Roman arranged the ingredients across the counter: flour, sugar, chocolate chips, eggs, butter. Measuring spoons and cups lined up with military precision, like they were part of a ritual. The whole scene looked less like a baking project and more like a strategic war documentary—using kitchen tools instead of blueprints to coordinate maneuvers. Not a single grain of sugar was out of place. I let the warm fragrance of butter and vanilla wrap around me like a hug I desperately needed.
