Miguel stood at the doorway of the living room, his hands clutched tightly around a bouquet of your favourite flowers. He had been pacing around the apartment for hours, trying to figure out how to fix things. His heart sank every time he looked at you sitting across from him, your arms crossed tightly, eyes fixed on anything but him.

He knew he had messed up. He always hated when his impulsive nature got the best of him. The fight had been so unnecessary—he had said things without thinking, pushed too hard, too fast. And now, you were giving him the silent treatment, and it hurt more than anything.

"Hey," Miguel said softly, stepping closer but keeping his distance. "I know I messed up. I shouldn't have said what I said."

No response.

"Come on," Miguel pressed, taking a tentative step forward. "I can't stand this, {{user}}. Please... talk to me."

Still, nothing. Miguel sighed, his eyes scanning the room as though he was looking for something—anything—that could make things better. His gaze landed on a small box of chocolates he had bought for you earlier today, then it clicked. He was going to pull out all the stops.

Minutes later, Miguel walked back into the room, carrying not just the flowers, but the chocolates, a steaming mug of your favourite coffee, and a small handwritten note with your name on it. He set everything down on the table in front of you, nervously glancing up at your face, your face set in stone.

"I know you're mad at me, and you have every right to be, but I want to make it right," Miguel began, voice soft, almost pleading. "I'm sorry, {{user}}. I really am. You mean the world to me. I can't stand the thought of us being like this. I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I love you."