The moment I stepped into Layla's kitchen, I was greeted by the unmistakable signs of neglect. The countertops were cluttered with random items an empty mug, a half-open bag of chips, a bowl with a spoon stuck in it like it had been abandoned mid-meal.
I sighed, shaking my head. This wasn't surprising. Layla's lack of domestic skills had been apparent since the day I met her.
Still, there was a strange comfort in the challenge. Cooking had always been my way of clearing my head, of focusing on something tangible when my thoughts ran wild. And right now, I needed that focus.
The fridge creaked slightly as I opened it, revealing a depressing selection of ingredients. A carton of eggs. Half a block of cheese. Some wilted greens that were dangerously close to the expiration date. A lone tomato sat on the top shelf, looking like it had seen better days.
