Chapter 72: Insecurity to Perfection
"You’re unbelievable," Mira muttered, her cheeks warm, before grabbing the cloth and heading to the bathroom. She decided to unwind with a hot bath. The warm water soothed her tired muscles and helped her relax after a long day. After some time, she stepped out, drying her body with a soft towel. Once done, she dried her hair, though the evening air was cool outside from the bathroom small window at the side.
She had already taken her bath earlier than usual, knowing it would be some time before night fell.
Slipping into a large shirt that stopped just above her knees, she couldn’t help but wonder just how tall Zamian really was. His towering figure always left her feeling a bit small. Without giving too much thought to Zamian’s earlier words, she put on her lingerie, hoping it would distract her from the chaos of her thoughts. As she stepped out of the bathroom, she slipped into the cute flip-flops by the door, the soft padding making little noise on the tiled floor.
Her eyes widened when she entered the kitchen. Was Zamian... cooking? That was impossible. She almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the thought. But as she walked closer, her surprise only deepened. Of course—what was she thinking? The kitchen was a complete disaster. Tomatoes and various ingredients were scattered everywhere, the countertop littered with remnants of his attempts at cooking.
"What was he even doing?" Mira thought, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He was just wasting food, and that was something she hated, especially coming from a home where such things were not tolerated. Her mind raced with disbelief. Zamian cooking? It felt surreal. Even the way he wore the apron showed just how much of a novice he was in the kitchen. The fabric was awkwardly tied, hanging loosely around his broad frame.
"Stop," Mira said,clearly surprised, as she grabbed another apron and tied it around her own waist, determined to regain control of the situation.
Zamian finally turned around, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, his hair sticking to his skin. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his muscular arms, a sight that made Mira gulp involuntarily. This was a rare glimpse of him, and she quickly shifted her gaze, trying to focus on anything but him.
"You know what? Just sit. I’ll handle the rest," she said, trying to sound authoritative.
At that point, Zamian had no idea how difficult cooking really was.
"I want to help," he insisted, his tone earnest. Mira glanced at the mess he had already made, sighing deeply.
"Okay, fine. You can assist by making the fruit salad," she relented, wanting to keep him occupied while she took charge of the kitchen.