| An Amourshipping Story |
[but can be read as an individual story too]
mémoire = memory
The most tragic stories happen when a girl meets a boy and they fall in love. But when a girl falls in love with a boy who only existed in her memory, the stor...
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Serena had never really prided herself for her communication skills. She knew she had them but very sparingly, just well enough to get through life and deal with the daily happenings that occurred on the surface level. Asking for favors, returning them, buying groceries, helping others in matters that didn't involve navigating feelings—and the list continued in such a fashion.
But talking about feelings and what her brain had to say were a different ball game. She had not put much thought into it and she didn't intend on putting any thought into it.
The other aspect of conversation in which she lacked was dealing with people who had become ancient history in her life but then decided to show up in her kitchen on the most random winter afternoon when she was floured up, making macarons. Said person had also sparked a beef with the brother-like person in her life who then started lurking in the background making sure that she didn't faint, much to her embarrassment, again.
And she had no idea what a possible icebreaker could be for the dreadful conversation ahead.
So she did what she was better at—focus her attention on finishing her macarons. They were baked to perfection, the slight crisp of their exterior hiding the sweet interior. They had colored beautifully and the honey blonde set them aside to cool while she whisked the frosting.
The clinking of the whisk hitting the bowl of whipped cream was the only sound that filled the kitchen, other than the frantic beats of her heart. If it hadn't been for the two pairs of eyes that were staring at her, she would've allowed herself to sit down on the ground and go through whatever thoughts her mind could process in the moment.
The silence was grueling. So she beat the whipped cream harder, creating a jarring crescendo of metal hitting glass, her unnamed emotions releasing with every flick of her wrist.
"Um, is that really okay?"
Her movements slowed at the question and her attention snapped to his question.
"I-I mean . . . mixing it like that . . . " Ash said, his voice faltering with uncertainty as the honey blonde narrowed her eyes at him.
"It is. It is supposed to be as fast as possible," she replied before resuming her aggressive mixing.
Calm down, Serena.
"Oh, I thought you have to do it delicately. Like, really slowly and consistently."
Her movements didn't stop but she raised her head to look at him, wondering how her first conversation with him after eleven years was about whipping cream. He was wrong but by the way he was talking, she could make out that he had been in the kitchen and was asking with genuine interest.
"That is for sugar glazes and icings," she muttered, a small smile tugging at her face when she saw enlightenment sweeping over his face. "For whipped cream and frostings, you do it like this to form hard peaks, slightly slower for softer peaks." She added, earning a few nods of understanding from him
