Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

Chapter 0286

Abby

Six years ago.

The stainless steel countertops gleamed under the harsh lighting of the culinary school kitchen as I

plated my dish with trembling hands. The scent of my creation, a painstaking fusion of herbs and

spices, wafted tantalizingly through the air—but I had no appetite.

My gaze flickered across the room, landing on the stern face of Professor Hawthorne, who punctuated

the silence with the scribbles on his notepad and the clicking of his shoes on the tile floor.

“Time,” he called out, his voice cutting through the flurry of student activity.

The room went still as Professor Hawthorne began his rounds. His critiques were always light, allowing

plenty of room for improvement. As he made his way past each station, the students let out sighs of

relief at his gentle encouragement.

And yet, he was never like that with me.

“Overcooked,” he pronounced after no more than a nibble of my carefully crafted dish. “And the

balance of flavors is off. This is a cooking class, not an exercise in mediocrity, Abby.”

I felt my cheeks flush with a mixture of anger and embarrassment as I watched him jot down notes. The

silence that followed his departure from my station felt like a heavy weight on my shoulders, and

although I wanted nothing more than to retort, it was as if my voice was stolen from me.

He moved on, praising Jackson’s seared salmon, gushing over Sophia’s perfect risotto. Their success

stories felt like stabs to my gut. Why was he always criticizing me so heavily when everyone else

received praise?

The bell rang. As the other students left, chatting and laughing happily over their passing grades, I

lingered, my gaze locked on the dish that had so thoroughly failed to impress. I got a C-. Barely

passing. To me, it might as well have been a colossal failure. This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Once I was finally alone in the hallway, I sank to the floor, my back against the cool tile wall beneath the

stairwell.

“Dammit,” I murmured, blinking away the tears that threatened to come. “Another horrible grade.” I

crumpled up my results and tossed them into a nearby trash can.

That was exactly where he found me, the one person who caused all of this. His shadow fell over me

like an eclipse.

“Miss Abby, what seems to be the problem?” Professor Hawthorne's voice was devoid of its usual

sharpness, but I couldn’t look at him.

I glared up through watery eyes, my voice coming out sharper than I intended.

“What do you think the problem is? You nearly failed me, again! Even when I pour my soul into my

cooking, it’s like you hate everything I do. You never critique the others like you critique me!”

Even I was shocked by my own words. It was as if they tumbled out all at once, like they couldn’t be

contained any longer.

His words left me reeling. He had never hinted at believing in me, not once.

“Potential?” I echoed, disbelief lacing my voice. “Then why do I feel like you’re trying to sabotage me?”

Hawthorne sighed, a rare show of kindness in his stern demeanor. “I push you because I see what you

could be, not what you are. I won’t apologize for that.” New chąpter avаilable oո Drąмanоvеls.cоm

“Fine. I’ll show you potential.”