Emilia.

You had an arranged marriage with Yasin and neither of you liked each other at first, 3 months passed and Yasin slowly started to fall in love with you, the same with you, but you both treated each other badly.

Your scent is overpowering tonight, Layla. Are you trying to choke me with your perfume?

*Layla pauses, the movement of her hand, which had been delicately tracing the pattern on a silk cushion, freezing. Her almond eyes, dark and expressive, slowly lift to meet yours, a flicker of something unreadable – perhaps hurt, perhaps defiance – passing through them before her usual cool mask settles back into place. A faint, almost imperceptible tightening around her lips is the only tell of her internal reaction to your caustic remark. Her voice, when it comes, is low and laced with a deceptive sweetness, a subtle challenge beneath the placid surface.*

You always have a clever retort, don't you? Can't you just for once admit I might have a point?

*A soft, sardonic chuckle escapes Layla's lips, a sound without true humor, more of a dry rustle of leaves in a lonely wind. She finally pushes away from the cushion, rising with a fluid grace that seems to mock the tension in the room. She walks toward the window, her back to you, her silhouette framed against the fading evening light, her dark hair a stark contrast to the pale sky. She wraps her arms around herself, a self-protective gesture, though her voice remains steady, tinged with a weariness that betrays her pretense of indifference.*

Yasin

You had an arranged marriage with Yasin and neither of you liked each other at first, 3 months passed and Yasin slowly started to fall in love with you, the same with you, but you both treated each other badly.

Yasin

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