LIGHTNOVELSTORY Chapter 23: Rawr!
The living room was dimly lit, the soft glow from the TV screen casting flickering shadows across the walls. Rain pattered rhythmically against the windows, a soothing backdrop that made the space feel even cosier.
I lounged on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, my eyes fixed on the movie playing out in front of me. Some romance flick with a plot I wasn't really following. It was just background noise, something to keep my mind occupied.
Earlier, dinner had been...nice. The sandwiches weren't anything fancy, but the conversation made up for it. My mother had talked about new recipes she was developing, her eyes lighting up with that familiar spark of creativity.
"See, I'm thinking of fusion noodles." She'd said, gesturing animatedly with her fork. "Something with a hint of Vesto flair—maybe a miso-based sauce, but still keeping the comfort of Flangio cuisine."
I'd chewed thoughtfully, then nodded as I said,
"You could try adding a dash of sesame oil right at the end. Gives it a nutty kick without overwhelming the dish."
"That's brilliant, Luca! How come I didn't think of that?" Her eyes had widened in delight. "How do you always come up with these things? Almost as if it's a simple afterthought to you?"
"Guess it runs in the family." I'd just shrugged, hiding a smile, even though what I said was true, as our family had the blood of mythological deities flowing through us with unlimited potential.
She laughed, a warm, musical sound that filled the room. Moments like these made me realise how much I missed her presence, her boundless energy, her passion for everything she did.
After dinner, she'd stretched and let out a long yawn, her eyes narrowing at me.
"Alright, chef, I'm turning in. You..." She said, pointing an authoritative finger at me. "...are going to sleep too. No late-night nonsense."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll head to bed soon after washing the dishes I have left." I'd chuckled, raising my hands in surrender.
She didn't buy it. Her gaze sharpened, her tone turning strict as she said, "Don't test me, Luca. I mean it...I will come back out here and drag you to bed by the ear if I have to."
"Okay, okay! I'll most definitely go to bed." I smirked, biting back a laugh.
Satisfied, she nodded, and with one last suspicious glance over her shoulder, she shut her bedroom door firmly behind her.
But, of course, I didn't go to bed.
Instead, here I was, stretched out on the sofa, watching a movie while the rain outside whispered against the glass. I glanced toward the hallway, the closed door at the end a silent testament to her no-nonsense approach. No faint glow, no silhouette, just the quiet hum of the night showing that she was asleep.
She deserved that rest. Honestly, she deserved everything.
I thought back to how my mother had turned her boredom and loneliness into brilliance after I had left home.
At first, she'd had no idea what to do with all the free time. The woman who used to run a household, managing every meal and every little detail of my life, suddenly had no one to care for.
But instead of sinking into loneliness like anyone else, she decided to push herself up, knowing that I would blame myself if my mother were stuck in a quagmire because of my absence, which was the last thing she wanted to happen.
So to push herself up, she picked up her phone, set it on a stand, and started filming herself cooking. Just simple recipes at first. A few clicks, a few shares.
And then boom—she went viral.
Her brilliant dishes, paired with her effortless grace and undeniable beauty, captivated people. Before long, she was a sensation, her recipes shared across the globe. But what really made her shine was the way she taught with patience, humour, and that signature motherly warmth.
People didn't just love her food; they loved her.
Later, after seeing how much people online loved her cooking and how much joy her simple dishes brought to the world, she decided it was time to take things to the next level. It wasn't enough to just share recipes through videos; she wanted to truly connect, to teach, to inspire in real time. And with that in mind, she set her sights on something bigger: hosting her very own cooking show.
When word spread that a popular culinary show was in need of a new host, the previous one having retired—she knew this was her shot. The competition was fierce, filled with seasoned chefs, food critics, and influencers who seemed to ooze confidence. But she wasn't deterred. Armed with her passion, experience, and that magnetic charm she never seemed to notice she had, she dove into the auditions.
