Cooking is...

"Now this is exactly what I was talking about. It would've been so much easier and much less time consuming if we had just bought this already prepared, in a cup noodle or something." Dawn complained while I was choosing what ingredients to put in the chicken noodle soup we had been assigned to make.

"Why are you so against cooking your own food? Do you have some past trauma or something?" Sadim who was also standing by the collective ingredient table responded to the question which probably hadn't even been meant for him.

Nonetheless, the one who had asked acknowledged the answer she received. "No, I just don't like feeling like I'm having my time wasted. That's all."

I could see Sadim was about to respond, but a sudden summon from his group partner quieted him down. He turned around, about to head towards the one which had called for him, but before he left us, he said a few parting words:" Well, whatever reservations you've got about cooking, Dawn, I wouldn't worry too much about it. You've got him in your group, after all." And while my friend said that, with his back still turned to me, he pointed his thumb straight at where I was standing.

Meanwhile I was still busy choosing ingredients, acting like I hadn't noticed their conversation.

Then Sadim headed away to his partner. Immediately after he had left, Dawn faced me; with her curiosity plain to see. "You know how to cock? Like Good?"

Having finished choosing ingredients, my hands were full as I just barely managed to shrug in response without dropping the different vegetables I had chosen. "I dunno why he's so confident. I mean, I've got a little experience but that's all"

***

"What!? You're amazing!"My partner, now turned cheerleader yelled while I cut up the ordinary onion.

"What do you mean? I'm just cutting it, nothing special…"

"But you're so quick! It's like a real prochef is standing before me.", for a second I thought I could see small twinkles in her eyes.

"I thought you didn't care about cooking?" I said as I finished cutting up the onion.

"Well, yeah. 'I' don't, but I do care about people who care"

"And you think I fit that bill?"

She seemed puzzled by my question. "You're smiling, aren't you?"

Once again, as this was pointed out to me, I felt my reflexes kick in and I could feel my instinctive reaction of wanting to cover up this evidence to my happiness. But I somehow managed not to.

"I... am… but I wouldn't really say I care that much about cooking"

Now she seemed even more puzzled, "You really aren't easy to understand, do you know that?"

"W-Well, that might be true. But yet still trying to explain myself, I think I care more so about the memories I have with it than the cooking itself, if you get me?"

Dawn's puzzled expression slowly vanished and got replaced with one of seeming empathy. "I… still have no idea what you're saying"

"Oh, well… ehm…", I had no response, completely dumbfounded.

But despite her comment, Dawn's empathetic expression remained. "But I think I understand the feeling. Living in the memory, that is."

"So you do understand me!"I spoke much louder than I had expected.

She chuckled, "Partially, just partially" That still counted as a win in my book.

After a short pause in conversation, surprisingly I took the initiative: "Shall we continue cooking then? I can do the vegetables and you do the broth?"

"Yes sir!", and she saluted, because of course she did…

But at least she seemed open to the idea, which was good. I mean, she might not enjoy cooking, but as long as she just follows the recipe what's the worst that could happen?

***

"Could you… say that again?"

"Look, they both start with a 't', it was really confusing!" Dawn desperately came up with an excuse, but in my shock, it might as well have fallen on deaf ears.

"You used a tablespoon… instead of a teaspoon… when adding salt to the broth?"

"Y-yeah", she seemed unsure about the gravity of what she had done.

"Do you know how many teaspoons fit in a tablespoon?" As I proposed the question it was clear to me she had no idea. "Three. You could fit three teaspoons in one tablespoon…"

She grimaced, a sign to me that she now understood what exactly it was she had accidentally done.

"Oh, that's not good…", she began wavering and put one hand on our kitchen counter, a support so she would not fall.

"Yeah, we're kinda screwed. Though you shouldn't blame yourself, everyone makes mistakes, especially their first times trying something. Hell, you commented on me cutting that onion before in a professional way, then you should've seen me a year ago"

She gave a light chuckle. "You cut yourself?"

"Oh, you bet I did. I had patches all over my fingers, and that's not all. You know how you tear up when cutting a lot of onion, to prevent this I wore freaking swimming goggles! It looked ridiculous.", Why did I say all of this? It was embarrassing! But, in the end, I didn't want her to start disliking cooking even more, just because she had tried and failed. No matter what, I wouldn't allow this one single mistake to have such an effect.

She removed her hand from the counter and looked me in the eye. "Thanks Grey"

"No problem, but we really oughta tell Mr. Pearson, and don't worry; I'm sure he'll understand"

And so I raised my hand for our teacher to notice, but before I could even stretch it out fully, Dawn grabbed it. "You shouldn't give up so easily. You still continued despite those patches didn't you? So what's some more? We can still do this, I know it" Those twinkles I thought I had seen in her eyes before, no matter if they had been there or not, had now been replaced by two fierce flames; burning up any doubt in her words.

"Y-yeah, we can do this!" is what I told her.

"Liar!!" is what I told myself.