Love at Second Sight

Chapter 23

Sometimes, only one person is missing, and the whole world seems depopulated.

~Alphonse de Lamartine

***

Japan was so serene, thought Savannah, walking through its streets. The cherry blossoms scattered the pathways and numerous people walked along, busy with their lives. Kids getting into and out of buses, walking to school. Men and women hurrying to work. It was as busy as New York or LA would be, but still somehow, Japan seemed to have a peace about itself, a serenity that neither New York nor LA possessed.

She smiled as her attention got captured by a little girl in a the cutest skirt and bunny ears toddling down the road. She had to admit, Asian kids were the cutest, most adorable looking kids on this whole globe—she was willing to fight whoever wished to  dispute her on it.

But, she realized, again, that even standing amidst so many people, she felt lonely. She wondered why.

Her phone pinged with a message from Dave: How's Japan going? Learn anything amazing?

She typed: So much! My Lord! These guys are whizzes. Damn. I will FaceTime you later when I'm back at the hotel.

At the moment, she absolutely needed to get her shit together and walk faster and reach the kitchen in—she checked her watch—half an hour. Or else. Her Sensei would—honestly, he wouldn't say anything even remotely rude. Kawashima Sensei was the sweetest. He was her mentor for this tour. She had gotten the wonderful opportunity of training in Japanese cuisine. And Kawashima Sensei was her guru.

As she thought back to the past few months of being in Japan, she felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude that she could learn such a detailed cuisine from such an amazing person. Every new dish, every new technique she learned shocked her to the core. To everyone, Shinkansen was just one example that was out for the world to see, of how bloody perfect the Japanese were. But to her, she got to see it everyday. The way they meticulously did every single step of the recipe, from chopping to garnishing, nothing was too much or too less—just the most perfect amount.

Most of the time Sensei would not even bother with things that one would think he would comment on, since he was teaching someone who was already a Chef—something advance. No. He would only grill and train her on the most basic skills, like how she held the knife, how she ought to chop cabbage and how that technique was different from how she'd chop a stalk vegetable.

It wasn't that she didn't learn new stuff. She did, and boy oh boy, was it enlightening. She'd loved every bit of it.

She walked into the kitchen and there he was, the sweetest, friendliest, most smiling person she'd ever met.

She bowed, wishing him, "Ōhayo gozaimasu, Sensei."

He grinned, and wished her back, adding, "That is the correct way to say it. You must pull the first O-o sound, then again pull the ending sounds, and soft the hard—uh, uh—tones. We Japanese do not have, uh, hard sounds. It's a—a—a...soft language."

She huffed. "I am working on it, all right?" She rubbed her hands together in eagerness. "So, what are we doing today?"

"We teach you to make Tamagoyaki."

"Wow. Sounds so exciting, and fancy."

He patted her back and led her to the counter, where only eggs were kept. "It is really not. It is just simple, uh—what you Americans call this—yes, omelet."

She looked at him. He was serious. She was going to learn how to make omelets. Well, then.

—x—

She was being played. There was no way making an omelet could've been that difficult. But it was. It was.