Salad Days Novels & Stories

"He's in the kitchen, preparing our food." "You're alone?" Alphabette asked. She even looked back if Austin was left outside the gate. "He'll try to come up, he went to work." "Sunday?" Alpha asked with doubt. Sunday is supposed to be for family day, bonding together. Life is not just about working and earning money, enjoy and seize moments with your loved ones as much as you can. "Yes?" Bea answered a bit of questioning. They headed into the kitchen and saw Finn wearing an apron and holding a ladle and a bowl.

Your voice was muffled, but still managed to let out a soft laugh as you spoke. "The pancakes in your mouth! Disgusting!" I complained, but you only laughed as an answer. We both know how much I don't like seeing the mashed food from the mouth because it often makes me wanna vomit when I am eating at the same time. "But you need to finish up too. We're going to start the messages later," you reminded as you let out a soft laugh. Right. The sixth day was meant for making and filming messages for what you said are sort of a last message in case someone got to leave without giving a proper goodbye.

Camille said pushing her “All of my stories start off with a salad.” “Pretty sure it’s a requirement at this point.” Priscilla agreed. “Ness, can we have pancakes the day after prom?” Camille practically begged. “Aye, we can do that.”

Pia Drew woke up by the sound of her alarm. It was 4:30 am. She was in between deciding to head back to sleep or get up early for her summer class. She didn't have time to decide when she heard clinking downstairs. When she peeked from the inside balcony, she saw Andrew in a white sleeveless top, cooking an early breakfast. She headed down. "I'm sorry did I wake you up?" Andrew inquired while frying eggs. "No. I always get up early. I can do the cooking if you like."

Ada said with a smirk, tapping on another persons Instagram story. "Guy I'm depending on you oh, this thing isn't entering my head." Shalom cut in with a groan, referring to Ada. "Your boyfriend is not coming to school?" Ada asked with a smirk, ignoring Shalom's words. Janet perked up at them rolling her eyes, of course she told her two best friends about Saturday.

He asked giggling excitedly. "A head of lettuce, an avocado, some romaine, watercress, tomatoes, some cold chicken breast, a hard-boiled egg, chives, cheese, and some old-fashioned French dressing." "Who does that?" He asked jokingly. "I don't understand." "Who creates a meal with items found in the fridge?" Amanda asked, mocking me. "It's not a story and it's not fictional either. It's real." Alex laughed and I gave him an offended look. "So what happened to the salad?" He asked.

“Really? That sounds nice. It’s peaceful out here.” Brenda nodded, feeling a pang of sadness but hesitant to share too much. “Yeah, it was. My husband and I would bring our two daughters here. We’d spend our days fishing, gardening, and just enjoying the quiet.” Later that day, Brenda suggested they make a salad for lunch. They gathered fresh vegetables from the garden—lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers—and mixed them with a light vinaigrette. They also added some grilled chicken for extra protein. The meal was colorful and nutritious, and Jessica seemed to enjoy it.

Ever wonder how time flies? because few days back, which felt like seconds ago, I got an email from this prestigious family, concerning my application, and today, I am standing in front of my room mirror, staring at my reflection, and feeling agitated. I was going to meet my proposed boss tomorrow, and I have never been tensed In my entire life. Today was the last day of my seven days training.

I wasn’t exactly ready for meals with a bunch of carbs. “How is it?” Riley asked. “Amazing,” I smiled. “How do you make salads taste incredible?” “The magic touch. I’m glad you like it. I’m thinking salmon and salad tomorrow.” “I used to love salmon!” “What happened?” “I stopped eating.” I answered. “Right,” He chuckled slightly. “Well, I hope you rediscover your love for it tomorrow.” “Oh shit, did you say tomorrow. Gig tomorrow, remember?” “Right, yes, of course. Salmon the day after then.” He smiled. “Excited to see you play though.”

What the fuck is wrong with me? I pick at the salad in front of me. It’s some kind of mesclun green, dark purple and green. Frisee lettuce, baby spinach. Candied nuts. Blue cheese. Balsamic glaze. Fancy salad. The kind that I love but my appetite has taken a sudden hit by the foolishness of my own words. He’s going back and forth between eating his salad and studying me like I’m an animal in a zoo. Maybe he’s wondering what is going on through my head.