Warm steam was still rising from the surface of the stainless-steel pot on the gas stove. Maya stood frozen for several seconds, holding the wooden soup ladle whose handle suddenly felt a little heavy in her fingers. Caleb's footsteps creaking across the parquet floor outside the kitchen gradually faded, replaced by the roar of the night wind growing stronger as it battered the wet kitchen windows.
"Not enough salt?" Maya murmured, narrowing her eyes at the surface of the clear, golden chicken broth.
How could that quiet young man of French descent know what the food tasted like when he hadn't even tried it? Maya let out a soft breath and shook her head, trying to drive away her curiosity. She chose a clean teaspoon, scooped up a little of the boiling broth, and tasted it carefully.
Her tongue immediately picked up the gentle savoriness of free-range chicken stock, ginger, and scallions—but at the end of the taste, something seemed to be missing. It was a little bland, short by just a pinch of salt to bring all the aromas of the seasonings together into the right balance.
"Oh, my God..." Maya whispered to herself. Her cheeks suddenly felt warm. She didn't know whether Caleb had really guessed because he could smell that the seasoning was too faint, or whether he'd simply made a lucky guess. But the fact that the cold man's guess had been accurate managed to unsettle Maya's well-practiced pride in the kitchen.
Without wasting any time, Maya reached for the ceramic salt container beside the stove, took a delicate pinch, and sprinkled it into the pot while stirring slowly. After tasting it again and making sure the flavor was perfect, she turned off the stove, washed her hands in the sink, and arranged the large porcelain bowls on a wooden tray to carry into the main dining room.
The dining room in Grandpa Hendra's old house always radiated a unique warmth. A classic crystal chandelier cast golden-yellow light that reflected off the polished solid teak dining table. At the head of the table, Grandpa Hendra sat beside Grandma Melia. Caleb's mother and father sat on the left, while Maya's mother stood near the connecting doorway to the kitchen, an apron still wrapped around her waist as she prepared to help serve the extended family.
"Mom, let Maya put the soup down," Maya whispered gently as she crossed through the connecting doorway, taking the fairly heavy tray of main soup bowls from her mother's hands.
"Oh, Maya. Are you done with college, sweetheart? Here, just put it in the middle," Grandma Melia greeted her with a warm, motherly smile. Her elderly face looked especially radiant that evening because the house, usually so quiet, was now filled with the lively sounds of her children and grandchildren.
Maya smiled politely and walked toward the main dining table. Just as she was about to set the large white ceramic bowl on its wooden trivet, her eyes accidentally caught sight of the person sitting directly across from where she stood.
Caleb.
The man had changed clothes and was now wearing a loose cream-colored linen shirt, with the top button left undone, revealing the firm line of his throat and collarbone.
His hair, slightly darker at the roots and lighter at the ends, had been combed neatly back, though a few strands of his bangs had fallen messily across his forehead. Caleb was holding a fork and knife, but his movements stopped when Maya set the bowl of soup directly in front of him.
Those calm hazel-brown eyes slowly lifted and locked onto Maya's. The faintest glimmer of amusement passed through them—an expression so subtle that if Maya hadn't been watching closely, she would have thought it was nothing more than her imagination.
Maya quickly looked away and straightened the porcelain soup ladle on the table. "Please help yourselves, Grandma, Grandpa. The soup is ready," she said politely, trying to keep her voice calm and professional.
"It smells wonderful," Caleb's father praised—a tall, broad-shouldered middle-aged man with the neatly groomed light beard characteristic of a European man. His Indonesian was fairly fluent, though colored by a strong French accent. "Mrs. Surti always knows how to make us hungry after a long trip from Paris."
Maya's mother, whom everyone called Mrs. Surti, smiled shyly as she came closer. "Oh, Mr. Antoine, I wasn't the one who made the soup this evening. Maya cooked it. She said that since she got home early from college, she wanted to prepare dinner."
"Oh, really?" Caleb's mother—a beautiful, elegant middle-aged woman dressed in a locally woven dress—looked at Maya with delighted admiration. "Maya is beautiful, hardworking, and a wonderful cook, too. Her future husband is going to be very lucky."
The directness of the compliment made Maya's cheeks instantly flush. She lowered her head, gripping the edge of her wooden tray. "You're flattering me, Mom. I only made a simple recipe from my mother," Maya replied softly.
Amid the warm conversation, Caleb remained silent. He ladled warm soup into his own small bowl, ignoring the older people's chatter around him. With an elegant, unhurried movement, he brought the first spoonful to his mouth.
Everyone at the table was busy talking, but Maya—for some reason—quietly held her breath in the corner near the door, watching Caleb's lips move. He chewed slowly, swallowed the soup, then gave a small nod as he scooped up a second spoonful.
