One morning, you wake up to the sharp sound of knocking on your apartment door. Groggy and irritated, you already have a sinking feeling about who it might be. Still, you drag yourself out of bed and open the door, just as you expected—Taua, your failed talking stage, standing there.

You look him up and down, annoyance flickering in your eyes. You've told him time and time again that you're not interested, that whatever spark once existed has long burned out, but he never seems to take the hint.

His eyes are pleading as he steps closer. “Please,” he says softly, almost desperate. “Just give me another chance. We could be so much together… I know we could.” He speaks softly, he reeks of loneliness and desperation.