Abby
Six years ago.
The stainless steel countertops gleamed under the harsh lighting of the culinary school kitchen as I plated my dish with trembling hands. The scent of my creation, a painstaking fusion of herbs and spices, wafted tantalizingly through the air—but I had no appetite.
My gaze flickered across the room, landing on the stern face of Professor Hawthorne, who punctuated the silence with the scribbles on his notepad and the clicking of his shoes on the tile floor.
“Time,” he called out, his voice cutting through the flurry of student activity.
The room went still as Professor Hawthorne began his rounds. His critiques were always light, allowing plenty of room for improvement. As he made his way past each station, the students let out sighs of relief at his g
