wanted to become a chef. To share that love of food. To make people feel something like I did when I cooked for my mom. I only became a chef after I won the competition. That’s why they call me the rookie chef. I have no formal training, no culinary experience, just myself and some cookbooks. Still, I was determined to perfect everything I made, no matter how complicated they were, because I knew I wanted to share those dishes with others.”

She didn’t speak immediately, but when she did, her voice was gentle. “I get it now,” she said quietly. “I understand why you do what you do. I guess you really deserve to win and have all of this recognition. You have talent, passion, and determination.”

I felt a small weight lift off my chest. It was the first time I’d ever said it out loud to anyone, and for some reason, sharing it with Vina didn’t feel as heavy as I thought it would. There was comfort in knowing she understood, even if she didn’t say much.

“You know,” she said after a beat, her voice a little lighter now, “I think we’re more alike than I thought.”

I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? And how’s that?”

Vina shrugged, a small thoughtful smile on her lips. “We both cook for people. For the love we share through food, for the joy it brings to others. Maybe we don’t always show it, but deep down, that’s what drives us—our quiet way of giving, our way of saying ‘I care’ without words, our way of connecting to people’s hearts one plate at a time.”

I smiled at her, a warmth spreading through me. “I guess you’re right.”

And just like that, the tension between us shifted, something unspoken but understood, connecting us in a way that neither of us had expected.

As we stood there, the kitchen now empty of both food and noise, I realized something: maybe we were more than just competitors. Maybe, just maybe, we were both in this for the same reason. And in that quiet moment, I wasn’t so alone anymore.

The door swung open, and the sound of the city outside reminded me that our shift was over. But for the first time in a while, I wasn’t thinking about the competition. I wasn’t thinking about anything except how the night had shifted between us.

I glanced over at Vina. She was still standing there, her matcha latte almost finished, her eyes lost in thought.

“I need to go,” I said softly, grabbing my coat from the rack. “We still have work tomorrow.”

Vina nodded, a small grin tugging at her lips. “You know, you might be a pain, but I like working with you.”

I chuckled, sliding my arms into my coat. “Tch, look who’s talking. Let’s go before I kick your ass.”

“Roger that, Ms. Kim~”

As we walked out together, the door clicking shut behind us, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something between us had shifted. Something that might just change everything.

And for the first time, I wasn’t afraid of what that change might mean.