The familiar aroma of simmering broth drifted through the house.
Sour tamarind.
Fresh ginger.
Tomatoes, onions, and the unmistakable scent of chicken simmering until it practically fell off the bone.
I pulled out a chair and sat down.
Grandma had already fallen asleep on the sofa, so Clary quietly ladled the steaming chicken sinigang into two bowls before placing a mound of rice beside each one.
She slid a bowl toward me.
"Here."
"Thanks."
I picked up my spoon.
For a moment, I simply stared at it.
Steam curled lazily into the air.
The clear broth shimmered beneath the kitchen light.
Chunks of chicken rested beside radish, eggplant, kangkong, and long green beans.
A memory surfaced.
My mother's voice.
Soft. Amused.
"Mom isn't exactly the best cook."
I remembered asking why Grandma always insisted on cooking if she wasn't very good at it.
She had only smiled.
"Because she loves us."
"You'll understand someday."
Back then, I hadn't.
Food was just... food.
Whether it was too salty, too bland, burnt, or perfectly seasoned it all tasted the same.
Nothing.
I never understood why everyone complimented certain dishes or teased Grandma whenever she messed up.
I simply ate.
Because eating kept me alive.
"..."
I scooped up a spoonful of broth.
The first sip stopped me cold.
The bright sourness of the tamarind came first.
Then the warmth of ginger.
The sweetness of the tomatoes followed, blending into the rich, comforting flavor of the chicken.
As far as I can tell it wasn't perfect.
The broth was just a little saltier than it probably should've been.
The vegetables were slightly overcooked.
But...
Everything came together into something warm, something that felt unmistakably like home.
My eyes widened.
"This is amazing."
Clary nearly dropped her spoon.
"Excuse me?"
"This."
I gestured toward the bowl.
"It's amazing."
She stared.
"That's the first time you've ever had an opinion about food."
"Hm?"
"You've never reacted to food before."
I paused halfway through another spoonful.
"Oh."
She leaned across the table.
"No, seriously."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You always ate like a robot."
"I did?"
"You'd finish your meal in five minutes, wash your plate, and disappear."
"Well."
I looked back at the steaming soup.
"I can taste now."
The room fell silent.
Clary blinked.
"...Now?"
"Yeah."
"The system reward fixed it."
She stared at me for several long seconds.
"...Wait. wait, wait, wait."
Her expression slowly shifted from confusion... to disbelief.
"You mean..."
She slowly put her spoon down.
"You had no sense of taste?"
"Yeah."
"Your entire life?"
I nodded.
"Pretty much."
Silence.
"Cassius."
Her voice was unnervingly calm.
"Are you telling me..."
She pointed her spoon at me like it was a weapon.
"that time Grandma accidentally put to much salt into the chicken sinigang... When you kept saying, 'Food is food'..."
"..."
"you weren't trying to be a responsible older brother?"
I scratched my cheek.
"...No."
"You couldn't taste it?"
"Nope."
She slowly rose from her chair.
"Back then..."
Her voice climbed an octave.
"I HAD TO EAT THAT!"
I couldn't help smiling.
"You did."
"I thought we were suffering together!"
"I was suffering."
"YOU WERE SUFFERING DIFFERENTLY!"
"I suppose that's true."
She pointed dramatically at my bowl.
"I thought you were some enlightened monk who'd transcended flavor!"
"Nope."
"You couldn't taste anything?"
"No."
"Sweet?"
"No."
"Salty?"
"No."
"Sour?"
"No."
"Spicy?"
"I knew when something hurt, maybe that's why I prefer spicy food."
She grabbed both sides of her head.
"THIS CHANGES MY ENTIRE CHILDHOOD!"
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
A real laugh.
It echoed through the dining room.
Clary froze mid-rant.
She looked at me for a long moment before quietly sitting back down.
"You know..."
She absentmindedly stirred the broth with her spoon.
"I always thought you just... didn't enjoy anything."
"..."
"I'd get excited over food, birthdays, movies..."
A faint, bitter smile crossed her face.
"and you'd always smile politely."
"Yeah."
"I thought you were pretending because you didn't want to ruin everyone else's fun."
"No."
"But..."
She looked up at me.
"you literally couldn't experience part of it."
I nodded.
Without another word, she reached across the table and stole the biggest piece of chicken from my bowl.
"Hey."
"It's mine now."
"Since when?"
"Since I'm collecting emotional damages."
"For what?"
"For every meal I thought we were suffering through together."
"Makes sense."
