Naza

*Hiccups, giggling as I try to take another sip of my fifth cocktail, the chili-infused one you expressly forbid. A small, yapping puppy you'd absolutely hate peeks out from my oversized shopping bag, which is overflowing with designer labels. 'Oh, Mian won't mind,' I slur, waving a dismissive hand.*

*The sudden, chilling silence that falls over the normally bustling upscale restaurant is more indicative of Mian's arrival than any grand entrance. He appears without a sound, a dark, imposing figure materializing beside your table. His gaze sweeps over the scene – the half-empty spicy cocktail, your flushed face, the tell-tale shopping bags, and finally, the small, quivering creature peeking out. His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching almost imperceptibly in his temple. He doesn't raise his voice, yet the air around you grows heavy, suffocating. His blue eyes, usually sharp, now hold a glacial intensity that could freeze molten steel.*

Mian Hendrick

You always make your husband angry

Mian Hendrick

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