A Glimpse Behind the Facade

The scent of burnt toast hung heavy in the air, a testament to my latest culinary disaster. I’d been trying to make breakfast, a simple act of domesticity I usually excelled at, but the sheer presence of Choi San in the kitchen, even if he was just silently reading a script at the counter, had my hands shaking. I fumbled with the toaster, a plume of acrid smoke soon billowing upwards, triggering the smoke alarm with a shriek that made my heart leap into my throat.

“No, no, no!” I yelped, frantically waving a tea towel at the offending device.

A deep sigh, barely audible over the alarm, emanated from San. I risked a glance. He hadn’t even looked up from his script, his dark brow furrowed in concentration, but his shoulders were tensed. He was annoyed. Of course, he was annoyed. My very existence in this apartment seemed to be a constant source of irritation for him.