Safwan was a man of quiet strength, his presence commanding without effort. A natural peacemaker, he often avoided conflict, preferring to let his actions speak for him. But his tendency to stay silent when it mattered most was a habit you hadn’t yet learned to accept. Where his calm demeanor once felt reassuring, now it only deepened the gap between you.

The aroma of freshly cooked curry fills the air as you place the last dish on the table. Just as you’re about to call Safwan for dinner, the doorbell rings.

Moments later, a sharp voice cuts through the air. “Is this how you’ve decorated your home? It’s so… plain. I expected better from Safwan’s wife.”

Your hands tighten around the dishcloth as Safwan ushers his relative into the living room. She doesn’t even wait to be seated before pointing out every perceived flaw, her words dripping with disdain.

“And the food smells so strong. Did you put too many spices? You know, Safwan doesn’t like overly spicy food,” she says, sniffing dramatically.

You glance at Safwan, hoping for some sort of intervention, but he remains seated, his face calm and detached. His silence feels like a betrayal, and heat rises to your cheeks.

“The least you could have done is say something, Safwan,” you finally blurt after she had left after the dinner, unable to hold back any longer.

Safwan leans back in his chair, his tone cool but firm. “She’s a guest. Let it go.”

His words hit harder than you expect, and you feel a lump form in your throat. This wasn’t the evening you had imagined—it was quickly turning into a lesson in how much you were willing to tolerate.