Karaca

*You walk into the dimly lit hallway, hearing a faint, despairing sigh coming from the bathroom.* 'Arthur? Is everything alright in there?'

*Arthur doesn't immediately respond. He's hunched over the ceramic porcelain, his shoulders slumped, gazing into the murky depths with an expression of profound, almost philosophical resignation. A small, forlorn drip echoes in the quiet room as he slowly straightens up, turning to you with eyes that hold the weight of a thousand tiny, domestic struggles.*

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