"Cook Pad Thai for dinner. Make the rice noodles yourself!"

I stared at the screen. Pad Thai? That's not easy... I quickly looked up a few recipes and realized that the preparation was quite complicated—especially if I had to make the rice noodles from scratch. How do you even make them? What if I fail?

I took a deep breath.  

"Is something wrong, Niran?" Non asked.  

"No, nothing," I lied and stood up to get some water.  

I took a bottle from the fridge, unscrewed the cap, and as I walked back to the table, a thought hit me: How am I supposed to cook dinner if I don't even know the door code?

I took two sips, then turned around and walked toward Chak's office with determination.  

I knocked.  

"Come in," his cold voice responded.  

I stepped inside. The sunlight cast a soft glow across the office, but Chak was focused on some documents. I moved closer until he finally lifted his gaze to me.  

"What do you want, Niran?"  

I hesitated for a moment before asking in a quiet voice,  

"Sir… how am I supposed to cook you dinner if I can't enter the house? I don't know the code. "

Chak responded icily, "Memorize these numbers, because I won't repeat them."  

I shifted nervously.  

"1789532903."  

I swallowed hard.  

"Did you get that?" he asked, his voice calm but sharp.  

"I think so…" I answered, feeling unsure.  

Why so many numbers?

"Repeat them," he demanded.  

I took a deep breath and slowly recited,  

"1789532309."  

The second I finished, I knew I had made a mistake. His cold stare confirmed it.  

"I see you can't even remember a few numbers," he said with a trace of amusement. He took a piece of paper and a pen, quickly jotting down the correct code.  

I felt my face heat up. Damn it, Niran, you can't even remember a few numbers… 

He handed me the note, and as our fingers brushed, a strange sensation shot through me. His touch was intense—his skin soft, his warmth barely noticeable but enough to send butterflies fluttering in my stomach. My heart began to race. Though the contact lasted only a second, it felt like an eternity.  

Chak was the first to pull away. He sighed and then his eyes shifted to the bottle of water in my hand.  

"Leave the water here," he ordered.  

I blinked in confusion. "I… I can't, sir. I already drank from it. I can get you a new one if you want."  

Chak's expression remained unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—something almost… possessive.  

"No," he said firmly. "I don't want another one. I want yours."  

I felt my breath hitch. His words sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.  

"...Alright," I murmured, placing the bottle on his desk.  

For a brief moment, neither of us moved. The air between us felt heavier, charged with something unspoken. Then, as if nothing had happened, Chak leaned back in his chair and dismissed me.  

"Go. I'll see you at home."  

"Yes, sir," I replied, slightly dazed, and turned to leave.  

Just as I reached the door, I stopped and turned back.  

"I almost forgot… Thank you."  

I carefully tucked the note into my pocket, making sure no one would see it.  

Back at the table, I closed my eyes for a brief moment, trying to relive the feeling of his fingers against mine... and the way his words had made my heart race.  I stood in my art room, running my fingers over the canvases, pencils, and colored pencils. All of this was mine. I felt like I finally belonged somewhere. Slowly, I inhaled the scent of paint and paper, my eyes filled with excitement as I looked at Chak, who was watching me with a cold expression. His presence always had a strange effect on me.

He turned as if to leave, but I stepped toward him and softly said:

"This is one of the most beautiful things that has ever happened to me."

His step faltered, and then he turned back to me. Before I even realized it, I wrapped my arms around his neck. It was instinctive, as if I needed him to understand how grateful I was. His scent surrounded me, his skin was soft under my fingers. I felt the tension in his body, but he didn't move.

"Thank you," I whispered into his ear.

I let go and looked into his eyes. They were slightly widened, as if he couldn't comprehend what had just happened. He took a deep breath, but his expression remained composed.

"I see you like it," he said in a controlled voice.

"I really do," I smiled at him.

Without another word, he turned and closed the door behind him. I was left alone. Slowly, I walked to the desk, took a sheet of paper, and started drawing. I let my imagination flow. At first, the lines were random, but after a few minutes, the image took shape. To my surprise, I had drawn Chak's house.

"Does his house really mean that much to me?" I whispered to myself.

I put the drawing in a drawer, stood up, and went to my room. I took my pajamas out of my suitcase and headed to the bathroom. As I took off my shirt, I suddenly remembered—I didn't have a towel. I looked around the bathroom, but there wasn't one.

"I need to ask Chak… I just hope he's still awake," I murmured.

I left my room and knocked on Chak's door.

"Sir?" I called softly.

No response. Maybe he was asleep. I pressed my ear to the door to listen when, suddenly, it opened. Losing my balance, I fell straight onto his chest.

The warmth of his body enveloped me. My heart pounded wildly, and a rush of heat spread across my face in embarrassment. In the silence, I could hear his heartbeat as well. His skin was slightly damp, wrapped in a luxurious black silk robe that had slightly parted at his chest.

"Niran, what are you doing?" he asked in a cold voice.

I quickly stepped back and straightened up.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"Do you need something?" he asked icily.

"Yes…" I admitted quietly. "I don't have a towel and don't know where they are."

Chak observed me for a moment before stepping out of his room. "Follow me."

I followed him down the hallway, past the door to my art room. He opened the door to the utility room, a place I had never been before. The room was cool and minimalistic, lit by bright white light reflecting off the tiles. On one side stood a washing machine and a dryer, next to them a large black cabinet with glass doors. The shelves were neatly stocked with cleaning supplies, while on the opposite side, an ironing board stood with a pile of freshly washed shirts that smelled faintly of softener. In the corner, there were four separate laundry bins, each marked with a different color.

Chak opened the cabinet and took out a black towel, then handed it to me.

"Thank you," I said.

"Tomorrow, wash the black clothes and iron them. When I return from work, they should be ready," he said without a hint of emotion.

"Understood, sir," I replied.

Without another word, he walked past me. I closed the door and returned to the bathroom. After showering, I put on my pajamas and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. As I passed the living room, I noticed Chak sitting calmly on the couch, watching the news. Not wanting to disturb him, I quietly continued to the kitchen.

I took a glass from the drawer, filled it with water, and drank it. After putting the glass away, I headed back to my room.

"Good night, sir," I said before climbing the stairs.