Breakfast spread, Voices dead

Asia's P.O.V.

Ali stumbled into the kitchen, his disheveled appearance and drool-soaked face making him resemble a hungry puppy. I found it odd, considering he had just let the maid in. But I quickly dismissed it, as my focus shifted to the delicious aroma wafting through the air. Food was the priority at the moment, my one true love. "At least wash your face," I scolded, but Ali paid no attention, diving straight into the pancakes.

After indulging in a feast, I collapsed onto the couch, a contented smile playing on my lips. The thought of having a skilled cook like Rani in our home made my heart swell with excitement. I couldn't help but wonder what culinary wonders she could create. I imagined Gordon Ramsay himself praising her dishes, elevating them to the ranks of gourmet perfection. The food-induced drowsiness washed over me, tempting me to succumb to a nap, even though I had only just woken up.

Three hours later, I awoke, feeling satisfied and with a smile plastered on my face. The anticipation of discussing the incredible food with my mother filled me with joy. I was certain she would be overjoyed by the hardworking and talented maid we had stumbled upon. Our previous maids paled in comparison to Rani, lacking her efficiency and dedication, not that we had much experience in hiring household help.

I found my mother in the TV lounge, holding a mug of coffee in her hands. Glancing around, I noticed how clean the room was, a sign that Rani had indeed fulfilled her cleaning duties. Excitement bubbled within me as I asked my mother about her breakfast.

"Just an omelet," she replied, her tone tinged with curiosity. "Why? Did she make something else?"

My enthusiasm spilled forth as I explained, "No, Mama. She actually made pancakes, frittatas, and crepes too! When I woke up, she was in my room, tidying my cupboard. After a while, the most amazing aroma of all that food filled the kitchen. It pulled me out of bed and straight to the dining table."

My mother's incredulous response mirrored my own surprise. She questioned how Rani managed to prepare such an array of dishes in such a short time. Doubts crept into her mind, wondering if Rani had depleted our entire pantry without permission. Her anger began to simmer.

"Perhaps that's how things were done in her previous employer's house," I offered in an attempt to calm her. "Mama, please don't be mad at her. Don't send her away. She made the most delicious food I've ever tasted, restaurant-quality. I'm sure Gordon Ramsay would be proud."

Reluctantly, my mother eased her anger, swayed by the praise for Rani's cooking prowess. I assured her of Rani's efficiency in cleaning and cooking and shared that her name was Rani, a fitting title for someone with such remarkable culinary skills.

The next morning as I was excitedly recounting the story of our new housekeeper to Fajar, I was swiftly corrected on my choice of words. Apparently, "maid" was considered derogatory, and I should refer to her as a housekeeper. Rolling my eyes at Fajar's pedantic interruption, I continued my tale, remembering the mouthwatering Wagyu beef burger Rani had crafted. It was an absolute masterpiece, oozing with flavor as if it were made from the finest A5 beef. The hollandaise sauce and the "homemade" honey mustard sauce elevated it to another level. I marveled at Rani's ability to create culinary wonders from ingredients we didn't even have in our pantry. But my excitement was short-lived.

With a sudden jolt, I realized I had taken a photo of that extraordinary burger. Eager to share it, I reached for my phone, only to be reminded of my parents' strict rules against using phones at the dinner table. They had confiscated it, returning it to me just this morning. Desperate to show Fajar the picture, I navigated to my gallery, ready to display the culinary masterpiece.

However, the joyous moment quickly turned into a nightmare. A horrifying scream erupted from my mouth, shattering the silence of the lecture hall. My phone slipped from my trembling hand, drawing disapproving glances from everyone around us. Fajar picked up the damaged device, realizing that the screen had cracked and the phone was rendered useless. Yet, the condition of my phone was the least of my concerns.

As I stared at the photo on the shattered screen, a chilling sensation crept down my spine, causing goosebumps to erupt across my skin. The image before me was far from the appetizing burger I had captured. Instead, it depicted a grotesque sight that would haunt my nightmares. The once-delectable burger lay barely chewed, regurgitated, tainted with blood and diarrhea. It was infested with writhing tapeworms, hookworms, and beetles. Each repulsive creature seemed to invade my very soul, eliciting profound disgust and revulsion that I couldn't shake off