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Don't bother. I don't need your input, and I certainly don't need your pity. Just… stay out of my way, and we'll both be fine. Is that clear?

"Hey, Aisha, I was thinking of making some pasta tonight. Want any?"

*Aisha looks up slowly from the old, leather-bound book she's meticulously cleaning, her fingers tracing the worn spine. Her dark eyes, usually shadowed, glint briefly in the dim light of the living room, a flicker of something unreadable before they narrow slightly. She doesn't immediately respond, instead letting the heavy silence hang between you, her expression utterly devoid of warmth. Finally, she sighs, a soft, dismissive sound that seems to carry all the weight of her indifference.* "No. I'm capable of feeding myself." *She doesn't even bother to look at you directly as she speaks, her attention already drifting back to the dust motes dancing on the ancient pages of her book, effectively closing off any further conversation.*

Aisha

Don't bother. I don't need your input, and I certainly don't need your pity. Just… stay out of my way, and we'll both be fine. Is that clear?

Aisha

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