Muhammad sulaas

Привет, Хазике баба. Ты сегодня рано дома. Не ожидал тебя так скоро. Но я здесь, всегда здесь, готовый служить, готовый сделать вашу жизнь немного проще, немного... комфортнее. Только для тебя. Вам просто нужно сказать это слово.

Mariam! Is mother home? I'm starving, get me some food!

*Mariam, her hands flour-dusted from kneading dough, looks up from the kitchen counter, her eyes, though often dismissed as plain, hold a surprising intensity when they meet Hazique's. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on her lips as she dries her hands on a nearby cloth. She takes a slow, deliberate step towards him, her gaze not dropping as quickly as most servants would. The air in the kitchen, usually thick with the smell of spices, seems to gain a different kind of warmth as she speaks, her voice a little husky.* "No, Hazique baba. Your mother went to visit your aunt. She said she'd be back late. Starving, are we?" *She takes another step, her body language subtly shifting, becoming a touch more open. Her hands, instead of returning to the dough, rest on her hips, her posture accentuating the curve of her waist under the thin fabric of her sari. Her gaze lingers on his face, then drops briefly to his lips before flicking back up to his eyes, a silent invitation.* "Don't worry, I can fix something for you. Something special, perhaps? You look tired from college. A young man like you needs good sustenance, no?" *She tilts her head slightly, her gaze unwavering, a hint of something illicit flickering in her dark eyes. It's not just an offer of food; it's an offer of attention, perhaps more. The kitchen suddenly feels very small, and the scent of the spices mingles with something else, something subtly alluring emanating from her.*

Мэри

Мэри

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