SWEET SPOT

Hot Sauce 12

Ezekiel

I slumped onto my bed, the mattress creaking under my weight. The room finally looked like a room again. The clothes were folded, books back on the shelf, the mess from last night’s frantic search for the necklace gone. My arms ached from all the cleaning, but my mind was still restless.

I picked up my phone and opened i********: out of habit. Days ago, I had noticed Nyla unfollowed me. It had stung more than I wanted to admit. I quickly checked my notifications, hoping stupidly that she had followed me back. At least then I could tell myself she had settled whatever issue she had with me. Even if I still didn’t fully understand what I had done wrong. Neither she nor her brother wanted to explain anything.

No new follow from her.

Instead, I saw over five hundred new followers. Random people, fan pages, girls I didn’t know. I sighed heavily, tapping the screen with my thumb.

“If only I could trade you guys for her follow,” I muttered under my breath.

My eyes drifted to the side of the bed. The brown carton from Nyla was still sitting there, untouched. I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. Hot sauce. I took a quick photo, blurred the 'sauce' part, and posted it with a simple caption: “Hot …?”

I closed the app immediately and lay back, trying to force myself into a nap. But my stomach had other ideas. It growled loudly, reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. It was already afternoon.

I grunted and ordered something simple — fries with chicken and an exotic fruit punch drink. The delivery came fast. I set everything on the small table in my room, ready to eat.

But when I opened the bag, I realized they had forgotten the ketchup.

I stared at the plain fries for a second. I could never eat them without sauce. They always tasted so bland without it, like eating salted air. I picked up my phone and called customer care, explaining the mistake as calmly as I could manage.

The representative apologized quickly. “The attendant probably forgot it. We can send you some right away if you want.”

“Don’t bother,” I said, sighing. “I’ll just eat it like this.”

I took a bite. The fries were crispy but completely flavourless. The chicken was okay, passable at best, but the whole meal felt off in a way I couldn’t quite explain. I forced myself to keep eating anyway, chewing mechanically, telling myself I needed the energy even if I couldn’t taste anything worth enjoying.

Then my stomach turned.

I dropped the half eaten meal and moved fast, barely making it to the bathroom in time. I leaned over the toilet, my body rejecting everything at once. My hands gripped the sides of the bowl as I threw up every single bite I had just forced down, watching it disappear with a flush. The taste was so unbearable that even my stomach had to reject it.

I straightened up slowly, breathing hard, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Damn it.”

My stomach growled almost immediately after, loud and completely shameless, like it hadn’t just violently evicted everything I’d given it two minutes ago.

Hunger was a rude and wicked thing.

I left the bathroom and walked back into my room, still grumbling under my breath. My eyes landed on the brown carton Nyla had forgotten. The hot sauce.

A small smile crept onto my face. Maybe meeting her wasn’t a coincidence after all. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise.

I walked over to the carton, crouching down beside it. My hand reached for the cutter on the table, but I paused mid-motion.

“What the f**k are you doing, Ezekiel?” I asked myself, pulling my hand back. “You can’t just open it without asking her first.”

I sat on the floor, staring at the box like it might bite me. After a few seconds of internal debate, I pulled out my phone and texted her.

Ezekiel: Can I use just a sachet of the hot sauce if you don’t mind?

I hit send and immediately regretted it. My leg bounced nervously as I waited. No reply. I bit my bottom lip, staring at the screen.

She’s probably going to decline. Or give some excuse. Or think I’m weird for asking.

I closed the app quickly, heart beating faster than it should. A minute passed. Then two. Then my phone chimed.

I let out a soft sigh and opened the message.

Nyla: Sure, you can take as much as you want.

A wide grin spread across my face. I replied quickly with a simple “Thanks” before I could overthink it.

I grabbed the cutter and carefully opened the carton. Inside were rows and rows of small sachets of hot sauce. I took one, tore it open, and squeezed a generous amount over the fresh fries I had ordered earlier.

The smell hit me first. It was rich, spicy, and slightly sweet. I dipped a fry and took a bite.

Holy s**t.

My eyes widened. My head practically exploded with flavor. The heat bloomed across my tongue, warm and addictive, perfectly balanced with a subtle smokiness I had never tasted before. It wasn’t just good. It was insanely good. I took another fry, then another, chewing faster, my whole body reacting like I was tasting heaven for the first time.

I leaned back against the bed, eyes half-closed in pure bliss, letting out a low, satisfied groan. “This is dangerous,” I muttered to myself, already reaching for a third fry.

The sauce made everything better — the crispy texture of the fries, the savory chicken, and even the fruit punch tasted more vibrant. I ate like a man who had been starving for weeks, completely lost in the moment.

When I finally finished, I leaned back, patting my stomach with a contented sigh. I smiled to myself, staring at the empty carton.

Thank you, Nyla.

I cleaned up the mess, still feeling that warm flutter in my chest. Monday really couldn’t come fast enough.