The clatter of pots and pans echoed through the cavernous kitchen of the mansion. Steam curled from the wok, teasing my nostrils with the enticing aroma of sizzling vegetables. I stirred the rice, a practiced rhythm guiding my movements.

Rami's voice startled me. "Dema? What on earth are you doing?"

He stood in the doorway, an amused curve to his lips. "We have a chef, remember? You shouldn't be slaving away in the kitchen."

. "I wanted to cook tonight. It's… relaxing."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Relaxing? You call this relaxing? Look at you, covered in sweat. You should be investing your time in more productive pursuits. Learning a new language, perhaps? Or preparing for that charity gala with my mother next week."

His words stung. Was cooking not productive? Was it beneath me, a woman of leisure? I felt a flicker of resentment, quickly suppressed.

"I enjoy cooking," I insisted, my voice firm. "It's a way for me to express myself, to create something beautiful."

Rami raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in his eyes. "Beautiful? Dema, this is just rice and vegetables."

He turned to leave, I stopped him in his track as I said "it might sound silly to you, but I like doing things myself, I've always done chores and I simply can't just lay down all day and have people serve me, which reminds me that I need to tell the maids that I'll be cleaning my room myself from now on, I prefer to tidy up my belongings myself"

He sighed and said "whatever, enjoy yourself, just make sure to clean yourself up when you're done"

I rolled my eyes at him, apparently I married a spoiled brat.

When I was a little girl in the orphanage, many of our sponsors were rich people, most of them businessmen. I used to stare at them and study them from afar. I wanted to grow up and be like them. I studied so hard and did my best to get a scholarship. I was accepted into a business-related major and became one of the top students. All of my professors were proud of me.

However, when I graduated, I couldn't keep up with the others. I couldn't afford expensive courses because I had no money, and all the internships offered by companies were unpaid. I was desperate. I lived in my car, which was a gift from one of my professors. She found out that I had no place to stay after graduation, so she offered me to stay at her house. I couldn't stay long at her place because I was embarrassed, so I insisted on leaving after a few days. She let me go but on the condition that I accept her old car as a gift. I couldn't reject her gift. That woman was the first person to show such kindness to me. I will forever be indebted to her.

Come to think of it, she's probably the one who recommended me to Rami's company. In the interview, they said that they had heard great things about me and that I was recommended by someone. That woman is my guardian angel. I should visit her soon.

When I served him dinner, he said that he would like to eat in his study room because he was working. He did not say thank you or praise my cooking. He ate silently. I stood there for a few minutes, then I got tired of waiting on him and left him alone.

I invited the maids to eat with me because I don't like eating alone. I made so much food; I wanted to have a nice, fun dinner with everyone. They loved the idea! One of the maids prepared a fruit cocktail, the chef cooked us many delicious appetizers, and I helped them set the table.

It was a nice evening. For the first time in months, I was able to enjoy myself and laugh genuinely. I didn't need to pretend or put on a mask to please anyone. It was like a breath of fresh air for me, one that I had no idea just how much I needed.

"Did you hear about the latest chocolate trend?" one of the maids asked.

The chef replied, "Yeah, the Dubai chocolate. What about it?"

"I wanted to try it," she said. "I was thinking maybe we can prepare it together. It would be fun, don't you think?"

Then she turned to me and said, "What do you think, Madam? Would you like to try it?"

"I never say no to chocolate," I nodded my head.

When we finished dinner, the maids cleared the table, and the chef began preparing the ingredients for the Dubai chocolate trend we wanted to try. As I walked into the kitchen, I saw him working on the templates. He had so many: a heart-shaped one, a triangular one, and a circular one.

One of the maids suggested we have a little contest. Each of us would make one chocolate bar, and when we finished, the chef would try them and announce the winner. To spice things up, I told them that I would give the winner three days off. Apparently, that motivated them to work, and they couldn't wait to start the contest.

"I selected the heart-shaped template and began my creation. The competitive atmosphere among the maids was palpable. One maid, in a seemingly accidental move, spilled milk over another's bowl of chocolate. The apology sounded unconvincing. The other maid, in turn, retaliated by spilling oil into her rival's bowl, offering a similarly unconvincing apology. This pattern of sabotage continued, inadvertently playing into my favor. In the end, I emerged victorious.

I placed the chocolate in the freezer and awaited the moment of truth. After fifteen minutes, I inspected my creation. It was flawless. The chef, after a taste, confirmed my assessment: "Indeed, as perfect as it looks."

"You have a real gift in the kitchen," he said, his eyes twinkling.

Fluttered, I thanked him. "I appreciate the compliment."

He smiled. "You should make something special for Rami and serve it to him yourself."

The memory of Rami teasing me about my cooking dinner flashed through my mind. I hesitated.

The chef, noticing my hesitation, reassured me, "Cooking dessert for a loved one has its own magic, especially chocolate."

His words resonated. I decided to take the plunge. I spent the next few hours meticulously crafting a heart-shaped chocolate bar.

Later that evening, I presented the chocolate to Rami, accompanied by a steaming cup of coffee.

When I walked into his study room, I found him speaking on the phone. I guessed it was one of his financial managers because he was talking about stocks.

"When he got off the phone, he turned to me and finally noticed my presence. He looked puzzled as he asked, 'Do you need something?'

This clueless behavior was so typical of him. I wasn't hurt because I had gotten used to it. I picked up the chocolate plate and said, 'I made these for you. I hope you enjoy them.'

He had the weirdest reaction. He stared at it for a while, then he turned back to his paperwork. I felt a little heartache, but before I could say anything, he spoke up and said, 'I'm busy as you can see. Can you feed me yourself?'"

I let out a sigh of relief, then I suddenly said "When I was younger, I couldn't help but cringe at these scenes in novels. I remember reading a novel when I was around 14 years old, and the main character fed her crush with his eyes closed. I threw the book across the room in disgust back then. I wonder what my younger self would think if she saw me right now!"

He giggled loudly, then he said " same, I never liked romance stories, I've always been a practical guy, guess we are a good match after all!"

Relief washed over me in a dizzying wave, so sudden and unexpected it almost knocked me off my feet.

those words. 'We are a good match after all.' They were simple, almost understated, yet they carried the weight of the world.

I looked at him, my gaze searching his, desperate to see if the sincerity in his voice mirrored the truth in his eyes. And there it was, a flicker of vulnerability, a raw honesty that mirrored my own.

In that moment, something shifted within me. The anger, the hurt, they began to fade, replaced by a profound understanding. We were two imperfect souls, trying our best to navigate the complexities of love and life. And in that shared vulnerability, in that raw, honest communication, I found a strength I didn't know I possessed.