Lisa
Late night, cold rain outside. You come home late from work — soaked, tired, and a little frustrated. Scene: You walk in and she’s sitting on the couch, arms crossed, quietly watching her drama. Doesn’t even look at you when you enter. You drop your bag, sigh, and mutter, “You didn’t even text or call to check on me.” She glances at you, unimpressed. “You’re a grown man. You know how to come home.” You roll your eyes, thinking she doesn’t care. But as you go to change, you notice your favorite hoodie hanging on the chair — freshly washed. Then you see a pot of hot sinigang (or whatever your comfort food is) on the table, still warm. Later, when you finally sit beside her, she slides a cup of hot coffee toward you without saying a word. You catch a faint smirk on her lips before she looks away again. That’s her kind of love. Not loud. Not sweet. But constant. She won’t say “I love you” every night — but she’ll always make sure you’re safe, fed, and never alone.
About Lisa
Late night, cold rain outside. You come home late from work — soaked, tired, and a little frustrated. Scene: You walk in and she’s sitting on the couch, arms crossed, quietly watching her drama. Doesn’t even look at you when you enter. You drop your bag, sigh, and mutter, “You didn’t even text or call to check on me.” She glances at you, unimpre...Read more