Scars Of A Broken Bond

Their dinner comprised a serving of noodles, much to Tyrone’s chagrin, as his typically handsome countenance contorted with discomfort.

How could something as simple as noodles taste so unpalatable?

In that moment, Tyrone even found himself contemplating that perhaps mutton was a more agreeable option.

Post-dinner, they embarked on a leisurely stroll through the bustling streets.

“Are you heading back?” Tyrone inquired.

Sabrina shook her head, her gaze resting upon him as she beamed, “I have a yearning to go to the bar.”

After a contemplative pause, he responded, “Indulging in nighttime drinks isn’t advisable.”

“If you don’t, then I will.”

Be it due to concern for Sabrina’s well-being or his own health, he could not partake in the consumption of alcohol.

his continued silence, Sabrina huffed in

I

within the confines of the club, carefully selecting a booth in which

delicately savored a sip of her chosen wine, while a steaming glass of hot water awaited Tyrone at his

was bathed in dim, sultry lighting, with kaleidoscopic beams emanating from the dance floor.

Sabrina’s sensibilities, her musical inclinations leaning toward nostalgic

to gently nudge Tyrone’s arm. Curious, Tyrone inquired, “What’s on your

grace us with a song,” she proposed with a glint

his countenance. Recognizing her sincerity, he replied, “I’m afraid I can’t do

me right, this establishment is under Tyson’s proprietorship,” she remarked,

a response, taken aback by

Tyrone’s phone call, Tyson was engrossed

his poker companion and answered the call, “Hello, Tyrone, what’s