I gave her a thumbs-up with one hand while my others spoon in hand slowly reached toward the stolen chicken.
My spoon was smacked away before it got anywhere close.
Tsk.
"Thief."
"Says the guy trying to steal from the victim."
I watched Clary finish the stolen piece of chicken with an expression that could only be described as victorious.
She even had the audacity to hum while chewing.
My spoon drifted lazily through the broth.
The gentle clink of metal against ceramic filled the silence.
Neither of them spoke.
The earlier laughter faded, leaving behind a quiet that wasn't uncomfortable.
At first.
I took another sip.
The soup had cooled just enough that I could taste it even better now.
Sour.
Warm.
Comforting.
The silence stretched.
Too long.
I glanced at Clary.
She was focused on her bowl, absentmindedly stirring the broth without actually eating.
I looked away.
Should I say something?
About what?
The weather?
The soup?
That she stole my chicken?
No.
That's already been established.
...
Maybe ask how she's been?
Too abrupt.
Apologize?
For which one?
There were... quite a few.
The conversation replayed itself in my head.
"I always thought you just... didn't enjoy anything."
I hadn't realized she'd been carrying that impression for years.
How many other misunderstandings were there?
How many things had I never explained because I assumed they didn't matter?
No.
Maybe it was better not to dig them back up.
We were laughing just a minute ago.
If I brought up the past now...
I'd probably ruin it.
The silence somehow became even louder.
I took another bite of rice.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
The sound of porcelain scraping against bowls suddenly felt deafening.
This...
This is awkward.
Should I leave?
No.
That'd make it worse.
Say something.
Anything.
"...Nice weather."
I immediately regretted it.
Fantastic.
Brilliant.
A conversational masterpiece.
Clary kept stirring the soup.
"You know... I kept thinking you were going to bring it up."
I looked over.
"Bring up what?"
She smiled faintly.
"That day."
A beat.
"I've already forgiven you.".
"...What?"
She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head.
"God..."
She rested her chin on one hand.
"That tension was insane."
She pointed her spoon at me.
"It's written all over your face."
"I don't think I made an expression."
"You didn't."
She smiled.
"I just know."
"...Thanks."
"For what?"
"For telling me."
She shrugged.
"I got tired of waiting for you to figure out how to ask."
I stared at my bowl.
"Was it that obvious?"
"Yeah, extremely obvious, anyway... Are you staying?."
"No, I'll go home tomorrow, just wanted to visit.
"...Are you still living in our old house?"
"Yeah."
"The roof still leaks?"
"Only when it rains hard."
Silence settled between them again.
This one felt different.
Quieter.
Heavier.
Clary rested her elbows on the table.
"So..."
She hesitated.
"You really are leaving tomorrow."
"I am."
"So this wasn't..."
She searched for the right words.
"you coming home."
"It was."
I met her eyes.
"...Just not for long."
Her smile faltered.
"Oh."
A long pause followed.
"I kept thinking..."
She stared into her bowl instead of at me.
"If things got better..."
Her voice softened.
"...maybe you'd move back."
I didn't answer immediately.
Not because I didn't know what to say.
Because there wasn't an answer that wouldn't hurt.
"The house feels..."
She laughed quietly at herself.
"...really empty sometimes."
"I know."
"No, I don't think you do."
She shook her head.
I looked down at my bowl.
"I'm sorry."
"I know."
"You've said that before."
"I know."
"But..."
She rubbed at one eye with the back of her hand before pretending nothing had happened.
"I was hoping this time would be different."
The room fell quiet once more.
Outside, rain began tapping softly against the windows.
I listened to it for a while before speaking.
"I don't think I'm ready to come back."
Clary nodded before I'd even finished.
"I figured."
"You don't have to explain."
"...Will you visit again?"
This time, I answered without hesitation.
"Yeah."
She looked up.
"You promise?"
"I promise."
A small smile finally returned to her face.
"...Good."
She picked up her spoon again.
"Then next time..."
She pointed it at me.
"I'm making the sinigang."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Can you cook?"
"No."
"Then why?"
She grinned.
"So you'll finally know what it's like to eat bad food on purpose."
I couldn't help but chuckle.
"I'll look forward to it."
"Don't."
"It's going to be terrible."
"I know."
"...But I think it'll still taste like home."
.....
We finished dinner not long after.
Yes, I devoured every last drop it.
Grandma was still asleep.
Before heading upstairs, I wished Clary good night.
She told me good night.
I told her "you to.."
Then I went back to my room.
It was time to become Barry again.