022 Hurriedly Departing to Conceal One's Heart

From gentle caress to cold indifference, Musa seemed to transform in the mere moment he withdrew his hand. I had no idea what could have caused such a shift.

Was he offended by the impropriety of us sharing a pair of chopsticks just moments ago? I wondered gloomily, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves as I turned my focus back to the cooking.

Egg fried rice, mapo tofu, stir-fried beef with green peppers, and tomato egg soup—four simple, quick dishes. Though the portions were modest, they were more than enough for two people who were only half-hungry.

I brought the dishes to the table, but Musa appeared preoccupied, his gaze distant and unfocused.

"The food is ready. Please, have a taste." Completely baffled by his change in demeanor and seeing him remain unmoved, I pushed the cutlery directly toward him.

Musa neither took them nor spoke. The room was so quiet that not a sound could be heard, filled with a stifling, unsettling tension.

After a long silence, Musa’s expression grew increasingly grave. He gritted his teeth and said in a low voice, "I have matters to attend to. I must be going. Please, eat on your own."

Without even glancing at me, he gave a slight, stiff bow and rose to leave.

A spark of anger flared within me. I slammed my chopsticks down onto the table with a sharp clatter and said coldly, "Wait!"

Musa’s hurried retreating figure froze in place.

My voice turned icy, stripped of the shyness and trepidation I had felt moments before. "Musa, if I have done something wrong, just tell me directly. I am trying to respect your culture; if I have inadvertently overstepped, please let me know, and I will be happy to correct myself. There is no need for all this."

I am not one to suffer in silence. Some misunderstandings are better cleared up sooner than later for both parties.

Perhaps my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I thought I saw a flash of sharp pain in Musa’s eyes. Under the dim, twilight glow of the lamp, his face was half-hidden in shadow. He let out a faint, almost imperceptible sigh. "It is not like that. You have done nothing wrong."

I pursed my lips, asking stubbornly, "Then what is it?"

"It is not your fault. It is mine."

His conflicted and troubled expression made me hesitate for a moment, and my tone softened. "What fault?"

He opened his mouth, his brows knit tightly, but in the end, he remained silent.

A dull ache tugged at my heart, as if a piece of it had been hollowed out. But I knew I could not force him. Besides, we were merely passing acquaintances with little connection; what right did I have to demand that he share everything with me?

I sniffled, managed a smile at Musa, and said softly, "If it is not my fault, then let us eat together. I don't mean anything else by it; it’s just that I cannot finish all this food myself and need your help to conquer this feast."

Musa’s expression was incredibly complex as he seemed to be weighing his options. I had always perceived Musa as a poised and courteous gentleman, and I could not fathom what could have left him so unnerved today.

"Is it because the food is not to your taste?" Though I knew that couldn't be it, I asked anyway.

Musa steadied his breathing and finally walked back toward me. His gaze fell upon the four dishes on the table, and he shook his head slightly. "No, it looks delicious."

Thanks to his brief remark, the frigid atmosphere finally began to thaw.

Musa sat back down and took up his cutlery, but after half a minute, he still hadn't moved, his brows furrowed in concentration.

What was wrong with him now?

I sighed, feeling that I was truly forcing him, and was just about to tell him he could go eat elsewhere when I saw him dip a ladle into the tomato egg soup and fill a bowl to the brim.

He began by taking small, tentative sips, then gradually drank more, finally tilting his head back to finish the entire bowl in one go.

Afterward, he even licked his lips, looking as though he wanted more.

"The flavor is fresh and savory. It is very good," Musa remarked.