Celeste’s kitchen is sleek and modern, with black countertops and a stainless-steel fridge. It’s the kind of industrial aesthetic environment that suits her outfits more, which is how I know this part of the house wasn’t decorated by Celeste herself. It occurs to me then that this whole place must be an Airbnb or another temporary lodging of some sort, since Celeste is only staying in the area until mid-January at the latest, our deadline to finalize everything. She probably replaced the bedding with her own. Which is a very her thing to do.

Celeste stands at the stove, her back to me as she cooks, stirring the big pot with a silver ladle. Everything smells so good, and the rich kimchi smell makes my mouth water.

When she hears me approach, Celeste stiffens but doesn’t turn around.

“Hey,” she says.

I clear my throat. There are a million things I want to ask her right now, but the question that comes out of my mouth is “Since when do you cook?”

Back in college, I used to always be the one that made our meals, while Celeste took care of the cleaning and tidying up around the apartment. I’m shocked that she’s making haejang-guk from scratch, instead of ordering delivery.

“Since I had to take care of my mom when she was sick,” she replies. “You learn a lot in times of desperation.”

If we were still together, or even if we were still friends, I’d rush up to hug her. But since we’re not, I stand there awkwardly as Celeste brings the ladle to her lips. My eyes automatically follow the movement, and before I know it, I’m staring at her lips as she tastes the soup. Damn it.

“What happened last night?” I ask.

“You don’t remember?”

In Korean, instead of saying we “blacked out,” we say “the film ended” to describe the unpleasant experience of not having any recollection of what happened after a night of drinking. A lot is lost to me, and the final thing I remember before waking up in Celeste’s bed is…

I gasp, bringing my hand to my lips. I’ve been so preoccupied with memories of the distant past that I only now remember more recent events.

I fell, and Celeste and I kissed.

Celeste silently watches me, carefully studying every slight change of the expressions on my face.

“You passed out, and I brought you back to my place,” she goes on when I don’t say anything. “Don’t worry, nothing else happened, and I slept on the couch. The stew is ready. Let’s eat.”

I sit down and, after waiting for Celeste to join me at the table, eat my first spoonful. The hearty stew warms me up instantly, the pleasantly spicy flavors revitalizing my senses so that after only a few spoonfuls in, I really do feel rejuvenated.