The hours go crawling by, snail-slow, and the moment the half-three bell rings Halle all but jumps out of their chair, bag in hand, and runs for the bus station. They're panting as they sit down on the bus, and pull out their phone to see a few texts from Erika.

Erika
Got a place to review? (Sent 15:31)
I've never seen you run so fast (Sent 15:31)

They reply, still trying to catch their breath:

Yeah, got a request last night (Sent 15:32)
Gonna stop by the Boulangerie for tea before heading there (Sent 15:33)

Erika
Ohh thats why (Sent 15:33)
Well have fun and don't blow your cover (Sent 15:34)

The bus begins to move. They hop off a couple of stations later, closer to the city centre, and cross the road to a blue-awninged shop. A bird-shaped wind chime greets cheerfully by the door as Halle pushes it open and steps into Boulangerie Bonnefoy. The bakery smells like cinnamon today, rich and warm and comfortable. Some French singer croons a jazz song in the background.

Matthieu Bonnefoy is manning the counter today, slicing up a ficelle at breakneck speed. He sweeps the cut-up loaf into a canvas bag, hands it to his customer and waves them goodbye with a slight smile. After he's placed his bread knife down, and fixed the lighting in the cake-filled display case, he waves to Halle. "Hey."

"Hi, Matthieu." Halle takes out their purse and counts out a few coins, which they slide across the glass countertop. "Where's Madeline, by the way?"

"On a date," Matthieu replies, making a face. "She has a boyfriend now, you know. The two of them are so in love with each other."

"Oh, I know how that feels. Stell and Henrik are the most nauseating couple in existence."

He lets out a quiet huff of laughter. "You should be glad they're not here today, they're so sweet they could make a cat sick."

Halle turns away for a moment to retrieve a pain au chocolat from one of the clear shelves, handing it to Matthieu. "How's your brother doing, by the way?"

"Same old, same old." He places the pastry into the small microwave oven behind the counter, adding, "Francis is planning to go back to Nice to visit our dad during the summer vacation and Madeline wants to go to Quebec, basically leaving me to run this old place by myself." Matthieu snorts, pushing his glasses up. "I can already see the carnage."

"Come on, you're not a bad baker," they reassure. "My brother once set his tarts on fire."

Time passes by quicker than they expected, way faster than it just did at school, and seven o'clock rolls around soon enough. Halle flips their textbook shut, turns their laptop off and begins packing their stuff into their bag. Their neck cramps whenever they tilt their head back the tiniest bit. Matthieu watches them from the counter, sweeping crumbs off a chopping board.

"I'll be going now," Halle says, standing up with their bag over their shoulder. "See you tomorrow."

They step out of the Boulangerie, once again hearing the wind chimes tinkle behind them, and head for the bus station once more. The ride to Wang's should take about ten minutes, the meal an hour and the ride home nearly twenty minutes. With luck, they should be back home by half-past eight.

Once the bus has pulled up and they've sat down, Halle reaches into their bag to pull out their reviewing notebook. The purple-covered notebook is wrinkled and falling apart, half of its pages having already been torn from the rings. Their favourite pen is tucked into the spine, and its ridged cap scrapes against the chipped metal rings as they pull it out. When the bus stops at a traffic light, Halle flips the notebook open and scrawls the header for their review: "Wang's — 16th March 2024".

They jump off a few minutes later, notebook and pen tucked under their arm. This part of Trofilos is far quieter, the stores lining the pavement less polished and picturesque than those in the city centre. Halle stops in front of a store with Chinese characters painted in wine-red and double-checks Google Maps. This is the spot.

There are no friendly wind chimes to welcome them by the door when they open it, nor classy music playing in the background. The lanterns that were in Ella's photo are gone, no longer bathing the simple plum walls in their light. With a deep breath, Halle approaches the cashier. The girl manning it looks up and flashes him a bright smile, flicking a lock of ebony-dark hair over her shoulder. "Good evening, and welcome! How may I help you?"

"May I have a table for one?" They look around the restaurant and the few people sitting there.

