I handed the finished curry rice to Yejin, and she began eating it silently with a spoon.
The result? It wasn't a grand success, nor a complete failure.
No comments like "it's delicious" or "it's bad." Yejin quietly emptied her bowl, and I scooped a big ladleful of curry from the pot, mixed it with rice, and ate.
You've got to eat on time, right?
This might be a bit TMI, but I love curry.
First off, there's something about that yellow color that I just adore…
They say nothing yellow is ever cheap. Gold is yellow, pumpkins are yellow, and, well… there's a lot of valuable stuff that's yellow, isn't there?
You could call it the color of the wealthy.
Plus, curry rice has this global history—spreading from India to England, then to Japan, and somehow making its way to Korea during the Japanese colonial period.
Sure, there's the pain and sorrow of colonial history tied to it, but looking at it now, it's a truly international dish, crossing Asia and Europe.
A global food, that's what I'm saying.
Beyond that, curry is a nutritional powerhouse, packed with meat, vegetables, and all sorts of good stuff. It's spicy, flavorful, and easy to scarf down.
At this point, it's clear: curry is the king, the general, the emperor of foods.
"Coffee."
"Huh?"
"Make me some coffee."
Oh, come on. In this parallel world, it's clear Han Areum married into a seriously matriarchal household.
They say even dogs don't bother someone eating, but asking for coffee while I'm having my meal? Really?
Plus, it's almost nighttime. Drinking coffee now is a surefire way to stay up all night. Not that it matters, but…
"Where's the coffee at?" I muttered to myself, opening the fridge. I remembered seeing some cold brew in the dairy compartment earlier.
I grabbed the cold brew bottle and skimmed the label on the back.
As expected, it said stuff like, "Cold brew is meant to be served cold. Mix with this much water~" and so on.
After pulling the bottle out, I glanced at the shelf and spotted a tea set for coffee or tea.
Might as well go all out, right?
I stretched up on my tiptoes, grabbed the tea set from the shelf, mixed the cold brew concentrate with water in a cup, and handed it to Yejin.
She just stared at me without a word. Now that I think about it, this woman is really quiet.
Unless it's something like "make food," "let's go," or "I'm hungry," Yejin barely opens her mouth.
This is just a hunch, but she might not be all that interested in me.
Honestly, when your supposed husband is bawling his eyes out in an elevator, you'd think she'd at least ask what's wrong. But no, she just struts into the house like it's nothing. It's starting to dawn on me how this world's Han Areum has been treated by Yejin.
Maybe we're like a show-window couple or stuck in a rut. Something like that.
While Yejin sipped her coffee and watched TV, I joined her since I had nothing else to do after eating.
The TV was blaring about a serial killer terrorizing South Korea, targeting young men. The methods were gruesome—stabbing with sharp weapons, strangling with thick cables, or bludgeoning faces beyond recognition.
A world without COVID but with a crazed serial killer running loose? I'm not sure if that's better than a pandemic.
"…Based on the data from the murders so far, the police believe the suspect possesses significant physical strength, leaves no evidence at the scenes, and avoids being captured on CCTV. They suspect it could be the work of a single perpetrator. The police are working to ensure citizens can walk the streets safely at night as soon as possible…"
Yejin grabbed the remote and changed the channel. On the new channel, a loud, burly woman with a short bob was shouting her lungs out.
"Thump-thump, it's the live, pulsating broadcast! Roaming far and wide, eating hearty and real—Wild Variety Happy Day! Yaaaay! It's part-time job tiiime!"
Talk about high energy.
"You okay?" Yejin asked.
"Huh? What?"
"You were crying in the elevator earlier."
"Oh… I'm fine now."
"Alright."
Yejin's eyes flicked back to the TV. The living room was filled with an awkward silence, but the TV's over-the-top energy seemed to drown it out as the woman on screen started yelling and running around.
"If it's not me, it's fine! Yaaaah!"
This lady's pretty entertaining. Watching TV was way better than forcing an awkward conversation.
Yejin, holding her coffee cup, kept her eyes glued to the screen, sipping silently. Clearly, I wasn't the only one thinking this was better than talking.
"How's the director supposed to dig up ginseng in five minutes? Try it yourself!" the woman on TV shouted.
"Five minutes to find ginseng? No way! You're telling me to find six types of wild herbs in ten minutes? If the director can dig up ginseng in five minutes, we'll do it—no complaints!"
This show is wild. Look at that director charging up the mountain!
"Haha…" I couldn't help but laugh watching the director waddle up the hillside.
How does someone even do that? Laughter just burst out of me, and once it started, I couldn't stop. It was like a runaway train—no brakes. Even when I tried to cover my mouth, little snickers kept slipping out.
"Dishwashing."
While I was giggling like an idiot, Yejin, stone-faced as ever, slid her empty coffee cup toward me.
Then she got up from her chair and headed to the bedroom. Maybe the TV host's humor didn't vibe with her?
Feeling a bit embarrassed for laughing so hard, I scratched my head. Did I look like a total fool? I've been told my laugh makes me seem like a goofball, but does it still come off that way in this gender-reversed world?
Guess suddenly crying and then laughing like a maniac would make anyone look like an idiot.