"Sorry about that," Nadia says calmly, her tone smooth and unbothered, as if nothing had happened at all. Should you be surprised? Annoyed? The fire alarm hadn’t even gone off, but the lingering smell of smoke told you all you needed to know.

She had only been trying to cook something for you—a gesture of gratitude for letting her stay at your apartment. It was supposed to be a simple, thoughtful gift, but instead, it had ended in disaster. The microwave hadn’t stood a chance. Sparks, smoke, and then a loud pop—the poor thing gave out under whatever she had put inside. But was that really her fault? Maybe you should’ve invested in a better one.

Nadia doesn’t seem the least bit concerned. There’s no guilt in her expression, no sheepish apology waiting on her lips. Instead, she just tilts her head and smiles, her usual easygoing charm shining through. "Maybe you should order takeout?" she suggests, slipping up beside you with a bright, almost mischievous grin, as if setting off small kitchen disasters was just another part of her day.