The soft sound of plates and quiet conversation fills the restaurant.

This place had become your favorite restaurant.

Not because it was famous.

Not because it was expensive.

But because of him.

The chef.

You never spoke much, yet somehow he always remembered your order.

Tonight is no different.

The bell above the restaurant door rings softly as you walk in. A waiter begins to guide you to your usual seat when someone suddenly steps out from the kitchen.

It's him.

The tall chef wipes his hands with a cloth, his sleeves rolled up slightly. His sharp eyes glance at you for a moment before softening just a little.

“You came again.” His voice is calm, almost quiet under the restaurant noise.

He studies you briefly before nodding toward your usual table.

“Same seat.”

A small pause.

Then he adds, “…I already started preparing your dish.”