"This is stupid let us out!" Boun yelled.
"I'm not staying in this room for another minute with this asshole!" Prem raged.
"Well, that's just too bad." Ohm spoke calmly through the intercom.
"We're not letting you two out until your friends again...
The sauce was complete. The noodles were done boiling and I just finished sautéing the chicken. I was on to the veggies.
"Is the food ready yet? I'm starving." Boun complained while sitting at the kitchen table. I was making Pad Thai, following a simple recipe that had been taught to me years ago.
"Shut up, you're lucky I'm making enough for you too." First official night in this makeshift prison and I was ready to strangle him. "How is it possible, that the son of a world-renowned chef can't even cook?" I shook my head.
"I can't cook because I am the son of a world-renowned chef," He smirked fiddling with the speaker box. I moved the veggies to one side of the pan, added the eggs to the other side, and started scrambling them.
"That doesn't make sense, you loved being in the kitchen with me and your mom while she spilled secrets behind her amazing recipes. You loved cooking."
"I hate cooking!" Boun confessed grumbling, "only reason I even bothered suffering through it was because of how much you liked it."
"Wait a minute," I added the cooked noodles, chicken, sauce, and green onions. "You only acted like you were interested in cooking because of me?" I looked over at Boun who seemed to have lost interest in what I was asking, as he shoved the speaker box away.
"The flat-screen doesn't work and this stupid thing doesn't even play music." He huffed standing up, "That almost looks ready I'm going to go wash my hands." He brushed passed me so quick I almost forgot about the food.
Returning my attention back to the task at hand, I gave the mixture a good toss until everything was evenly coated in the sauce, then removed the pan from the heat. The Pad Thai was complete.
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
All those years in his mom's kitchen, using our boosters as kids because we were too small to reach the stove, and he hated it? Were my memories deceiving me? I clearly remembered the excitement on his face as we took turns adding ingredients.
One of my last and fondest memories between us was just a week before my eleventh birthday party. We had the best food fight ever. Though we had dozens, I couldn't remember those quite as clearly as I did that last one.
Every glance, every touch, every detail remained ingrained in my memories. Looking back sometimes I didn't even believe it really happened.
Was it real?
Did he really say what he said?
Did he mean it?
We were only ten and thirteen, maybe he didn't realize the implication behind those words.
Why the hell did I say, 'okay'?
It wasn't real and he didn't mean it, because here we are. Hating each other.
