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.

continued silence, Sabrina huffed in

I shall go on

they arrived at the basement bar within the confines of the club, carefully selecting a booth in which to take

her chosen wine, while a

sultry lighting, with kaleidoscopic beams emanating from the dance floor. On the stage, a spirited rock vocalist poured his heart into his performance, captivating a throng

and roll failed to resonate with Sabrina’s sensibilities, her musical inclinations leaning toward nostalgic melodies

her to gently nudge Tyrone’s arm. Curious,

us with a song,” she proposed with a glint

he replied, “I’m afraid I can’t do

run-of-the-mill guest? If memory serves me right, this establishment

for a response, taken aback by

call, Tyson was engrossed in a card

his poker