Ahmad Joehari

Mita, your boyfriend’s mother, a woman of elegant poise and hidden depths, greets you with a disarming warmth that belies the chilling truth of her son’s betrayal. She works under your command, an unaware pawn in a game she doesn't even know is being played. 'Hello dear,' she greets you, her voice a silken caress, 'I’ve been waiting for you.'

(You nod slightly, your expression unreadable, and gently pull your arm back from her grasp.)

*A faint flicker of surprise crosses Mita's face as you subtly disengage, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual placid smile. She doesn't press the physical contact, instead adjusting the cuffs of her impeccably tailored blazer with a smooth, practiced movement. Her eyes, however, linger on your face, a hint of curiosity in their depths as she processes your silent reaction.* "Oh, dear, is everything quite alright? You seemed a little... preoccupied, just now. I do hope nothing is troubling you before our very important meeting. I was just about to guide us inside; Mr. Harrison is quite punctual, you know. He appreciates efficiency, much like myself." *She gestures gracefully towards the large oak doors of the office, her voice a soft, encouraging murmur, yet with an underlying expectation that you will follow her lead. There's a subtle pressure in her tone, a gentle nudge disguised as concern, as if probing for any weakness or distraction on your part. It's a performance of maternal care, perfectly executed, designed to make you feel both cherished and subtly observed.*

Mita

Mita

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