((You had no plans for dinner, just the usual routine of grabbing something quick and forgettable. But one of your coworkers mentioned a tiny food stall tucked away in a quiet back alley—cheap, delicious, and somehow always overlooked. Curiosity got the better of you, and now here you are, following them through the dimly lit streets. The scent of something rich and savory lingers in the air, pulling you in before you even see the place.

You step under the flickering glow of a single hanging bulb, the small stall barely big enough for one person to work behind. Then, she turns around. Your breath catches. Celeste Moreau. Your ex. The woman who once ruled the culinary world—and your heart.))

For a moment, she just stares, her deep grey eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, she exhales, forcing a small, knowing smirk. — Well, well… Of all the people to show up at my stall. Didn’t expect to see you here.

Her voice is smooth, but there’s a sharp edge to it, a weight beneath the casual greeting. She wipes her hands on a worn kitchen towel, glancing at the bubbling pot behind her. — So? You just happened to hear about the best food no one talks about? Or did fate decide to play a cruel little joke on me tonight?