He nods to the kitchen counter, where there are two bags with his restaurant branding. One full of two containers of food, presumably for him and Cindy, and the other with one, for me.
“Thank you,” I say, sliding my pinky into the handles of the bag to pick it up while I’m holding my laundry. “Whatever it is, it’ll be a lot better than what I was planning on having.”
“We’d invite you to eat with us, but,” Cindy wiggles her eyebrows, “we’re gonna need our privacy.”
Kazu couldn’t look more uncomfortable.
I can’t help but smile. “I hear you loud and clear.”
My aunt’s eyebrows get even more hyperactive. “Open a window in about an hour, and you really might.”
Okay, I was wrong. Kazucanlook even more uncomfortable.
That’s my cue to leave. “Good night, guys,” I say, stepping out the back door.
“Goodnight!” Cindy sings cheerily as Kazu grunts in acknowledgment.
The short walk back to my apartment is freezing. A sharp wind slices through the air, whistling harshly through treebranches. I hurry up the stairs and breathe a sigh of relief when I’m ensconced in my cozy, warm apartment.
I check what Kazu brought for me. It’s a big bowl of pork ramen with spring rolls on the side. It’s right around the time I usually eat dinner, my stomach just rumbled, and the ramen is still hot. Perfect.
Cindy and Kazu stay on my mind as I take the ramen out of the bag and remove the plastic lid. Their relationship probably looks inexplicable to outside observers, but it’s perfect for them.
An unsettled feeling rattles through me. I haven’t gone on a single date, or even thought about it, in the eight months since I broke up with my ex.
Do I even want to start again?
I bring my food to my desk and set it next to my computer. I take a slow sip of the hot broth. The warm, comforting flavor is a stark contrast to the cold, forbidding expanse of empty white that taunts me from my laptop screen.
This chapter is going to be the death of me.
I glance down to the bottom-left corner of the document. The number displayed gives me a slight boost of morale. I’ve already written fifty thousand words.
This part of the story is a struggle to execute, but with how far I’ve gotten already, I believe in myself. I’ll be able to finish this book.
But I don’t know if or when the process will get any easier than it is right now.
I slurp up some noodles, then pull a tissue from the box next to my computer to wipe off some broth droplets that splattered on my screen. My eyes stay fixed on the flashing cursor underneath my latest chapter heading as I eat.
While my stomach fills with ramen, my mind stubbornly refuses to fill with ideas.
Doubt starts to crowd in at the edges of my mind. I try to beat it back. I upended my life, dropped out of school, and wrecked my relationship with my parents to give myself the chance to write this book, a chance I wasn’t sure I’d ever have if I stayed on the path I was on. Giving up isn’t an option.
All my life, I wanted to write a book. So many nights, a good book has kept me company in the late and lonely hours when I couldn’t get to sleep; and so many days, when I was in a bad mood and didn’t have a lot I was looking forward to, I could at least look forward to continuing the book I was reading.
I want to create something that can do the same for others. I want to create something that can give anyone a bit of entertainment, comfort, and even companionship, no matter who or where they are, no matter their circumstances in life, no matter the time of year or hour of the day. And nothing in the world can do that better than a good book.
There’s so much negativity in the world. Thanks to my sour moods, I contribute to that more than I wish I did. There needs to be more good in the world, more things that give people comfort, more things that make them feel better, maybe even make them happy, if only for a short time.
Social interaction is just … something I’ve never been good at. I’m not the kind of person who’s able to spread happiness and good feelings through the way I interact with others. But I’d like to be able to do that through my books.
Not that the subject matter of the book I’m writing is all sunny and fluffy. But a book with characters you relate to and care about, even if it has darker themes, can brighten your day like a good friend. That’s what books have done for me, and I’ve always yearned to be able to write something that does so for others.
After slurping down the last of the fatty, flavored broth, I set my fingers on my keypad. They still can’t get to clicking.
Well, a full stomach isn’t the recipe to get the creative juices flowing.
I think I know why my brain is so blocked on this chapter.
