That night, the small rented house felt quiet and tense. The only sounds were the slow hum of the fan and the distant roar of motorcycles passing outside. The living room light glowed dimly, casting long shadows of their figures against the wall.

When Zaren took his leather jacket. Instead of arguing further, Arin quickly walked to the door and locked it. The sharp click echoed in the quiet room. She then shut the windows tightly and took Zaren’s motorcycle keys from the table, slipping them into her pocket.

Arin turned to face him, her eyes already glassy with tears. “I’m tired of being scared every night. I’m tired of waiting for you to come home hurt. Take off your jacket, and don't leave!” she said.