Chapter 12

Christine patted Miranda’s back with a wrinkled but tender hand. Her heart softened. “Hush now. You’re all grown up, and yet still a crybaby. How embarrassing!”

Paul watched silently. When Christine and Miranda hugged and reconciled, he quietly left the living room for the balcony, giving them space.

Now that Christine had finally reconciled with her student after all these years, she couldn't help but ask Miranda how she was doing, though she avoided the topic of romance. Miranda’s admission of being wrong made it clear her chosen path—or, more precisely, person—hadn't been a good choice. Why rub salt in the wound?

Miranda replied, “I rented a place near the college. I’ve been revising the syllabus, preparing to join your postgraduate program by the end of the year.”

Christine’s eyes lit up. “Really? You mean it?” She needed confirmation.

Miranda nodded, embarrassed to meet Christine’s gaze. Years ago, she’d had a clear career path but refused to follow it. Now, she wanted a fresh start.

“Excellent! You should have done this long ago! Don’t lie to me. I’ll take that as a promise! Finally, I won’t be wasting that spot this year!”

Miranda was stunned. She suspected Christine might have saved a spot for her after her hospital visit, but hearing it confirmed was hard to believe. “Oh, Miranda,” she thought, “what have you done to deserve such kindness?”

“Dr. Young, I can’t say for sure I’ll pass the admission exam. You shouldn’t…” Her voice trailed off, hoping Christine wouldn’t get her hopes up.

Christine replied, “You’ll make it if you put your heart into it. I know how capable you are. Unless you flunk on purpose to tease this old lady!”

“Why would I?” Miranda asked, amused.

“It’s late. You and Paul… where’s Paul?”

Paul entered from the balcony. “Dr. Young.”

“It’s late. You and Miranda should have lunch with me. I’ll cook!”

Miranda was horrified. Even Paul looked apprehensive.

“I think… you should let me cook.” It wasn’t a lack of appreciation, but concern that Christine might set the kitchen on fire.

Christine cleared her throat awkwardly, aware of her limited cooking skills but needing to maintain her dignity. Clearing her throat again, she said, “That works too. I’m still recovering. Perhaps I shouldn’t cook…”

Miranda quickly donned an apron and entered the kitchen. Paul rolled up his sleeves and followed. “I’ll help.” Christine’s grin widened as she watched them.

The fridge was full of fresh ingredients. Considering Christine’s recent hospital stay, Miranda planned a light meal.

Paul asked, “How can I help?”

Miranda glanced at the colander. “Do you know how to wash vegetables?” Paul was surprised. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

Miranda stepped aside. Though seemingly unfamiliar with the task, Paul took it seriously, meticulously cleaning the leaves.

Miranda casually asked, “Is there anything you don’t eat?”

“No.”

“And what cuisine do you prefer?”

“Anything.”

“You’re easy to please,” she muttered. He wasn’t like Hansel, a picky eater with endless demands.