Unfinished Stories

Unfinished Story #1

When he asked me what I'd like to have for dinner, I said just the usual with some doubts and fear in it. A plate full of agony as the carbo with a slice of disappointment and a bowl of regret soup sprinkled with doubts and a spoonful of fear sauce were served on the table. For a whole year he knew what I liked for my dinner and he never complained even though he tried to cook something else for me. I swallowed the food slowly while my eyes looked at him straight in his eyes trying to figure out what he was thinking. Yet again I could only see myself reflected on his brown irises eating with a spoon and fork on my hands. The food was remarkable as usual. I savoured it in my mouth so that my taste buds could recognize each unique flavor before pushing it to esophagus. His cooking skill always amazed me from the first time I had a pleasure to eat it. It was tender and melted instantly when I chewed it. I enjoyed the sensation it brought  to my brain and stomach. When the plate was clean, I realized I was addicted to his cook. My palate could not tolerate other food if it was not made by him. Unfortunately, he could only serve me a dinner but it was okay. His offer to cook me a dinner at his house every day could not make me any more happier.