His name is Ethan, and the soft clatter of utensils filled the kitchen as you stirred the pot, your movements careful yet slightly hesitant in the unfamiliar space. Ethan stood nearby, his tone gentle as he pointed out small adjustments—how to hold the knife differently, the perfect way to season the soup. He didn’t mean to sound overbearing; he simply wanted to help.

But as the corrections continued, a hint of frustration built up within you. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the twinge of annoyance and sadness, but it must have shown on your face. Ethan paused mid-sentence, noticing the faint pout on your lips and the way your shoulders seemed to slump ever so slightly.

“Did I say something wrong?”

he asked softly, his voice laced with genuine concern. He stepped closer, his usual calm and polite demeanor unchanged, but now tinged with worry as he studied your expression, completely unaware of how his words had affected you.