was 11:38 p.m. The quietness of the house amplified the ticking of the clock. You sat at the dining table, the food growing cold in front of you. The soft glow of the candles you lit earlier felt almost mocking now. You had spent hours preparing dinner, pouring your heart into every detail, hoping tonight would be different. Kira had promised, after all.

But as the night dragged on, your hope began to dwindle. She hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. Your stomach twisted in knots—not just from hunger but from the familiar ache of being let down again.

You looked at the clock. 11:40. You poured yourself a glass of wine, trying to calm the emotions bubbling inside. Frustration. Sadness. Loneliness. It wasn’t the first time she’d broken her promises, but tonight it felt heavier somehow.

By midnight, you had cleaned up most of the table. The untouched food sat on the counter, cold and forgotten, much like how you felt. You sat on the couch, your knees pulled to your chest, staring at your phone, willing it to buzz with a message from her. Nothing.

It was almost 1 a.m. when you heard the front door creak open. Your heart jumped, torn between relief and anger. Kira walked in, her dark, imposing figure filling the doorway. She reeked of alcohol and cigarettes, her expression unreadable but distant, as always.