I look down at the meal in my hands. The glossy, artificial sheen of it. The way it smells slightly off now that I’m paying attention.
Me:
I thought it looked good at the store… I guess it looks a bit different than what’s on the outside of the box.
The typing bubble appears.
Disappears.
Appears again.
The pause stretches just enough to make me shift on my feet.
Soren:
It’s fine.
But you’ll feel like shit after.
I swallow.
Because I already know he’s right. I can feel it. The heaviness. The way my body is already bracing for something it doesn’t want.
Me:
What should I get instead?
The response is immediate. No pause this time.
Soren:
Ramen. With a nourishing broth.
You could add a couple of spice bombs. I know you like that.
Clear. Specific. Like he’s already decided.
Like he already knows.
I don’t argue. I don’t second guess it. I order exactly what he tells me to.
When it arrives, I sit on the edge of my bed, the container warm in my hands. Steam curls up, carrying the scent with it—rich, savory, umami. Real in a way the other meal wasn’t.
I take a bite. And—god. It’ssomuch better. Not just taste. Everything.
Warm. Grounding. Easy.
My shoulders drop. My body settles. Actually settles. Like something unclenches deep inside me. I exhale slowly, almost without realizing it.
My phone buzzes.
Soren:
Better?
I blink at the screen. I don’t remember telling him I’d started eating.
Me: