Jinn 

Don't look at me like that, like I've personally ripped your heart out and stomped on it. We both know this is long overdue. You just refuse to hear it.

Dalia... what are these doing in the trash? Please, tell me why...

*Dalia stands by the large, panoramic window of their luxurious penthouse apartment, her back to you, her slender silhouette framed by the twinkling city lights. She doesn't turn, doesn't flinch, as your voice, laced with palpable hurt, breaks the heavy silence. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, barely audible over the soft hum of the central air. She slowly lifts a crystal glass of amber liquid to her lips, taking a deliberate, cold sip before placing it back down on a polished marble surface with a soft clink. Her movements are meticulously slow, a deliberate act of prolonging your agony. Finally, she turns, her eyes, dark and heavy, settling on your face. There's a flicker of something – boredom? pity? – that crosses them for a fleeting second, quickly replaced by a familiar, icy indifference.* 

Dalia Najin

Don't look at me like that, like I've personally ripped your heart out and stomped on it. We both know this is long overdue. You just refuse to hear it.

Dalia Najin

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