"How's the soup, Caleb? Good?" Grandpa Hendra asked with a soft chuckle, glancing at his grandson, who had said very little since arriving that afternoon.
Caleb set his spoon back on the edge of the bowl. He calmly wiped the corner of his mouth with a white cloth napkin, then looked up across the dining room, his gaze landing directly on Maya standing stiffly near the door.
"Just right," Caleb replied briefly. His deep voice echoed softly against the wooden walls of the dining room. "The salt is enough."
Maya's eyes widened slightly. She knew those words were a hidden message meant specifically for her. The restrained smile hinted at in Caleb's hazel eyes made her heart beat once faster than usual—a strange sensation she quickly pushed from her mind.
The night grew later, and the rain outside had eased into a thin, chilly drizzle. The crickets in the village began calling back and forth among the leafy trees surrounding the old house's grounds. After helping her mother wash all the dirty dishes and clean the kitchen table until it gleamed, Maya said goodnight and prepared to stay in the small pavilion at the back side of the main house—a living space Grandpa Hendra had provided for her mother many years ago.
However, before heading to the pavilion, Maya had to pass the side porch where the clothesline and pots of orchid seedlings were kept.
Maya hugged her college notebook and backpack to her chest as she walked slowly along the wooden path sheltered by a roof. The night air immediately pricked the skin of her arms, which were covered only by a thin long-sleeved shirt. She quickened her pace, eager to reach her room and collapse after spending all day wrestling with piles of law coursework.
"Ahem."
The soft but deep throat-clearing from the darkness of the side porch made Maya jump in surprise. Her steps stopped at once.
In a corner of the porch lit by a single yellowish wall lamp stood Caleb. The tall man was leaning against an old wooden pillar, both hands resting casually in the pockets of his trousers. A black ceramic cup still giving off a thin wisp of steam sat on the small table beside him. He seemed to be enjoying the chilly village night air, so different from the nights in Paris.
Maya rubbed her chest, her heart still pounding from the shock. She tried to compose herself, adjusted the bag in her arms, then took one step forward to offer a polite greeting.
"Caleb... you startled me," Maya whispered, her soft voice carried away by the night wind. "Why aren't you asleep yet? It's past ten."
Caleb didn't answer right away. He straightened and stepped out of the pillar's shadow, letting the wall lamp illuminate part of his perfectly sculpted face. His firm jawline, prominent nose, and sharp yet gentle gaze made him look like a living portrait in the old house.
"I'm not used to the time difference yet," Caleb answered quietly. His Indonesian was very polished, only slightly stiff in a few intonations colored by his foreign accent. "It's still four in the afternoon in Paris."
Maya nodded in understanding. Jet lag, she thought. "Oh... right. I forgot you just arrived from overseas today."
Silence settled over them again. The night wind blew softly, lifting a few strands of Maya's long hair where it fell over her shoulder. Maya felt the awkwardness beginning to press down on her, and she had no reason to linger on the cold porch with her mother's employer's grandson.
"In that case, I'll go ahead, sir. I'm going to rest at the pavilion," Maya said pleasantly, pointing toward the path leading to the small house behind them.
Maya had just started to walk past Caleb when his voice stopped her again.
"Maya."
Maya halted and turned back to face him. "Yes, sir?"
Caleb looked straight at her from his considerable height. A fairly long pause passed as he simply studied Maya's face in silence, as though weighing what words were appropriate to say in a language that wasn't the one he used every day.
"Thank you," Caleb said at last. "For the soup. And... I'm sorry if I came across as rude in the kitchen earlier."
Maya was stunned for a moment. She hadn't expected a man who seemed so cold, indifferent, and difficult to approach to openly apologize over nothing more than a guess about salt in the kitchen. Maya's wariness and initial suspicion that Caleb was an arrogant rich man slowly began to erode.
A thin, sincere smile finally appeared on Maya's face, revealing a sweet dimple in her left cheek. "It's okay, Caleb. You were right about the salt—I wasn't careful enough when I seasoned it. If I ever make something that doesn't taste good, just tell me, okay?"
Caleb studied that smile closely. He blinked slowly, and for the first time since setting foot in the house, the corners of his mouth lifted into a clearly visible smile—not merely a formal one, but a warm smile that instantly transformed the cold impression on his face.
"I will," Caleb replied shortly. "Good night, Maya."
"Good night, Caleb."
Maya turned and continued toward the pavilion, strangely feeling much lighter. Meanwhile, on the dim side porch, Caleb remained where he was, watching the girl's back slowly disappear behind the pavilion's wooden door before finally picking up his coffee and taking a sip, warmed by a new feeling.