I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, phone in hand, face half-buried in my pillow.

What the hell am I supposed to message that man?

Ughhhhhhh.

Why is this so hard? I talk to people all the time. They talk to me. I reject people daily. I've literally delivered rejection speeches during lunch while chewing.

But now?

One text to P'Johan and I feel like I'm negotiating world peace with a bear in heat.

Maybe... maybe I should see how people message me first. For inspiration. Yeah. Research.

I opened LINE and scrolled through my unread DMs.

Wow.

Okay.

That's... a lot.

How did I not notice this many messages? Do people not get bored of rejection?

I scrolled faster, a blur of hearts, flowers, and frankly disturbing pickup lines.

Oh?

This one caught my eye:

"Nong I really like you, will you be the salsa to my nachos?"

....
....
....
....
....

I sighed.

What does that even mean? What part of me gives "processed cheese product"?

They're all either too sweet, too greasy, or too cringe. No wonder none of them ever made my heart flutter.

And now I'm the clown trying to flirt back with a man who has the emotional availability of a stray cat.

I sighed again, dramatically this time, flopping back onto my bed like a dying anime protagonist.

Okay. Focus.

Be normal.

Just... be normal.

I opened our chat.

That cursed little (P'Johan) stared back at me.

No emojis. No profile picture. Just the most intimidating contact name in my entire phone.

Okay. Okay okay okay.

Here goes nothing.

Me:
hello phi....

Should I add an emoji? Nevermind.

Me:
i was wondering... what do you want me to cook for you tomorrow?

Simple. Straightforward. Sweet, but not too eager.

I read it over three times.

Then I hit send.

And now we wait.

Cue the spiral.

I threw my phone to the other side of the bed like it had personally offended me and covered my face with my hands.

Why am I like this?

I stared at the ceiling.

My heart doing that annoying thing where it beat like I was being hunted by a lion, not texting a man who probably thought emotions were a government conspiracy.

Ping.

My phone lit up.

My soul momentarily left my body.

(P'Johan):
dunno. anything.

Wow.

Not even a "krub."

No punctuation. No emoji. Just pure emotional bankruptcy in digital form.

I blinked at the screen, debating between rage and resignation. This man really texted like I was a telepathic chef with no self-respect.

But I didn't come this far to give up over a dry one-word reply.

I grabbed my phone again.

Me:
anything? anything means you trust my taste right? 🥺

Read.

No reply.

Me:
i promise it'll be delicious phi. maybe something warm and comforting like you... i mean like your vibes! 😊🍲

Still nothing.

I waited.

Me:
i can try making creamy tom kha soup? or honey glazed chicken? i know you like spicy, but i can balance it!

Still.

Not.

A single.

Word.

Just that cold, passive "Read."

But did I stop?

Absolutely not.

Me:
please let me pamper you again 🥹 i already bought cute little sauce containers today just for you 🥰

And then, finally:

(P'Johan):
dont make anything annoying.

I gasped.

What does that even mean?? What is an annoying dish?? How is a soup annoying??

But still, my fingers typed faster than my dignity could catch up.

Me:
okay! i'll make you something un-annoying and full of love instead 💕

No reply.

Of course.

I fell back against my pillow again.

This man might reply like a rock, but I was determined.

Because even if he responded like an emotionally unavailable cactus...

I'd still show up tomorrow with his damn lunch.

Wrapped, labeled, and annoyingly filled with affection.

✿✿✿

“Bro, JUMP! Why are you crouching like that?” Nao's voice crackled through my headset, full of mock outrage.

“I did jump!” I yelled back. “There was lag! Actual, confirmed, criminal-level lag!”

“Lag, my ass,” he snorted. “You play like an uncle who just discovered Wi-Fi last week.”

I grinned despite the failure flashing on-screen. “You’ve been with Tiger for too long. That man is making you mean.”

“You’re just sensitive because you died again,” he fired back.

I could hear the clink of his glass on the other end—Nao always gamed with a glass of iced tea like an old man enjoying war stories.

