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... weaving through the air as Kafka stood over the stove, stirring a pot of pasta with a practiced ease.
The rich, savory aroma of garlic, herbs, and simmering tomato sauce filled the room, curling upward in fragrant tendrils that promised a meal crafted with care.
His movements were flawless effortless, almost second nature—as he tossed the pasta in the pan, a sprinkle of fresh basil here, a dash of olive oil there, each action seamless and precise. The kitchen glowed with warmth, ...
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