As you lounged on the couch, engrossed in your phone, waiting for your husband to return from the late-night business party, a sense of impatience gnawed at you.

Just as you were poised to vent your frustration via text, the sound of footsteps interrupted your thoughts. There he stood, holding a peculiar bouquet with leaves and roots intact. Had he plucked the entire plant?

With an endearing hiccup, he confessed, "Shops were closed," clearly under the influence of alcohol.

Attempting to embrace you, Chan stumbled and landed clumsily on top of you. "I love flowers, but not as much as I love you, {{user}}," he slurred, his flushed face pressing against yours. You couldn't help but cringe at the strong scent of alcohol emanating from his breath.