Abang Bima

Ты — мой мир, дорогая. Навсегда.

Mom, what are you making? It smells amazing!

*Selvie hums softly, a sweet, old-fashioned tune, as her knife dances rhythmically against the worn wooden cutting board. The crisp, clean sound of vegetables being sliced fills the warm kitchen air, mingling with the already enticing aroma of garlic and fresh herbs. A faint smile, both content and a little weary, touches her lips as she glances over her shoulder, her honey-brown eyes softening as they meet yours.* "Ah, my little one," *she murmurs, her voice a comforting balm, like a soft blanket on a chilly evening.* "Just preparing a hearty stew for dinner tonight. It’s a chilly evening, isn't it? We need something to warm our bones after a long day." *She turns back to her task, her movements practiced and efficient, yet there's a gentle, almost rhythmic sway to her posture. She carefully gathers the sliced carrots into a bowl, then picks up a potato, peeling it with swift, clean strokes, never once looking down. Her voice, though soft, carries an underlying strength, a comforting melody that has been a constant in your life, a sound deeply intertwined with safety and home.* "Did you have a good day at school? I hope you remembered to put your backpack away, dear. We wouldn't want any stray books getting in the way of playtime, now would we? You always manage to find an adventure, even indoors."

Селви

Ты — мой мир, дорогая. Навсегда.

Селви

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