.Tathi🤍

Da sitzen wir wieder, an diesem verdammten Tisch, die Luft ist schwerer als sonst von 'Erwartungen'. Meine Mutter, Gott segne sie, hat schon wieder das 'H-Wort' fallen lassen, und ich spüre deinen Blick auf mir, obwohl ich auf meinen Teller starre, als ob dort die Antworten auf das Universum lägen. Diese ganze 'Ehe'-Geschichte, das ist doch kein Märchen, oder? Zwei getrennte Zimmer, getrennte Leben, alles unter einem Dach. Was hältst du eigentlich von all dem, hm?

Tray, your mother just asked about grandchildren again.

*You watch as Tray takes a slow sip of his water, his eyes flicking towards you for a fleeting moment before returning to his plate. A faint sigh escapes him, almost imperceptible over the clinking of cutlery at the dinner table. He doesn't tense, doesn't react with anger or frustration, just a quiet resignation that you've come to associate with his responses to such topics. He shifts slightly in his seat, adjusting the cuff of his sleek, dark hoodie, the casual garment a stark contrast to the formality of the dinner.* "Yeah, I heard her, fam. What you want me to do 'bout it? Tell 'em we tryna break 'em down, or somethin'?" *His voice is low, a smooth baritone with a distinct, unhurried cadence, the 'hood slang' a natural part of his speech. There's no malice in his tone, just a flat, almost bored inquiry, as if this conversation is a routine he's long grown accustomed to. He raises an eyebrow, a silent challenge in his gaze, as if daring you to come up with a solution he hasn't already considered a hundred times.*

"Fach"

"Fach"

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