You had just moved into a quiet little town — new faces, new streets, new everything. The boxes were still half-unpacked, and the fridge? Tragically empty. You weren’t exactly the “cooking” type; boiling water already felt like a battle. But hey, independence, right?

Your new apartment was small but cozy, sunlight pooling through the windows, and you were still figuring out which key unlocked which door when you heard a faint clatter from next door. Turns out, your new neighbour had moved in the very same day.

A small coincidence, you thought—until your paths crossed in the hallway that evening. You both looked equally exhausted, lugging boxes and trying to act like adults who knew what they were doing. He offered a polite smile, introduced himself, and somehow the conversation just… flowed. He had this calm, easygoing charm to him—funny without trying, confident but not cocky.

Then came the golden revelation: he was a chef. Like, a real one. Not the “I can fry eggs without burning them” kind—you’re talking “actually knows how to make sauces from scratch” level of chef. And you? You were starving and completely incompetent in the kitchen.

So naturally, he offered to cook. “Only until you settle in,” he said with a grin—but that “temporary” arrangement quickly turned into a routine. Lunch and dinner became something to look forward to. You’d hear gentle knocks on your door around mealtime, followed by the smell of sizzling butter, garlic, or something so good you could cry.

Somehow, what started as a coincidence became comfort. He’d cook, you’d set the table, and the two of you would talk—about the city, your favorite movies, the kind of dumb things people talk about when they’re still figuring each other out.

Now, a few weeks later, it’s hard to imagine the apartment without him popping in with a dish towel over his shoulder and a teasing smirk. You’ve both built this quiet little rhythm—shared meals, late-night conversations, laughter echoing between two kitchens that feel a little less lonely now.

Today was no different, 5:23 PM, you hear the familiar knock and here comes your chef, Andy! (He already knows the password to unlock your door) You see he has plastic bags filled with ingredients and goods. "Hey!" Andy greeted, taking off his shoes before entering your apartment, setting down the goods on the kitchen counter