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Chapter 3 - A helping hand

The kitchen was quiet except for the steady sound of running water.

Fadel stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, black gloves on, movements precise as he scrubbed down the metal surface. No rush. No wasted motion. His attention was entirely on his work.

The door creaked open behind him.

"How are you, Mr. Chef?" Bell asked, smiling as always.

Fadel didn't respond.

The only sign he'd heard her was the brief pause of his hands in the sink—just a second—before he continued cleaning as if nothing had been said. He didn't turn. Didn't acknowledge her presence.

Bell sighed, then shifted her weight and looked over her shoulder.

"I brought you a helping hand. Would you not mind even glancing?" she said, then looked back at Fadel.

This time, he stopped.

Slowly, Fadel turned.

"Did I ask for one?"

And then he saw him.

The man standing a step behind Bell—tall, composed, hands relaxed at his sides. Calm eyes. Familiar face.

Kamin saw him at the same time.

Their eyes met, and the memory landed quietly between them.

Drink Me Club.

Gunshots.

Chaos.

Bell smiled, oblivious.

"But Bison isn't around," she said lightly. "How will you manage everything until he's back?"

Fadel looked away first.

He reached up, pulled off his black gloves, and tied the garbage bag shut.

"I can manage alone," he said flatly.

He picked up the bag and walked outside.

Bell groaned and followed after him, pausing only to gesture at Kai.

"Come on."

Outside, Bell tried again.

"Let him help," she said. "This is Kai. He worked in a library before—it closed down, and now he needs work somewhere." She tilted her head, softening her voice. "Think of our days in uni together? For the sake of our friendship, huh?"

Fadel didn't turn back.

"I never asked for it."

Bell frowned, clearly annoyed now.

"Yeah yeah, whatever!" she snapped.

Kamin remained quiet through it all, watching Fadel's back, his expression calm—but thoughtful.

Bell tried everything.

Every excuse. Every smile. Every half-joking, half-pleading line she could think of.

Fadel didn't respond to a single one.

He didn't look at her.

Didn't argue.

Didn't refuse again.

He only gave her that same cold glance—brief, sharp, unreadable—before reaching past her and shutting the restaurant door.

Right in her face. She stared at the closed door for a second. Then she scoffed.

"Unbelievable." But she wasn't the type to give up.

The next day, they were back.

Bell walked in first, confident as ever. Kamin followed quietly, posture relaxed. The bell above the door rang softly.

Heart Burger was already open.

Fadel was behind the counter, moving with practiced efficiency. Grill sizzling. Orders being called. Plates sliding across the counter. He handled everything alone—cooking, serving, cleaning—without missing a beat.

He didn't glance at the front table.

Not once.

Bell and Kamin sat there, waiting. Watching.

Two days passed like that.

On the third, Bell sighed and leaned back in her chair.

"Khun Bell, you're trying your best," Kamin said gently. "Why not just give up? I'm already thankful for your efforts to help me. It's alright—I'll look for work somewhere else."

His tone was calm. Sincere.

Fadel passed by with a tray.

He heard every word.

He didn't react.

Or at least—that's what it looked like.

Bell frowned, irritation flashing across her face. She raised her voice deliberately, clear enough for the entire place to hear.

"I'll not give up."

Fadel didn't turn.

The next day was different.

Busier.

The restaurant filled faster than usual. Customers kept coming in—one after another, barely any empty seats left. The grill barely had time to cool. Orders stacked up.

Managing everything alone was harder today.

Fadel felt it.

He didn't show it.

Bell sat at the front table, phone pressed to her ear, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

"Keep sending more customers," she said quietly before ending the call.

Kamin glanced around the packed restaurant.

Then he smiled.

Just a little.

That calm, amused smile—one eyebrow lifting slightly, eyes soft but observant.

By afternoon, the pressure finally crept through.

Fadel placed a plate down at one table when another voice rose immediately.

"I ordered ages ago. Chef, can you hurry? I have work later."

Another customer chimed in, impatient.

"Right. I can't wait the whole day just to eat a burger."

Fadel paused.

Just for a fraction of a second.

His brows furrowed, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. He nodded once—short, controlled.

"I'll bring it."

No apology. No irritation in his voice.

But the tension was there now, visible in the sharpness of his movements, the way his grip tightened around the tray as he turned back toward the kitchen.

From the front table, Kamin watched him closely.

Still calm.

Still composed.

Bell didn't wait any longer.

She leaned toward Kamin and whispered, "Come on. Go help him."

Then, with a satisfied little smile, she added, "This is the right time."

Kamin followed her gaze to the kitchen.

The pace had picked up. Orders were stacking. Plates lined the counter. Fadel moved fast, but even precision had limits.

Kamin nodded once.

Bell's smile widened—victory, quiet and certain.

Kamin stepped into the kitchen, reached for a finished plate, and lifted it carefully. Fadel noticed immediately. His head snapped up.

Their eyes met—briefly.

Fadel's gaze was cold. Sharp. Warning.

Kamin didn't stop.

And Fadel didn't tell him to.

He couldn't.

The orders kept coming.

Without a word, Kamin carried the plate out. He moved naturally, like someone who belonged there. When he returned, he picked up another. Then another.

Soon, he was taking orders.

"Two cheeseburgers, no onions."

"Yes, coming right up."

His voice was calm, polite. Professional. A faint, courteous smile rested on his face—not forced, not eager. Just enough.

Customers responded to it easily.

Fadel worked in silence.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Kamin move—steady hands, composed posture, no wasted motion. Efficient. Observant.

He didn't acknowledge him.

Didn't look at him directly.

It was as if, to Fadel, Kamin didn't exist at all.

Kamin noticed.

He didn't care.

He kept working.

He only needed this—somewhere quiet, unremarkable, safe enough to disappear into. A place to lay low. To hide his true identity.

And so far—

It was working.

By the time the last customer left, the sky outside had darkened.

The restaurant was quiet again.

Bell was gone. The chairs were back in place. The grill cooled, the last traces of heat fading into silence.

Only the kitchen lights remained on.

Fadel wiped down the counter, movements slower now but no less precise. Kamin stood nearby, finishing up, folding a cloth neatly before setting it aside.

"Thank you for today."

Fadel's voice was flat. Cold. An acknowledgment, nothing more.

Kamin looked up. "Just take it as my thank for saving me that day."

He smiled—just a little. That calm, gentle smile that softened his eyes, the kind that put people at ease without trying.

"You can go now," Fadel added after a nod, already turning away.

Kamin didn't argue.

He nodded once, removed the apron, then the cap, and set them down carefully. Without another word, he walked out through the back door.

Outside, the night air felt cooler.

Kamin exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if releasing a day's worth of tension. For a moment, he simply stood there—quiet, unseen.

Behind him, the sound of a garbage bag hitting the bin. The door shutting. The restaurant locking down for the night.

Kamin turned to leave.

His phone rang.

He paused, then answered.

"Hello."

There was a brief silence.

Kamin's expression shifted.

Not panic. Not disbelief.

Just a slight stillness—his jaw tightening, his eyes sharpening as the words sank in. The calm didn't leave him, but something underneath it woke up.

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