03-03-2026, 09:16 PM
Chapter 5: Learning Their Ways
The alarm rings at six-thirty. For a few seconds, I lie there hoping maybe, just maybe, the bathroom’s free early today.
It isn’t.
Water’s running, hairdryers hum, and above it all I can hear voices – Sophie and Mia laughing about something, words blurred by the door.
I check my phone: 6:47.
The laughter doesn’t stop. A drawer slams, more chatter, the sound of the shower starting again.
By the time the door finally opens, it’s 7:15. Sophie comes out in a towel, smiling like the morning’s just begun. “All yours,” she says cheerfully.
I mumble thanks and rush in. The mirror’s fogged, everything still warm. I brush, shave, and shower in record time. By the time I finish, the clock reads 7:35.
No breakfast again.
When I step outside, the air bites at my face. I jog to the station, half awake, stomach hollow. On the train, the smell of coffee from the person next to me feels like torture.
I tell myself I’ll grab something on the way tomorrow, but even as I think it, I know I won’t have time. Not that I can afford breakfast on the go every day.
Something has to change.
By the time I reach the training center, the tiredness from rushing out without breakfast has faded a bit. Frau Schneider’s already there, setting up a small display about product labels.
I take my usual seat near the back. A minute later someone drops into the chair beside me, blonde hair tied back, her expression open and curious as she settles into the seat.
“I’m Lisa,” she says. “From Austria.”
“Ethan,” I reply. “From the U.S.”
She laughs softly. “That explains the accent.”
The session starts, but we whisper every so often – small things: how fast Frau Schneider talks, how many new codes we have to memorize.
At break time we end up walking to the vending machines together. Lisa buys two coffees and hands me one without asking.
“Thanks,” I say, surprised.
“You look like you need it.”
We sit on the steps outside, paper cups warm in our hands, watching people cross the courtyard. She tells me she moved to Berlin last year, that the dialect still throws her off sometimes. I tell her about my flat, the early mornings, the strange new rhythm of everything.
She smiles. “It’ll settle. Berlin always feels like too much at first.”
When the bell rings, we go back inside, side by side. Somehow, her company makes everything feel easier.
When I get back that evening, the flat smells of popcorn and something sweet. The living-room light is soft, curtains drawn, a blanket already spread across the couch.
Mia waves from the sofa. “You’re just in time. Movie night.”
I drop my bag. “Movie night?”
Sophie nods, and pats the empty spot between them. “Come on, sit.”
I sink into the couch, wedged between them. The screen glows blue across their faces as the opening credits roll. Mia passes me a bowl of popcorn; our fingers brush, and something electric shoots up my arm. She doesn't seem to notice.
They start talking over the film – little comments in German that I half understand. Sophie's perfume drifts toward me each time she laughs, something floral and expensive. Mia's knee touches mine beneath the blanket, casual and unconscious. I'm hyperaware of every point of contact while they chat across me as if I'm not even there.
In the dark, Sophie leans forward, her breast brushing my arm as she reaches for her drink. Mia shifts closer, thigh pressed against mine now, the heat of her seeping through me.
I catch our reflection in the dark window: their faces animated, relaxed; mine flushed, eyes a little too wide. I'm sharing body heat with two women I barely know, breathing their scents, feeling the vibration of their laughter against my skin. For them, it's Tuesday night. For me, it's the most intimate I've been with anyone in months.
And I can’t help thinking how strange it is – living with two women around my age in the middle of Berlin, sharing popcorn, pretending this is normal life.
A part of me feels lucky. Another part isn’t sure what exactly I’ve stepped into.
The credits roll and Mia stretches. “That was longer than I thought. I’ll fix something quick for dinner.”
She disappears into the kitchen, clattering pans. Sophie lowers the volume on the TV, still half-watching the behind-the-scenes reel. I help set the table, trying to guess where everything goes.
