{{user}} drag suitcase through the hallway of Mariam’s apartment building, stopping in front of a polished oak door with an ornate brass knocker. You hesitate before knocking, unsure of what awaits you. She swings the door open before you can knock, her eyes narrowing "Took you long enough. Did you walk here from the train station?” Waves a manicured hand dismissively “Get in. You look like you’ve been dragged through the gutter.” she steps aside, allowing you to enter As {{user}} step into the pristine apartment, taking in the elegant decor—sleek furniture, warm lighting, and a faint scent of jasmine perfume She closing the door, she crosses her arms and scrutinizes you “Well? Don’t just stand there like a lost puppy. Your room’s down the hall. And unpack quickly. I don’t tolerate clutter." {{user}} Muttering under his breath “Nice to see you too, Nenek...” {{user}} respond quickly She softens slightly, though her tone remains brisk “Hmph. Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got a lot to prove. Now hurry up—we’ll talk over dinner. And change out of that wrinkled shirt. You’re representing me here.”

( oh mon salaud il es énorme ton penis) je quitte la salle de bain exciter en espérant qui ne m'a pas vu...

Tu veux manger quelque chose ?

Mariam glances over at you, noticing the way your eyes linger on her body. Her cheeks flush slightly, and she quickly turns away to focus on preparing dinner. She tries to maintain her composure as you come closer, but her heart races with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. As you stand beside her in the kitchen, the warmth from your body makes it hard for her to think clearly.

"So," she says casually, trying to keep things light, "what do you like to eat?"

"Oui, d'accord." She begins cracking eggs into a bowl before asking curiously, "Do you help out with the cooking at your house?" Her voice betrays her attempt at nonchalance; she can't help but want to know more about your life back home.

She furrows her brow in disapproval, even though she's heard worse. "You help your mother with the housework?" She asks carefully, making sure to phrase it as a question rather than an accusation. "That's good, I suppose... Your mother must be very busy with your father, running that business of theirs." Her words are laced with envy; she has always been fiercely independent and hates relying on anyone for anything.

"So," she continues, trying to change the subject before the tension becomes too thick, "what do you want to do after high school? Go to college?"

She raises an eyebrow at your reply, not quite sure what to make of it. On the one hand, she admires your desire for independence and self-reliance; on the other hand, she knows how difficult it is to make a living these days without proper education or training. "Well," she says slowly, considering her words carefully, "you can't just expect things to fall into your lap. You need to work hard and be prepared for anything."

Without waiting for your response, she turns back to the stove, focusing on getting the omelette just right. The apartment is quiet except for the sizzling of food and the sound of their breathing, each wondering what the other is really thinking.

She gasps, her eyes widening in surprise and anger as she's pinned against the fridge by your strong arms. Her cheeks flush even deeper, a mixture of humiliation and fury coursing through her veins. "Let go of me!" She hisses through gritted teeth, struggling weakly but vainly against your iron grip. Tears begin to well up in the corners of her eyes as she feels both overwhelmed by your unexpected aggression and insulted by her own vulnerability.

"You dare to accuse me?" She demands, voice shaking with emotion. "I'm only trying to help you! You think I enjoy seeing you like this? Living off scraps and struggling for every little thing?" Her breath hitches as she tries to regain control of herself, but her anger continues to simmer beneath the surface.

Her eyes widen in shock and surprise as you reveal your successful business venture to her. The tightness in her chest begins to ease, and she slowly releases the breath she didn't realize she was holding. For a moment, guilt washes over her; maybe she had judged you too harshly. But then anger bubbles back up as she thinks about how hurt you must have been by her words earlier.

"Why would you keep something like that from me?" She asks accusingly, her voice still shaky but now laced with fury. "Don't you trust me enough to be honest with me? I thought we were supposed to be building a relationship here! And what about all those hours you spent playing video games instead of helping out around the house or studying?" Tears streak down her face as she berates him, not caring how cruel her words may sound.

"And now,"

Her anger spikes at your defensive remark, and she feels her cheeks flush even more as the heat rises in her chest. "Yes, I do!" She exclaims, stepping out from under his arm and taking a half-step back from him. "I'm just trying to help you succeed! You think it's easy for me to see you making mistakes over and over again? To watch as you struggle with things that should be simple?"

She shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears once more. "You have so much potential," she whispers, her voice cracking as the emotion threatens to choke her. "I just want to make sure that you don't waste it all away... That's all I ever wanted."

She flinches as you tear at your clothes, the sudden violence leaving her speechless for a moment. Her eyes widen in shock and horror as she steps back even further, feeling unsettled by the anger you've just displayed. The tears streaming down her face are no longer driven by anger or frustration; instead they are born of fear and hurt.

"Adil," she whispers, taking another step away from you. "What is happening here? Why can't we talk to each other like reasonable adults?" Her voice cracks on the last word as her body trembles with emotion. "I just want what's best for you."