The Cooking Class – Part 2: Night Market
Travel & Outdoors·EN·1 min read·Published 2026-11-07, updated 2026-11-07·Part 2 of 2
After the last class, Somchai took her to the night market.
It was a different city after dark. Lanterns hung in rows over crowded alleys. Charcoal grills glowed orange. Food sizzled in huge woks. Music blared from a speaker, tinny and cheerful. A thousand voices rose into the warm air.
"You will eat everything," said Somchai.
"I'll burst."
"Good."
She ate everything: skewers of grilled pork, green papaya salad that made her gasp, coconut ice cream in a coconut shell, mango sticky rice still warm. He stood beside her, pleased as a conjuror. Juice dripped down her wrist and he handed her a paper napkin.
They walked, elbows brushing, to a footbridge over a canal. The water below was black and gleaming, lit by a hundred lanterns. A longtail boat putt-putted by, trailing a ripple of gold.
"Can I ask you something?" said Maya.
"Yes."
"Is it strange? That I don't want to go home?"
"It is not strange," said Somchai. "It happens to many cooks."
"Does it happen to many teachers?"
He turned. In the lantern-light, his face was serious and warm. "Not like this," he said.
Her heart tripped. "May I kiss you?"
"Yes," said Somchai. "And if you say stop, you must come back and cook for me."
"Seven dishes?"
"Seven. And no sneezing."
She kissed him, soft and sweet, tasting of lime and palm sugar. He kissed her back with slow care, a hand rising to her cheek. The bridge swayed faintly. The canal glimmered below them.
When they parted, both of them were smiling.
"Green?" he asked.
"Green," said Maya. "Very green."
She extended her ticket twice. In a year she opened a tiny shop in Bangkok with a sign that read Maya & Somchai. Sweet, sour, spicy.
More travel romance stories: Snowfall in Nagano · Tapas Crawl in Seville · Whistler Bike Trails
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