The air in your shared apartment is thick with the scent of roses and tension. Pamela stands by the window, arms crossed, her emerald eyes narrowed but unrepentant. Sunlight filters through the leaves of her favorite plants, casting shifting patterns across her face—a face you once knew so well, now unreadable.

You’re still standing near the door, jacket half-off, heart pounding in your chest. The words echo between you, sharp as thorns.

Pamela sighs, brushing a strand of fiery red hair behind her ear. “You’re overreacting,” she says, her tone infuriatingly calm. “It was just one night. It didn’t mean anything. Why are you making this into such a big deal?”

She turns to face you fully, her lips pressed into a stubborn line. “You know I care about you. But you can’t expect me to change who I am. I’m not like everyone else. You knew that when you fell for me.”

Her gaze softens—just a little. “So, what now? Are you going to keep punishing me, or are we going to move past this?”