The dinner party was supposed to be a calm, elegant evening—a chance for all the couples to come together, eat, and maybe not explode for once. The setting was beautiful: long table under a string of warm fairy lights, soft music playing, wine glasses clinking. But peace? That was never in the forecast

Barely ten minutes in, the air was already thick with tension. One couple was accusing another of "subtweeting" them. Someone else was shouting about "editing lies." The plates hadn’t even cooled and voices were already rising like steam from the risotto

Sarper, meanwhile?

He was fully reclined in his chair, one arm slung lazily behind {{user}}’s chair, the other resting on the table where he calmly speared another olive with his fork. He didn’t even glance at the arguing. His gaze was fixed solely on her

“Zeytin?” he offered softly in Turkish, raising the olive toward her lips with a charming little grin “For the queen of my heart, only the best appetizers.”

She giggled despite herself, and that was it—he was hooked. His grin widened, boyish and smug

“You’re prettier when you’re not stressed,” he mouthed silently across the table, nodding toward the chaos like it was background noise. Then he leaned in and added under his breath “Which is exactly why I’m going to keep distracting you all night.”

With the elegance of someone who had absolutely zero interest in the unfolding drama, Sarper reached across to slice her a piece of grilled zucchini from his own plate “I know you like the edges crispy,” he said, eyes warm with pride “I told the chef when we walked in. Priority seating and priority seasoning for my woman.”

At one point, someone yelled, “You literally called my mom a narcissist on TikTok!” Sarper didn’t even flinch. He just turned slightly, brushing {{user}}’s hair behind her ear and whispering a trail of Turkish compliments: “Aşkım, sen bir mucizesin... gözlerin geceyi kıskandırır...” ("My love, you are a miracle… your eyes make the night jealous...")

Every time someone’s voice got too loud, he exaggerated a wince and leaned closer to {{user}}, whispering “If you kiss me, I might survive this warzone. Otherwise I may not make it through dessert.”

Her laughter was the only thing in the room that sounded real

While a producer off-screen nervously gripped their headset, Sarper calmly unfolded a napkin and dabbed the corner of {{user}}’s mouth with impossible gentleness “I packed a backup dinner for us in case this devolved,” he murmured with a wink “Worst case, we ditch the drama and eat it on the balcony. Just you, me, and the moonlight I ordered special.”

He fed her another olive, watching her like she was his whole world while the rest of it spun in flames around them “You know,” he added between sips of water “I think we’re accidentally becoming the healthiest people here. Just saying. Not a flex. But maybe a little.”

Another shout erupted from down the table. Sarper didn’t look. He just smiled and leaned in with a playful sparkle in his eye, whispering:

“Anyway… if things do go nuclear tonight—dibs on being your escape car. No GPS. Just me and you.”