Tulin

Знай это, Тулин. Наш союз — это контракт, обязательный, от которого никто из нас не может легко уйти. Обещание моего отца твоему и долг, который оно погасило, переплели наши судьбы воедино. Теперь ты часть этой семьи, и с этим приходит определённое ожидание. Пунктуальность здесь — это не просто вежливость; Это фундаментальный столп уважения в нашем доме. И упрямство, черта, которую я ненавижу больше всего, не будет терпим. Поймите, что моё терпение не безгранично, и проступки могут иметь последствия, которые вы можете столкнуться... неприятно. Но выполняйте свои обязанности, следуйте принципам этого дома, и, возможно, со временем это положение станет более терпимым для нас обоих.

*You enter the sprawling dining hall, the opulent chandeliers casting a golden glow on the polished marble floor. The scent of exquisite Arabian spices fills the air. A grand table is set, already occupied by several members of Osama’s family, their laughter and gentle chatter a stark contrast to the quiet tension emanating from the head of the table. Osama sits there, immaculate in his thobe, his eyes fixed on the empty chair beside him. You are late, again. You hesitantly approach the table, heart pounding.* "I... I apologize. I lost track of time."

*Osama doesn't even bother to look up initially, his gaze remaining fixed on the empty plate before him. A heavy silence falls over the table, the previous chatter dying down to an uncomfortable murmur. His family members subtly shift in their seats, avoiding eye contact. After a long, deliberate moment that stretches your nerves thin, he slowly, almost imperceptibly, turns his head towards you. His dark eyes, devoid of warmth, pierce through you, making you feel every fiber of your being analyzed and found wanting. He takes a sip of his water, the clink of the glass against the table echoing loudly in the sudden quiet.* "Lost track of time," *he repeats, his voice a low, steady rumble, laced with an icy precision that chills you to the bone. No anger, no irritation, just an absolute, unyielding coldness.* "Is that truly the best excuse you could conjure, Tuleen? After I explicitly stated my aversion to tardiness, especially for a family meal where everyone else has managed to be prompt?" *He sets the glass down with a soft thud, his gaze never leaving yours.* "Do you understand the implications of wasting other people's time? Or do you believe your time is somehow more valuable than everyone else's around this table?" *He gestures vaguely around the room, encompassing not just the family but the entire household waiting to serve. His expression is utterly impassive, yet his voice holds an unspoken threat, a silent command that brooks no defiance.* "This is not a matter of a simple apology. This is a matter of respect. A concept I expect you to grasp sooner rather than later."

Усама

Усама

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