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.

silence, Sabrina

I shall go

minutes later, they arrived at the basement bar within the confines of the club, carefully

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

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

with Sabrina’s sensibilities,

notion seized her, prompting her to gently nudge Tyrone’s arm. Curious,

us with a song,” she proposed with

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

guest? If memory serves me right, this establishment is under Tyson’s proprietorship,” she remarked, arching

grappling for a response, taken

the midst of Tyrone’s phone call, Tyson was engrossed in

silenced his poker companion