Before I could even say a word, she threw her arms around me and hugged me tightly.
It wasn't her usual cheerful hug — this one felt desperate, trembling, as if she was afraid of something… or had just seen something horrible.
I froze for a second. My hands hovered awkwardly in the air before I slowly hugged her back.
"Hey, what happened?" I asked gently, trying to sound casual. "Did you miss your big brother too much?"
She didn't answer right away. Her grip stayed tight for a few moments more, and I could feel her heartbeat against mine — fast and uneasy.
Finally, she pulled back and forced a small smile. "I really missed you all… you, Mom, and Dad," she said softly, trying to steady her voice.
Something was definitely off. Her face looked pale, her eyes tired, as if she hadn't slept well for days.
But before I could ask further, she straightened her posture and said quickly,
"Let's go, big brother."
Without waiting for me, she walked toward the car and sat in the front seat.
I blinked. "Hey, won't you help me put your luggage in the trunk?"
She didn't respond. Just stared out the window silently.
Annoyed, I muttered under my breath, "Aah, what can I do… it's always like this."
I put her bags in the trunk myself and sat behind the wheel.
When I looked at her again, she had her arms crossed, gazing outside as if her thoughts were far away.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The car engine hummed softly as we left the crowded station behind.
Then, breaking the silence, she said quietly, "Big brother… I'm hungry. Let's grab something to eat before we head home."
I glanced at her. Her tone was calm, almost normal again, though her eyes still carried that strange uneasiness.
"Okay," I said, trying to keep things light. "What do you want to eat?"
She thought for a moment and then replied, "Anything simple."
"How about we stop at Burger House? They make the best burgers in town."
For the first time since we met, a faint smile appeared on her face. She nodded slightly, her voice low but gentler now.
"That sounds nice."
I smiled back and turned on the indicator. "Burger House it is, then."
The car rolled down the main road, sunlight flashing across the windshield.
But even as we drove, I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.
Beatrice looked the same — yet something in her eyes had changed.
As I stopped the car in the parking lot near the shop, Beatrice and I stepped out, stretching our legs.
The sun was high, and the air carried that faint aroma of grilled meat drifting from nearby restaurants.
We entered Burger House, a cozy little place that smelled like melted cheese and toasted buns.
It wasn't too crowded—just a few people chatting over fries and milkshakes.
We chose a quiet corner table by the window, a spot where the afternoon light painted soft golden patterns on the table.
Although there were dozens of fancy options—spicy, double-deck, veggie, crispy—we finally settled on the classic cheese burger.
A soft sigh escaped me as the plate finally landed on our table, centering the subject of my long-awaited devotion.
It wasn't just a sandwich; it was a monument to comfort, built with meticulous, edible geometry—the quintessential classic cheeseburger.
The presentation was an unassuming masterpiece.
A glossy, toasted brioche bun, the color of warm honey, capped the creation, its top dusted with sesame seeds like scattered pearls.
Beneath it, the contours of the treasures within were just visible.
A thick, juicy beef patty, seared to a smoky, charred crust, peeked out slightly, blanketed by a sheet of brilliant American cheese.
The cheese had melted just to the point of surrender, its molten gold pooling over the beef's edge like a slow-motion avalanche.
The garnishes were a vibrant, fresh layer of contrast.
There was a shock of crisp, emerald-green lettuce—a perfect, cool counterpoint to the heat—and a pale, juicy slice of tomato catching the light with a dewy sheen.
A few rounds of sharp pickle were tucked in, promising a vinegary snap.
Finally, the secret architecture of the base—a thin spread of tangy, creamy special sauce and a swirl of mustard—glued the bottom bun to its delectable cargo.
I lifted it, feeling the satisfying, substantial weight of the thing.
I compressed the bun gently, gathering the disparate textures into one perfect, yielding cylinder, and took the first, transcendent bite.
The world narrowed to a single, glorious sensation.
It began with the sound: the crisp snap of the pickle giving way, immediately followed by the subtle, yielding resistance of the fresh lettuce.
Then came the texture—the warm, pillow-soft hug of the toasted bun that instantly dissolved, giving way to the rich, toothsome resistance of the patty.
The flavor was a complex, perfect chord. The initial notes were pure, primal umami—the deep, smoky, beefy savor that had been caramelized on the grill.
This was instantly smoothed and enriched by the salty, creamy melt of the cheese, which coated my tongue.
A bright, sharp zing from the mustard and the briny pickle cut through the richness like a flash of lightning, resetting the palate for the next wave.
The final, lingering sensation was the refreshing juice of the tomato and the cool crunch of the lettuce—a light, earthy finish to the richness.
It was more than just a taste; it was a moment of absolute, delicious rightness—the taste of simplicity perfected, a timeless piece of culinary poetry.
I leaned back, half-smiling, half-lost in the afterglow of flavor.
For a brief moment, the tension of the day faded.
Beatrice was quiet, poking at her fries absentmindedly, and I wondered again what was really going on behind her calm face.
I thought to ask her what is going on, what is bothering her, then stop myself, thought what if it backfire.
Since we are going home why be haste.
Soon, we reached home.