NATHAN
I've never been good at silence.
At school, there's always noise—Tyler cracking jokes, Marcus talking about whatever game he watched last night, the general buzz of people who want to be around me. Even at home, there's the TV or my phone or my parents asking about my day.
But here, in this industrial kitchen that smells like garlic and tomato sauce, there's nothing but the sound of knives hitting cutting boards.
And it's killing me.
Sophie hasn't said a word to me in twenty minutes. She just keeps chopping tomatoes with this focused efficiency that makes it clear she's done this a thousand times before. Her movements are quick and precise, and she doesn't even look at what she's doing half the time.
Meanwhile, I'm struggling with these damn onions.
I've never diced an onion