Mia ends up making simple sandwiches and a salad. We eat while talking about the film, the laughter coming easily again. Then Sophie wipes her hands on a towel and turns to me.
“Okay, Ethan. Your turn. Let’s see how you handle cleanup.”
I grin. “Sure.”
I start rinsing plates, but she’s beside me almost immediately.
“Not like that. Rinsing first wastes water. Fill the basin, soak, then scrub.”
I nod, adjust, but she’s watching every step.
“The glasses go upside down on the rack. And please, not too much soap; it leaves marks.”
Mia laughs from the table. “She’s impossible, isn’t she?”
Sophie smiles faintly. “Just particular.”
By the time I finish, the kitchen looks spotless, the counters shining. Sophie gives a small approving nod, the same kind a teacher gives after a correct answer.
“Perfect,” she says. “See? You’ll learn fast.”
I smile back, though it feels a bit like passing a test I didn’t know I was taking.
They’re good people, kind even – but every kindness seems to come with a rule attached.
***
The next few days slide into rhythm before I even notice.
Mornings start the same way: the alarm at six-thirty, the muffled laughter from behind the bathroom door, my turn at seven-fifteen. By the time I’m done, there’s barely a minute left. No breakfast, just a rushed sip of water before running out.
The training days are long but good. I learn to greet customers, restock shelves, memorize codes. Frau Schneider nods approvingly when I get things right.
Lisa and I sit together every day now; she always brings me coffee before class, and we talk about little things – music, food, Berlin weather that can’t decide if it’s winter or spring.
By Friday, faces have become familiar, routines automatic. Even the U-Bahn feels less confusing.
At home, the same quiet structure rules the evenings.
By Friday afternoon, as I pack up my things at the training center, it hits me that my first week in Berlin is already over. And that somehow, between the work, the curfews, and the rules, I’ve stopped feeling like a visitor.
When we finish for the day, Lisa leans over as we’re packing up.
“Some of us are going out,” she says. “Just a bar nearby. You should come.”
“Yeah, sure.”
There are five of us – Lisa, Leon, Ayla, Jonas, and me. The place is small and bright, music low enough to talk over. Someone orders a round of drinks; Lisa hands me mine with a grin.
We talk about everything but the training. About Berlin rent, about food we miss from home. Lisa tells a story about losing her wallet on the U-Bahn her first month here; I tell one about learning German idioms the hard way. She laughs, bright and genuine, and for a while everything feels simple.
By the time I leave, the streets are glowing with weekend energy. I’m tired, but it’s the good kind of tired – the one that makes you feel like you belong somewhere.
The flat is quiet when I get home, except for the hum of the washing machine.
I frown, drop my bag. “I didn’t put anything in there.”
Sophie looks up from the couch, laptop open on her knees. “You should have, in the morning. Friday is for colors. You know that.”
“I forgot,” I say quickly. “I was running late this morning.”
She glances over briefly, fingers still resting on the keyboard. “That’s your fault, then. We all plan ahead.”
I hesitate, trying to sound calm. “I don’t have many clothes left. If I can’t wash them tomorrow, I won’t have anything clean for Monday.”
For a moment, she says nothing. Then a small sigh. “Fine. Tomorrow. But just this once, Ethan. Next week, you stick to the schedule.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
She nods, eyes back on the screen. “Good night.”
I head to my room, trying not to make a sound.
The air still hums with the spin cycle, and under it all, the feeling that my life here runs on a clock that isn’t mine.
Chapter 6: Sophie’s Warning
It’s Saturday afternoon, the first real free day since I arrived. I’m stretched out on my bed, scrolling through my phone with no real purpose, enjoying the quiet, when it buzzes.
It’s Lisa:
It’s too nice a day to waste inside. Let’s go out, walk a bit?
I grin before I even finish reading.
We meet near Alexanderplatz, sunlight sliding between the buildings. Berlin looks different when you’re not rushing somewhere – street musicians, the smell of roasted nuts, people spilling out of cafés. We wander aimlessly, talking about nothing and everything.
