Kastiel came back to the table not with more noodles, but with a small bamboo steamer basket. He placed it carefully between us, the wood making a soft tap against the laminate tabletop. With a deliberate slowness that felt almost ceremonial, he lifted the lid. A gentle puff of fragrant steam escaped, carrying the scent of ginger, sesame, and rich pork broth. Revealed within were six perfect, translucent soup dumplings.
I stared at them with deep suspicion. They looked delicious but so had the "less spicy" noodles.
"They're not spicy," he said, reading my hesitation perfectly.
"I don't believe you," I replied, my voice tight. I poked one cautiously with the tip of my chopstick.
"I promise they aren't." I said
"Yeah, right." With a resigned breath, I decided to eat one. I brought it to my lips and took the tiniest big, bracing for heat.
