Beside a maple tree on the west lawn of the National Medical Research Institute, Selena found a warm spot to sit down.
The lingering scent of disinfectant from the lab still clung to her nose.
She unfastened her collar, taking in the fresh air outside as she scattered crumbled whole wheat bread for the pigeons.
It had been three months since she arrived at the National Medical Research Institute.
Once she entered the lab, she often stayed there for an entire day.
The access card in her pocket had practically left an imprint on her lab coat.
Such an intense workload would be unbearable for most people, but for Selena, who had endured so many hardships, it was nothing.
In the lab’s new drug research team, her fellow members were either renowned experts in the medical field or esteemed figures of the profession.
Though she was only an assistant for now, in just three —- short months, she had learned more than she had in the past twenty-odd years combined.
Even now, on the pillow beside her bed, there was a notebook covered in medicine stains, filled with dense handwritten notes.
It was nearly completely full.
Today, she had unexpectedly been given a half-day off, leaving her at a loss for where to go.
If she had to point out something she hadn’t quite adjusted to, it would be the local cuisine.
However, in the past few days, for some reason, the meals sent to her had become much milder in flavor, suiting her taste much better.
Without realizing it, Selena dozed off. Hours later, she was startled awake by the cool evening breeze.
As she stood up, the grass seeds clinging to the back of her neck fell away, and a few bread crumbs and pigeon feathers remained on the left lapel of her lab coat.
Since all the researchers in the lab had their meals delivered from the cafeteria to save time, today, on her —- day off, she decided to go there herself.
However, as soon as she took her first bite, she froze.
The strong, numbing heat of pepper burned the back of her tongue.
The dishes were the same as before, yet they tasted completely different from the mild flavors she had eaten yesterday.
“Did the previous chef return?” Unable to shake off her curiosity, she wandered toward the kitchen through the back door.
As soon as she entered, she caught sight of a familiar figure wearing an apron, diligently chopping vegetables at the counter.
Amid the pungent aroma of fennel seeds, the man’s rolled -up sleeves revealed a faint pink scar on his forearm.
It was a burn from making soup a few days ago.
Even as she walked right up to him, he remained unaware of her presence.
It wasn’t until she softly called out, “Henry?”
