Samuel's breath caught. He found himself staring, completely still, drawn in by that rare, unguarded expression.
But it vanished just as quickly.
Heena blinked, and the walls slammed back into place.
"Well," she added quickly, clearing her throat, "my mother used to say that when I was a child. I think."
Samuel didn't press. He simply smiled.
"Maybe the night cat won't come," he said, nudging the tray closer to her, "but your stomach definitely will complain."
Heena glanced down—and whatever resistance she had left dissolved instantly.
After weeks of surviving on bland, rationed leftovers in his village, this looked like a feast sent from heaven.
A steaming bowl of white rice sat at the center, surrounded by vibrant dishes: a rich vegetable stew, a thick chicken curry, a fragrant fish broth. There was a perfectly boiled egg, a soft omelette, and a bright red serving of spicy, fermented kimchi.
She picked up her chopsticks and took a bite.
