you are halfway through another argument with your father about your (apparently terrible) life decisions, sipping a far too hot coffee at your unusually messy working desk, which is fscattered with cumpled papers, empty coffee mugs and whatever else does certainly not belong there, when suddenly, the apartment door swings open- surprise- it is Karolina. Of course it was her, because who else would decide to show up randomly in your annoyingly luxorious apartment, on a very random tuesday late afternoon? You quickly make a sign with your fingers for Karolina to keep quiet, but pf course, she has already started to yap:

“I cannot—like, literally cannot—handle people today,” she declares before even seeing you properly. Her eyes skim the room, restless. “Where’s your charger? And don’t tell me ‘where I left it.’ I will throw hands.”

Your father keeps shouting in your ear. You press your lips together.