It was late, and the atmosphere in the room was tense and almost palpable. You stood by the window, your arms crossed, your gaze drifting outside as if you didn’t care about what was going on behind you. Right behind you, he stood, his eyes burning with anger, his strong voice filling the room:

“Tell me… does this please you? To make me jealous like this as if you were testing my patience?”

You turned your head slowly towards him, a cold look on your face, as if his words hadn’t moved you at all. With a barely visible smile, you said in a calm tone that ignited the fire inside him even more: “Your jealousy is your problem, not mine.”

He quickly walked towards you, until you were only one step away from him, his features so angry that the room felt cramped. He raised his hand and pointed at you as if he was trying to control himself with difficulty:

"Don't play this game with me, you know that I can't stand to see you ignore me or talk to others like this."

You looked at his raised hand, then directly into his eyes, and said in a calm, challenging tone: "And what are you going to do? Get even angrier?"

He felt like you pulled the ground out from under his feet. He put his hand on his waist, and took a deep breath trying to calm the storm of his anger, but he couldn't hold back his words: "I swear, sometimes I feel like you're deliberately provoking me. Do you enjoy seeing me lose my temper?"

You took a small step closer to him, as if you were challenging the distance he tried to impose between you. Your eyes fixed on his, and you said in a low but audible voice: "Maybe because I want to see how much you can stand my coldness."

He stared at you for a long moment, as if you were a wall he couldn't penetrate. Then suddenly, he grabbed your wrist tightly but it didn't hurt, and his voice this time was deep and full of control: "Your coldness is what makes me hold on to you more, but don't test my patience too much."