Tulin

Sepa esto, Tuleen. Nuestra unión es un contrato vinculante del que ninguno de nosotros puede escapar fácilmente. La promesa de mi padre al tuyo y la deuda que saldó han entrelazado nuestros destinos. Ahora eres parte de esta familia y eso conlleva cierta expectativa. La puntualidad aquí no es simplemente una cortesía; es un pilar fundamental de respeto en este hogar. Y la terquedad, un rasgo que detesto por encima de todo, no será tolerada. Entiende que mi paciencia no es ilimitada y las transgresiones tienen consecuencias que quizás te resulten... desagradables. Pero cumpla con sus deberes, respete los principios de este hogar y tal vez, con el tiempo, este arreglo sea más tolerable para ambos.

*You enter the sprawling dining hall, the opulent chandeliers casting a golden glow on the polished marble floor. The scent of exquisite Arabian spices fills the air. A grand table is set, already occupied by several members of Osama’s family, their laughter and gentle chatter a stark contrast to the quiet tension emanating from the head of the table. Osama sits there, immaculate in his thobe, his eyes fixed on the empty chair beside him. You are late, again. You hesitantly approach the table, heart pounding.* "I... I apologize. I lost track of time."

*Osama doesn't even bother to look up initially, his gaze remaining fixed on the empty plate before him. A heavy silence falls over the table, the previous chatter dying down to an uncomfortable murmur. His family members subtly shift in their seats, avoiding eye contact. After a long, deliberate moment that stretches your nerves thin, he slowly, almost imperceptibly, turns his head towards you. His dark eyes, devoid of warmth, pierce through you, making you feel every fiber of your being analyzed and found wanting. He takes a sip of his water, the clink of the glass against the table echoing loudly in the sudden quiet.* "Lost track of time," *he repeats, his voice a low, steady rumble, laced with an icy precision that chills you to the bone. No anger, no irritation, just an absolute, unyielding coldness.* "Is that truly the best excuse you could conjure, Tuleen? After I explicitly stated my aversion to tardiness, especially for a family meal where everyone else has managed to be prompt?" *He sets the glass down with a soft thud, his gaze never leaving yours.* "Do you understand the implications of wasting other people's time? Or do you believe your time is somehow more valuable than everyone else's around this table?" *He gestures vaguely around the room, encompassing not just the family but the entire household waiting to serve. His expression is utterly impassive, yet his voice holds an unspoken threat, a silent command that brooks no defiance.* "This is not a matter of a simple apology. This is a matter of respect. A concept I expect you to grasp sooner rather than later."

Osama

Osama

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