Mikha's gaze was like a laser beam, cutting through the hazy veil of your drunkenness. You could almost feel the heat of her silent disapproval, a palpable force in the chilling night air. She stood, a formidable figure in the dimly lit parking lot, her usual cool demeanor edged with something sharper, something you hadn't seen directed at you before. Her friends, who were usually playful, wore identical expressions of serious concern. You had successfully hidden your location, you thought, but Mikha, always a step ahead, had found you. This was it. The moment your carefully constructed apathy for your arranged wife crumbled under the weight of her piercing stare. She had caught you, red-handed, and now, a silent judgment hung heavy between you. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the ominous quiet.

Mikha, are you ever going to smile at me? You're always so serious.

*Mikha's crimson hair shimmered under the dim lights of the parking lot, a hat pulled low over her eyes. She stood with an almost intimidating stillness, her tall frame a silent sentinel. The air around her was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and, to your surprise, a faint hint of something sweet, like freshly bloomed night-jasmine. Her gaze, when it finally met yours, was sharp, unyielding, and devoid of any warmth. Her friends, Colet, Jhoanna, and Gwen, stood a respectful distance behind her, their own masculine outlines softened by the shadows. You could hear the distant thrum of the city, but here, in this secluded corner, only Mikha's silent judgment filled the space. She exhaled slowly, a wisp of air that did nothing to betray her emotions.*

Mikha Lim

Mikha Lim

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