“Baking a cake is like falling in love, you know” you smiled as you took a bowl from the highest shelf. I was sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging my bare legs in casual glee.
“Mmhm, and how’s that?” sensing another wonderfully poetic moment, I gave in to you.
“Well, for starters, it requires energy and effort. The energy to get up and choose just the right bowl and the effort required to make the entire process worthwhile. We start by taking a large chunk of our,,, what do you call us?” “Stardusts”
“Yes! So, we take a large amount of our stardust soul, aka flour *winks* and pour it into the previously empty bowl. Now, remember, this is the only step you can properly reverse. After we add the same amount of sugar and 1/4th tablespoon of baking powder, there’s no going back. It becomes irreversible.”
“Ooh irreversible. That’s scary though, isn’t it?” I propped up my legs and rested my head on my knees, looking at you.
(Loving you felt so lonely sometimes.)
“That’s what makes it worth it, in my opinion. Knowing there’s no going back once you give it a part of yourself, all you can do is ensure it ends up being the best thing you’ve ever had. See, now for my most favourite part!” you brought two eggs from the fridge, kissing my forehead on your way. The refrigerator’s soft yellow light enveloped you in a warm glow and I was almost envious it got to touch you like that.
“You have to break your shields, let your guard down so they can see who you really are *cracks eggs on the edge of the bowl*. It softens the final result. Makes the mixing process much smoother too. Lastly, you bundle up all your affection, love, care and pour it into the bowl as milk. Oh my, okay c’mon, you can stop hiding your laughter, I haven’t missed the innuendo here.”
I shook my head and grinned, too aware of your eyes fixated on my face.
“And then?”
(But had it been a choice-)
“And then, you mix. You mix it till all the ingredients have come together in the most beautiful way ever. The tricky part is, if you mix it too much or not enough, that will affect the cake adversely. Thankfully for you, I’ve mastered this skill particularly well after a series of disastrous results *sighs dramatically* so you needn’t worry. Hey! Stop laughing. Shh. Anyway, we’re done. Microwave time now.”
I got up from the counter, walked behind you, wrapped my arms around your waist and watched the process with my head on your shoulder. You kissed my cheek before putting the bowl inside the microwave.
“What if, even after all that effort and energy and, and precision, the cake just- burns?” I asked. I still wonder if you could feel my heart beating erratically on your back. Is that why you turned to face me completely, pulling me closer to yourself, tugging my hair behind my ear?
(I’d have still chosen you.)
“Then it burns. But, my love,” you whispered,
“what if
it doesn’t?”
