Plawan stood frozen, his eyes locked on the order details flashing on the screen. His heart raced as memories flooded back—the unmistakable dish that was requested, croquettes and granita, sent a jolt through him. The combination wasn't on the restaurant's menu, but it was something deeply personal to him. He knew exactly who would order it, someone who had taught him how to make it all those years ago.
"Croquettes and granita?" JJ asked, still confused. "Why? You don't know how to make it? Let's just cancel it, Wan. Besides, we're closed, and the order machine shouldn't even be on."
Plawan's stomach twisted, and without hesitation, he snapped out of his daze. "No. I'll do it." His voice was firm, and JJ looked at him, surprised.
"Wait, seriously? But we're closed, and there's no staff to deliver it!" JJ argued, but Plawan was already walking towards the kitchen, his mind racing with thoughts of the one person who would order this. His hands moved on instinct as he started gathering ingredients.
"Wan, come on, who would even order this at this time? It's weird, and this isn't something we normally make." JJ leaned against the counter, watching Plawan with concern.
But Plawan couldn't let it go. The request was too specific, too deliberate. Oab. It had to be him. Croquettes and granita had been Oab's favorite dish back when they were together, something they had bonded over in the kitchen when Plawan was still learning the ropes. His fingers fumbled with the utensils for a moment, the weight of old memories pressing down on him.
"I'll do this, JJ." He said, more quietly this time but with a resolve that left no room for debate.
JJ stared at him, his brows knitting together in concern. "Alright... but why do you want to do this so bad? What's going on, Wan?"
Plawan kept his eyes on the prep station, refusing to meet JJ's gaze. "It's nothing. Just... an old habit." He started preparing the croquettes, hands moving swiftly. Every slice of potato, every measure of seasoning, felt like muscle memory from a time he thought he had left behind.
JJ, sensing something more but choosing not to press further, gave a slight nod. "Fine. But you're delivering it, too. We're out of delivery staff, and I'm not leaving the baby here alone with Kluea."
Plawan didn't respond, focusing entirely on the dish in front of him. His mind was already racing ahead, trying to prepare himself for the possibility of seeing Oab again. After all this time, after everything that had happened, was it really him? And if it was, why now?
As he finished plating the croquettes and granita, he took a deep breath, wiping his hands on his apron. The air in the kitchen felt thick with anticipation. This was more than just a meal—it felt like a test, a confrontation he had long avoided.
"Alright. It's done. I'll take it." Plawan grabbed the neatly plated dish and walked towards the door.
JJ frowned. "Are you sure?" he asked again, feeling the tension in the air.
Plawan paused, his hand on the door handle, and nodded. "Yeah. I have to."
With that, he stepped out into the cool evening air, the weight of the past heavy on his shoulders as he made his way to the delivery address, knowing that this simple order might open old wounds he wasn't sure he was ready to face.
As Plawan hurried through the quiet streets with the neatly packed food in hand, he kept repeating to himself, "Please... please let this be him." The familiar combination of croquettes and granita—it had to be. His heart raced as he approached the address, his mind swirling with memories of what once was and what could still be.