“Anyway, what’s with your aim today? You’ve got hands like tofu.”

I rolled onto my side, the controller slipping from my grip. “Dunno. Been… distracted.”

“Oh no,” Nao said dramatically. “The North I know is never distracted. Focused. Flirty. Flawless.”

I groaned. “Shut up.”

“Lemme guess,” he teased. “This is about the infamous P'Johan?”

I said nothing.

That was enough.

“Bro. You’re gone.”

I sighed, eyes drifting to the ceiling, heart a little too full for comfort. “He texted me earlier. Told me not to make anything annoying.”

Nao laughed so hard he started coughing.

“Apparently,” I said, deadpan, “a hot man with a death grip on his emotions and the emotional literacy of a calculator.”

Nao whistled low. “And yet here you are. Smiling like an idiot.”

I touched my cheek. I was smiling.

What the fuck?

“It’s like…” I paused, searching for the words. “Even when he’s being a cold bastard, I want to do something for him. Like—I want to feed him. Properly.”

Nao chuckled, gentler this time. “You’ve got it bad.”

“I just have a good heart.”

He sighed. “Are you falling for him?”

Obviously no! But I didn’t answer.

Instead, I stared at my screen where our in-game avatars had stopped moving—two digital bodies sitting side by side on a rock. We weren’t fighting. Not this round.

After playing around for a bit I went Back in the kitchen corner of my dorm, I squatted in front of my electric stove like it was a sacred shrine.

I had three tabs open on YouTube:

“Quick Thai Recipes That Taste Like Home”

“Cooking for Men Who Don't Deserve You (Yet)”

“How Not to Set Off the Dorm Smoke Alarm Again”

I tapped my pen against the recipe notebook I’d started purely for him. Johan Recipes. Each one coded like an offering to a minor god.

He liked spice. But not chaos.
He liked savory. But not cloying.
He hated “annoying food.” Whatever the hell that meant.

“Okay,” I muttered to myself, tying my apron and rolling up my sleeves. “Let’s do this. Stir-fried pork with holy basil. Calming. Sexy. Predictable but reliable. Like a hug in a bite.”

I chopped like I was possessed. Measured sauces like a scientist in love.

There was something quiet in me now. Something fluttery and hopeful.

Maybe… maybe if I got the balance right, he’d feel it too.

Not just the taste. But the care.

✿✿✿

The cold air of the convenience store was a slap after the warmth of my tiny kitchen. I wandered the aisles like a man on a mission: Beer, snacks, comfort.

Dao had sent a list so specific it read like a potion recipe. Easter said he trusted my vibe. Phoon just told me, “Nothing that tastes like sadness.”

I was loading up a few odd-flavored chips when a voice called out softly behind me.

“Excuse me… Phi North?”

I turned, blinking at a freshman in a slightly-too-large hoodie and perfectly round glasses.

“Yeah?”

His cheeks flushed. “Sorry, I just… I really liked your talk during freshman orientation. The one about... emotional resilience?”

I chuckled. “You mean the one where I basically told everyone I cried in a bathroom stall and still passed calculus?”

He laughed too. “Yeah. That one.”

There was a short silence.

“Also, um,” he added nervously, “you have a really… you have a nice aura. Warm. Magnetic, I guess? Sorry. That sounded weird.”

I smiled gently, used to this by now. “Thank you, Nong.”

He fumbled. “Would it be okay if I added you on LINE? I’m… in your faculty.”

I tilted my head. “Only if you promise not to send me those cursed pick-up lines everyone else does.”

He turned bright red. “Never! I mean—I swear I wouldn’t—”

I laughed again. “Just focus on your studies, okay?”

He nodded quickly and practically floated away.

I sighed. My charm was still working. Too bad the only person I wanted to be affected by it… texted like he ran a mafia ring.

I paid for all the goods and walked back to the dorm. For some reason my heart was at peace, a very fluttering peace today.