"Of course; just follow me." The girl leads them to a table at the centre of the restaurant. Halle sinks down on the hard plastic stool, carefully placing their bag on the one next to them. She places a menu down in front of him, still smiling, and sweeps away. Halle glances towards the cashier to make sure she isn't looking and flips the notebook open on their lap.

"Wang's," they begin, "appears to be simple at first glance, with no notable decorations, unremarkable furniture and a lonely atmosphere. But of course, I'm not here to judge how the restaurant looks, but how its food tastes. So I'll hold my judgement, as I should, until I order something."

A waiter is approaching. Halle closes their notebook, nodding up at him, and prays he didn't notice.

A steamy, fragrant cup of tea, a porcelain spoon and a pair of chopsticks are placed down in front of them, and the waiter pulls out a notepad of his own. "Hey." He looks to be about his age, shifting his weight from foot to foot while looking at them. His chocolate-brown fringe is about to fall into his eyes.

"Uh, good evening."

"You ready to order?"

No waiter has ever acted so nonchalantly before. They glance at the menu, which they still haven't touched. They don't have much time to eat, and after having the pain au chocolat during the afternoon they definitely can't order too much. "Er, I…" Halle blinks. "I guess you can bring me this restaurant's speciality? Yeah, that would be good."

"Sure, sure." The waiter scribbles something down and looks at them. Halle notices a splash of freckles across his nose. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, I think so. Thanks."

The waiter gives them a half-smile and heads for the kitchen. They open their notebook again, uncap their pen and continue to write. "The waiter is unprofessional," they want to jot down, but they stop themself with a firm reminder, no judgement until the food arrives.

They take note of the flowers painted on the rickety table and the muffled sounds of cooking from the faraway kitchen, chewing on their pen cap. A page is swiftly filled, and they're about to start writing a second when the waiter comes back. Halle jumps, nearly knocking their chopsticks off the table, and the waiter stares at them. "Sorry, did I scare you?"

"No, no, it's fine," they say hastily, tossing their notebook onto the other chair. It slides off their bag and sits at the edge of the plastic surface, precariously close to falling off.

"Got homework to do or something?"

"Uh, yeah. You know how busy school can get."

He places a steaming bowl in front of him. "Here you go. These are wonton noodles, and they contain shrimp so I sure hope you aren't allergic to them."

"I'm not, don't worry." They look down. Five wontons sit atop a cluster of thin yellow egg noodles, soaked in golden broth that fills the bowl nearly to the brim. The waiter places a dish of chopped chives next to the bowl. "Thanks."

The waiter steps away, leaving Halle to eat. They take the spoon, scoop up one of the wontons, careful not to tear the soft, delicate wrapping, and take a bite.

Its strong richness mingles with the scent of white pepper, the shrimp is blanketed by the paper-thin wrapper, and they can taste just a hint of star anise — or is that just his imagination? Halle drops some of the chives into the broth and drinks a spoonful, shocked at the melange of flavours that it yields — the pepper-spiced, umami-yet-light and almost- sweet aftertaste it leaves is like nothing they've ever had before. The bouncy noodles complete the meal, springy where the wontons are soft and mild where the broth is flavourful. Wonton, broth and noodle combine, one flavour after the other. The bowl is finished before they know it, and their notebook is devoid of remarks.

They stare down at the singular page of writing. There's no way they can publish this one page, a mere four paragraphs, as their review, but it's not like they can order more stuff today. Closing their notebook, Halle stands up, swipes the receipt on the table and heads for the counter. They pay, pick up their bag and get ready to leave when the waiter runs up to them. "Hey," he calls, "you left your pen."

"Oh!" Halle takes the pen from him. "Thank you."

"I hope you enjoyed the food, even if it wasn't what you were expecting." He runs his fingers through his hair. "Wonton noodles are a new addition to the menu, so the chefs aren't really used to making it, but was it good anyway?"

"Yeah, it was great," slips out inadvertently. "I'll be visiting again for sure."

He looks like he's about to respond when the girl at the cashier laughs. "Come on, Leon, don't ramble."

Leon rolls his eyes good-naturedly and goes to clean up a table. Halle turns away, looking back at the restaurant, now empty of customers, and steps out into the night.