Hunger After Supper

1

I'm so hungry, she thought. As they said their goodbyes, she looked at him, pursed her lips, smiled, and waved, her tongue resting against the back of her two front teeth. She turned and headed in the direction of her accommodation. About two hundred meters from her college was a McDonald's. Although she had already eaten dinner, for some reason, she felt unusually hungry every time after seeing him. She remembered the first time they had dinner together. Perhaps she was nervous, or maybe the food wasn't fresh, but she found it almost challenging to consume the food – it was unbearable. By the second and third times, they had dinner at various places—sometimes Pizza Express, sometimes a gastro-pub, sometimes an Italian restaurant, and even a Michelin-starred. All sorts of food entered her stomach, just like his words that entered her ears. At the moment, she felt full. But after they parted, even before the next morning, she would feel ravenous. She recalled one night when she lay in bed, so hungry she felt like rolling on the floor. Finally, she threw on a coat, didn't even lock the door, and rushed to McDonald's.

After the first late-night meal at McDonald’s, there came a second, and then she lost count. When she met him, she was always presentable, dressed in casual yet elegant sweaters and skirts, with light makeup that nicely covered the moles and blemishes on her face. But once they said goodbye, she would grab a box of chicken nuggets and a cup of hot chocolate from McDonald's, return to her room, sit on the floor, and devour it all in ten minutes.

After she consumed her food, she would place the empty box and cup back into the brown McDonald's paper bag, as if nothing had happened. She wiped her mouth, removed her makeup, and felt somewhat smug. She was quite satisfied with her eating speed—human mouths were meant for gobbling food. Snakes might seem capable of swallowing creatures larger than themselves, but that was just swallowing; it took a long time for the food to truly become a part of them, to assimilate. Mice seemed to eat quickly, but each bite was just a small piece, clumsy and laborious. And pigeons, pecking at who knows what on the ground—they were even worse. For her, a civilized human, one McDonald's chicken nugget only required two bites, nine nuggets meant eighteen bites, and the hot chocolate effectively aided swallowing, like a rapid current pushing a paper boat, helping the nuggets glide into her stomach.

2

The next morning, when she woke up, she could still faintly smell the chicken nuggets in the room, and she almost always tripped over the McDonald's paper bag when she got out of bed. But all she had to do was open the windows, throw out the trash, and the impact McDonald's had left on her life would vanish without a trace. Although she ate quickly, she took the social aspect of her life seriously and never rushed things. Dating a high-quality guy wasn't like eating fast food; it was more like having a salad or soup—good men can always be categorised into either salad or soup. Her current favourite was a salad-type guy: healthy, lean but not scrawny, not like those supermarket vegetables that only looked appealing after being sprayed with water. Eating a salad didn't require speed, nor did it need too much dressing; you just had to appreciate its essence. So, during their dates, she remained elegant and passive, listening to him speak, and his words mostly confirmed her assumptions and guesses about his personality. This made her feel at ease—there were neither surprises nor unpleasant shocks. You wouldn't want to bite into some unfamiliar tropical plant while eating a salad, after all. However, he wasn't her only date. Although she didn't actively seek out relationships with guys, as long as they weren't of terrible quality, she wouldn't refuse. For example, tonight, she was meeting a soup-type guy.

Soups were the complete opposite of salads, even though both required taking things slow—drinking soup too quickly could burn your tongue. Tonight, she and her soup sat in a concert hall, the symphonic orchestra on stage just beginning to play. Her senses hadn't fully engaged yet, so she tilted her head and glanced at the soup sitting next to her. Each of his facial features was unremarkable on its own, but together they weren't bad. For soups, learning to appreciate the whole was important. She wouldn't focus too much on any single ingredient like she did for salads, as the most crucial part of soup was savouring the harmonious blend of all its ingredients. However, personally, she didn't always need to order soup when eating a meal, but salad was indispensable. She thought of him—his eyes were much larger, perhaps about the size of a teaspoon? Every time they met, she would scrutinise his outfit, starting from his face and moving down to his neck and fingers. His fingers and arms were slender, resting at his sides like the wings of a crane. Maybe after their next meeting, she could try ordering some spicy wings? She never tried that before at McDonald’s. And his collarbone—he usually didn't expose that part of his skin, but she imagined it must be very fair and soft, the kind that would turn red with just a slight scratch. As the symphony moved into its next movement, the tempo grew faster, and she unconsciously began grinding her teeth to the rhythm. When it ended, she uncontrollably swallowed down some saliva that had been building up in her mouth, licked her canine teeth, and felt they were sharp enough to pierce through her own tongue.

3

In the night, he received a message from her. She said she had cancelled the restaurant reservation and was willing to cook for him this time, as the accommodation had finally allowed undergraduates to use the kitchen. He expressed his gratitude and asked if he should bring anything. She declined, saying, "Just bring yourself." But he brought two cans of beer anyway. When he arrived at her room, he asked if he could use her shower, as he had just come from the gym and hadn't had time to shower there before rushing to their date. She smiled shyly, agreed, and handed him a towel, saying she would start cooking. He felt smug—perhaps tonight, their relationship could take a step forward. Honestly, from his perspective, they were taking a bit too much time to make progress in their relationship. While fast-food-style relationships weren't advisable, this was just too slow. But her attitude didn't really matter. He touched the small white tea bag in his pocket and looked at the beer in his hand.

Before entering the bathroom, he noticed a knife on her desk. 

He asked, "Why did you leave the knife here?"

 She replied, "I forgot to put it away after peeling an apple earlier." She picked up the knife, held it in her hand, and said she had bought it a month ago, waiting for today to use it for cooking. “It should cut things very quickly.” She added. 

"Such a huge knife for peeling apples? Even if you don't cut yourself this time, you will next time. You should buy a knife that’s more suitable for a girl." She smiled and urged him to hurry up and shower. She noticed that he kept one hand in his pocket, as if fiddling with something. They hadn't known each other long enough to make any promises, but perhaps he was planning to give her an expensive piece of jewellery, like a brooch or a pair of earrings, to see how she’ll react? He's so innocent, she thought sweetly.

After he finished showering, they headed to the kitchen. He noticed that although the kitchen was shared, there were no other students around. She said she had told the others not to disturb them tonight. 

The knife he had seen earlier in the room was now on the kitchen table. He said, "You're always not returning things back to where they should be after using them." She immediately picked up the knife and said, "I'll wash it in a moment." She held the knife and stood by the table, which now only had two cans of beer on it.

He asked, "Where's the food you made?"

She replied, "I'll bring it out in a moment."

For a moment, neither of them said anything. 

They simply stared at each other, and she started to smile. After a while he did too. Both of them were smiling at each other in a goofy way. 

“Ding”, the oven timer went off. She put the knife back on the table and walked over to the oven. Kneeling in front of it, she began putting on gloves to take out the food.

Watching her from behind, he opened the can of beer and quickly poured in a bit of white powder from the teabag in his pocket.

 She returned to the table with the food—a steaming hot lasagna. 

He handed her a can of beer and said, "Let's make a toast."