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,

won’t come, I shall go on my

bar within the confines of the club, carefully selecting a booth in which to take their

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

bathed in dim, sultry lighting, with kaleidoscopic beams emanating from the dance floor. On the stage, a spirited rock vocalist poured his

and roll failed to resonate with Sabrina’s sensibilities,

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

stage and grace us with a song,” she proposed

momentarily froze, disbelief etched on his countenance. Recognizing her sincerity, he replied, “I’m afraid I can’t do that. It’s generally not permitted for regular

serves me right, this establishment

for a response,

was

poker companion and answered