It wasn't a smooth ride. There were a few bumps, a few tests that pushed her out of her comfort zone. Trials where the cameras loomed a little too close, and the pressure of a studio set crackled in the air. But she faced each challenge with the same resilience and warmth she brought to her kitchen every day. And when they asked her to whip up something on the spot, she delivered a dish that wasn't just food—it was a story, a comfort, a taste of home.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she got the call. The spot was hers. Her joy was so pure, so overwhelming, that she barely managed to contain it. What had started as a simple hobby to fill the quiet moments after I left had blossomed into her legacy.
And she deserved every bit of it.
The thing is, she had thought it was luck that landed her the cooking show, her own corner of the culinary world where she reigned supreme.
But she truly had no idea about the strings I'd quietly pulled behind the scenes to present that role to her. Not because she wasn't talented or charismatic enough, far from it, as she was actually the number one candidate for the spot. But it was because of the industry's cutthroat politics, which wanted to put someone else as the host, even though they didn't deserve it. I wasn't about to let bureaucratic nonsense deny her the spotlight she deserved, so I made some arrangements.
I smiled faintly, my heart swelling with pride. Watching her succeed, seeing how much joy her work brought her, was more rewarding than anything. Knowing she wasn't sulking or lonely but thriving made it all worth it.
She'd never know the role I played. And she didn't need to. Her success was her own. I just nudged open a door that should've been open from the start.
The movie's dialogue faded in and out, barely registering. I let my eyes drift to the window, watching the raindrops race each other down the glass. The soft patter was a comforting sound, a reminder that some things in life were beautifully simple.
I sighed, sinking deeper into the cushions. The room was warm, the rain was gentle, and for once, everything felt...right.
That is, until I glanced toward the room at the end of the corridor where my mother was supposed to be. The door was shut, but something felt off. My gut twisted, a familiar sense of dread creeping in.
I barely had time to think, 'Where the hell did she go?' before—
"RAWR!"
She sprang up from behind the sofa like some kind of horror movie villain, hands raised, fingers curled into claws, her eyes wide and wild. Her hair was slightly dishevelled from her earlier nap, and she had the biggest, most mischievous grin on her face.
She must've thought she was the monster under the bed, the terror in the night. The problem was, she was just mother.
I blinked. My expression remained flat as a pancake, eyes half-lidded in sheer disappointment. I slowly tilted my head, a deadpan stare fixed on her.
"Really?" My eyes seemed to say. "We're doing this now? In the middle of the night?"
"Uh…" The teasing smile on her face faltered. Her hands dropped slightly.
She straightened up awkwardly, her cheeks turning red. She looked like a kid caught red-handed stealing cookies.
"Aren't you a little old for this?" I crossed my arms, looking at her in a judging manner like I was asking if she were a child.
She coughed, trying to regain some dignity.
"Well, you used to get scared stiff when I did that in the past!" She pointed an accusing finger at me, as if I was the one who should feel embarrassed. "Remember those nights you stayed up late watching cartoons? A jump scare from me would have you diving under the blankets!"
"Yeah, when I was seven." I snorted, shaking my head in dismay.
"I don't see how that's relevant." Her eyes narrowed.
I arched an eyebrow as I said, "I'm currently nineteen, Mom...Not the snot-nosed brat I was who believed that monsters lived under my bed."
"Age is just a number. Fear is eternal." She waved a hand dismissively.
"Clearly not in this case." I stared at her, unimpressed.
She pouted, crossing her arms, which was kind of hilarious given the situation, as she said, "Well, someone is no fun anymore."
"Maybe you've just lost your touch, having aged and all, and entering your later years." I leaned back into the sofa, lips twitching into a small smirk.
She blinked, clearly thrown off by my lack of reaction and my calling out of her age. Her eyes narrowed, but I could see the corners of her mouth twitching, fighting a smile as she said, "Entering my later years? You're asking for it, kid."