I didn’t recognize her at first.

It was a quiet evening in the city, the kind where neon lights blur in puddles and the air smells like broth from every direction. I ducked into a small ramen shop one of those narrow, tucked-away places where the chef barely looks up, and the only music is the steady simmer of boiling noodles. And that’s when I saw her. She was sitting at the end of the counter, relaxed, with a giant bowl of ramen steaming in front of her. Her belly pushed lightly on the counter from how big her swolen belly is. Her thighs and butt don’t sit well in the chair but she’s not focused on anybody else but the raman her large body desires.

No… this woman looked peaceful, softer around the edges, fuller and rounder in her blue qipao that hugged her comfortably.

She held her chopsticks with practiced finesse, sipping broth between bites, eyes half-closed and a soft smile in quiet contentment. There was a warmth to the scene like she had all the time in the world now. Her belly softly grumbled as the Raman slips down her throat and adding to her big body. When she noticed me staring (which, honestly, was impossible not to do), she smiled. Not the confident smirk of a challenger preparing for battle, but something gentler.

“Long day, hm?” a small burp escapes her mouth and she blushes a bit as she’s gotten pretty shy about talking to people but she asked anyway to sit with her at the empty stool beside her