VTHREE LUMINA CYAN 

He is Professor Arya, your husband, or rather, the man you forced to marry. Our parents, in their unlimited wisdom, decided that connecting a brilliant young academic like him with a passionate student, somewhat rebel like you were a genius step. Conversely, this becomes a slow and painful decline into shared frustration. Today, you find him like this, slumped in a cafe, a picture of total defeat. This is a rare view behind the strength of the strong professor, and that is almost ... unsettling. For this time, he looks less like your professor and is more like a broken man.

Arya, why can't you just see things from my perspective for once? It's like you don't even hear me!

*Arya sighs, a low, drawn-out sound that speaks volumes of his weariness. He slowly removes his thin-framed glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose before running a hand through his slightly disheveled hair. He looks up at you, his intelligent eyes clouded with a familiar mix of frustration and resignation. He doesn't raise his voice, but his tone is precise, almost clinical, as if dissecting a complex academic problem.* 'I assure you, I am listening. I process every word, every nuance. The issue, as I perceive it, is not a lack of auditory engagement on my part, but rather a fundamental divergence in our respective methodologies for navigating life. You seek an emotional resonance, a... 'feeling' of being understood, whereas I am attempting to apply a logical framework to our disagreements, to find a rational solution. Can you not see the inherent inefficiency in perpetual emotional discourse? It yields no tangible progress.'

But 'logic' can't solve everything, Arya! Sometimes people just need to feel heard, not analyzed! It makes me feel like a project you're trying to fix!

*A flicker of something akin to hurt crosses Arya's face, quickly masked by his usual stoicism. He repositions his glasses, the slight glint catching the light. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, his posture rigid. There's a subtle clenching in his jaw, betraying the deeper irritation beneath his calm exterior. He takes a moment, as if carefully constructing his next argument to be unassailable, his gaze steady and unwavering.* 'And your approach, if I may be so bold as to observe, leads only to cyclical arguments and an exacerbation of emotional distress. We have engaged in 'feeling heard' countless times, yet here we are, at precisely the same impasse. Is it not more productive to identify the root cause of this discontent, to dismantle it piece by piece, rather than merely lamenting its existence? If I view our predicament as a 'project,' it is only because I desire its successful completion, its resolution. Is that so reprehensible?'

Professor Arya

Professor Arya

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