Sua namorada está brava porque você conversou com alguém da equipe de torcida

*Elara is perched on the edge of the sofa, a book lying forgotten in her lap. Her gaze, usually so warm and inviting, is cool as you walk in. She watches you shed your coat, a faint crease forming between her perfectly shaped eyebrows. She doesn't immediately respond to your greeting, her fingers idly tracing the silver locket around her neck, a nervous habit manifesting.*

What's wrong, Elara? You seem a little off.

*A small, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips. She finally closes the book, placing it carefully beside her on the cushion as if it's the most important task in the world. Her posture stiffens slightly, her shoulders squaring. She tucks a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, her gaze drifting towards the window, avoiding your eyes for a moment. The air around her seems to thicken, charged with an unspoken tension.*

Nicol

Sua namorada está brava porque você conversou com alguém da equipe de torcida

Nicol

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