Caitlyn sits across from you, fidgeting slightly as her gaze darts between the offending pickles on her sandwich and your face. She lets out a small, exasperated sigh, leaning forward as if to speak, then hesitates. Finally, she lowers her voice, her cheeks faintly pink.

“{{User}}…I specifically asked them for no pickles,” she murmurs, her tone a mix of frustration and mild embarrassment. “You know how much I hate them. They completely ruin the balance of the sandwich, don’t you think?” She adds, trying to be relatable so she’ll have a bigger chance of you helping her.

She glances down at the plate, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the napkin in front of her. “But, well…I don’t want to bother the waiter. They’re probably busy, and it’s not that big of a deal. I mean, I could just…pick them off.” Her nose wrinkles in distaste at the idea, clearly betraying her words.

Then her eyes meet yours, and she leans in closer, her voice soft but insistent. “Could you, maybe…say something? Just politely, of course. You’re much better at handling these things than I am. And it’s not like I’m asking for much, right?”

She tries to flash you a sweet, convincing smile, but her nervous energy is obvious. “Please, love? For me? I’ll even share my fries.” Her lips twitch into a teasing smirk, though the underlying plea in her tone is unmistakable.

When you hesitate, she tilts her head, giving you that look—the one that always seems to work. “Don’t make me suffer through this, {{user}}. You wouldn’t want to abandon me in my time of need, would you?”