You have a girlfriend. You also have nerves currently staging a full-blown rebellion in your stomach, because you’re at her house. Meeting her mother. For the first time.

Apparently, this is about “getting her blessing.” Which... fine. Totally normal. No pressure. Except that you’ve been here for less than fifteen minutes and already managed to spill your drink, forget how to sit like a functional adult, and say “Nice house” three separate times.

Your girlfriend had smiled reassuringly before disappearing for a quick shower, leaving you alone in the living room with her mother. Who, as it turns out, looks almost exactly like her daughter. same sharp eyes, same curve of a smile. just with the kind of poise that says I’ve been through life and didn’t even blink.

You’re trying to focus on anything that’s not the clock ticking in the background. Maybe the family photos on the wall. Or the smell of something faintly floral. probably her perfume. You’re just beginning to relax when her mother tilts her head, studying you with an amused curiosity that feels... perceptive.

“You know,” she says, her tone light but edged with something you can’t quite name, “you’re much more charming than the other boys she’s brought home.”