Emma entered the lab just as the bell rang.

The air smelled faintly of bleach and rain.

Liam was already there, arranging glass vials with surgical precision.

“You’re early,” she said.

“You’re late.”

“Balance,” she replied.

Ms. Green clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Today we continue the sensory project,” she announced. “Taste and record. Facts and feelings.”

Emma smiled. “Science with feelings.”

“Please don’t,” Liam murmured.

Steam curled up from the beakers. Their rhythm found its own pace—her curiosity and his caution orbiting the same center.

She prepared the first sample, a diluted sugar solution that shimmered faintly under the light.

“It’s warm,” she said, after a sip. “Like a morning that hasn’t gone wrong yet.”

“Quantify,” he said.

“I just did.”

“That’s subjective.”

“It’s human.”

He recorded her words anyway.

The next solution was bitter. Her face twisted. “That’s regret.”

“Caffeine point eight percent,” he noted.

“You always reduce emotions to numbers?”

“You always reduce data to poetry?”

“Maybe they’re the same thing,” she said.

He hesitated before writing that down too.

By the third test—sour—she was laughing, eyes watering from the sharpness.

“That’s heartbreak,” she said. “Like reading an old message you shouldn’t have saved.”

He paused. “Is this analysis or confession?”

“Both.”

He said nothing, but his pen slowed.

The classroom quieted. Outside, rain slid down the window in silver lines. The hum of the equipment and their breathing filled the space between words.

Ms. Green walked by. “Good work, you two,” she said. “Keep tracking both reactions and results.”

Emma leaned closer. “See? Science with feelings.”

Liam sighed. “You’re going to write that on the report, aren’t you?”

“Obviously.”

She tasted the last sample—salty, with a metallic edge.

“That’s memory,” she said. “Not good or bad. Just something that stays.”

He nodded once. “Understood.”

When the bell rang, they cleaned in silence. The glass clinked softly, a rhythm that didn’t feel awkward anymore.

“Hey,” she said as he packed up. “What would you call the taste of expectation?”

He looked at her, considering. “Potential energy.”

She smiled. “Good answer.”

He didn’t look back as he left, but she noticed the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth.

The air still smelled of sugar after he was gone.

The rain had stopped by the time Emma left the lab, but puddles mirrored the gray sky in perfect detail.

She walked slowly down the hall, the experiment sheet folded in her hand. Numbers filled the page—pH levels, viscosity, temperature—but every margin bloomed with her messy handwriting: words like *heartbreak*, *comfort*, *remember*. The data looked alive.

She smiled to herself. Maybe Ms. Green was right. Maybe emotion and chemistry weren’t enemies.

At her locker, Sophie appeared with a paper cup of juice. “You look like someone who just discovered gravity.”

“More like someone who discovered sugar reacts to regret,” Emma said.

“Deep. Is this about him again?”

Emma gave her a look. “Who?”

“The one with the expensive vocabulary.”

“You mean Liam?”

“That’s the one. What did he do this time?”

“Defined bitterness in decimals.”

Sophie grinned. “Romantic.”

They both laughed, the sound echoing down the corridor.

By evening, the clouds had cleared. The city smelled like rain and bakery dough. Emma walked home through the familiar streets, every window spilling warm light onto the pavement. It made her think of stories—each kitchen holding a tiny universe of flavor.

When she reached her apartment, she set her bag on the counter and opened her laptop. The blank streaming screen reflected her face, nervous and thoughtful.

She whispered, “Let’s see if anyone’s still hungry.”

She started the stream. “Hi, it’s Sugar. Tonight’s flavor is curiosity. It’s the taste that happens when you want to know someone but you’re afraid to ask.”

The comments began appearing.

*Like when you over-salt soup but still eat it.*  

*Like the smell of thunder before it rains.*

Emma smiled. “Yes. Exactly.”

She stirred caramel in a saucepan, watching it change color. “Science says sugar melts at a hundred eighty-six degrees. But feelings? They melt way sooner.”

Another comment popped up. *ByteTheory: Variables react faster under heat.*

She laughed. “Of course you’d say that. Maybe that’s why people burn easily.”

Her chat exploded with hearts. She ended the stream with a wave, shutting the lid of her laptop but not the warmth spreading through her chest.

Later, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The word *curiosity* kept circling in her mind. It wasn’t a loud feeling, but it lingered—quiet, constant, sweet at the edges.

Across town, Liam sat at his desk, reviewing the data. He paused when he reached the section labeled *Subject’s verbal associations*. Her words stared back at him in messy loops.

“Warmth,” he murmured. “Heartbreak. Memory.”

He didn’t erase them.

Instead, he opened a new document titled **The Science of Taste – Expanded Hypothesis.**

Under Objectives, he typed:  

*To determine whether shared perception alters sensory response.*

Then he added one final line.  

*To test what happens when chemistry becomes personal.*

He leaned back, listening to the rain start again. The sound against the window matched the rhythm of her voice in his memory.

Brookvale shimmered under the streetlights, every reflection a piece of their unfinished experiment.