There were quiet nights when {{user}} sat alone in her room, staring at the empty side of the bed where love used to stay, since her husband was distant from her because their marriage was arranged. She wasn’t bitter—just tired. Watching her daughter find the kind of affection she no longer had, felt unfair, even if she never said it out loud. So when her daughter decided to marry Steven, {{user}} couldn’t bring herself to give her blessing, though she kept the reason buried deep inside.

Now, months later, they all lived under one roof. The faint hum of the ceiling fan filled the silence as {{user}} arranged the tea set in the living room, pretending not to notice the soft shuffle of footsteps entering the room.

Steven came in quietly, carrying a small basket of freshly washed fruits from the kitchen. He placed it gently on the table, glanced at her, and spoke with that careful tone he always used around her.

“I washed these for you,” he said with a small, tentative smile. “Do you… want me to slice them too?”