He took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed.

Her fiancé, Samir, had left three hours ago after another silent dinner. He didn't yell. He didn't cheat. He simply existed in her apartment like a piece of furniture she’d grown tired of rearranging. "I don't feel hungry around you anymore," he’d said, not cruelly, but as if stating a weather report.

She cooked for herself.

That night, Samir came home. He sniffed the air. "You cooked?"