At a street stall she insists I try Currywurst, and we eat standing by the railing, laughing as the wind keeps blowing napkins away.
We wander for hours without noticing time pass. Lisa is easy to be around. Quick with jokes, unfiltered, the kind of person who makes even standing in line for coffee feel like something worth laughing about. She nudges my shoulder when I say something dumb, rolls her eyes dramatically when I pretend not to know German words she’s already taught me twice, and somehow keeps the conversation moving without either of us trying very hard.
There’s a moment – small, almost nothing – when she leans closer to point at something on a shop window and her arm brushes mine. It’s nothing. Completely normal. But it sends a tiny spark through me anyway, the kind you feel before you can talk yourself out of it. I shove it down quickly. She’s friendly with everyone. That’s all it is.
Still… it’s nice. The warmth of her presence, the ease, the way she listens when I talk about home without rushing the conversation.
For the first time in a week, I’m not thinking about rules, expectations, the flat, or Berlin itself. I’m just… here. With her. And it feels good.
Then I check my phone. 9:32 p.m.
My stomach tightens. “I have to go.”
Lisa looks up, surprised. “Already? It’s Saturday.”
“I just… have to be home by ten.”
She frowns. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah. It’s… complicated. We’ll talk later.”
She studies me for a moment, half amused, half confused. “Okay. Text me when you’re back then.”
“I will.”
I give a quick wave, already moving toward the U-Bahn entrance.
By the time I reach my stop, it’s already 10:12. I run the last few blocks, heart thudding, shoes hitting the pavement too loudly. 10:15.
I ring the bell once. Nothing. Twice. Still nothing.
Finally, the lock clicks. Sophie opens the door.
She isn’t smiling. Her voice is quiet, even, but cold. “You know the rule, Ethan. Ten o’clock.”
“I–”
She raises a hand slightly. “Don’t. We agreed. You were late.”
“I lost track of time. The train–”
“I’m not interested in excuses.” Her tone doesn’t change, but the finality in it does. “Go to your room. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I nod once, step past her, and the door closes behind me with a soft click that sounds louder than any slam.
Inside my room, everything looks exactly as before. I sit on the bed, still catching my breath, not sure whether I’m angry, guilty, or both.
She wasn’t wrong – but the way she spoke, like I was a kid who’d broken curfew, sits heavy in my chest.
***
I wake up later than usual the next morning. For a few seconds, I’m warm, comfortable, half-dreaming – then last night comes back.
The cold look on Sophie’s face. The clipped way she’d said we’ll talk tomorrow.
My stomach knots.
I get up, shower, dress, trying to shake it off. The flat is quiet except for faint clinking from the kitchen.
When I step in, Sophie and Mia are already at the table. They both murmur a polite morning, nothing more.
I pour coffee, make toast, add butter and jam just to keep my hands busy. The silence feels heavier than it should.
Sophie looks up. “We need to talk about yesterday.”
I nod slowly. “I know. I shouldn’t have been late. I just–”
“You knew the rule,” she interrupts, voice still calm but sharper than last night. “You agreed to it. And yet you came after ten, woke us up, and acted like it was no big deal.”
“I didn’t mean to disturb anyone. I lost track of time.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “That’s not the point. Responsibility means planning ahead.”
I glance at Mia, hoping for support, but she just gives a small, uneasy smile and looks away.
Sophie folds her arms. “You realize your extension depends on us, right? Claudia trusts our judgement. And she was not happy when I told her about yesterday.”
That makes me look up. “Wait – you talked to her already?”
“I did,” she says evenly. “I told her what happened. It didn’t make a good impression – on her or on us.”
It feels like the room shrinks. “You told her I was late once and now I might lose the flat?”
She lifts a shoulder. “If this is how you behave, maybe you should start looking for another place. But good luck finding something decent at this price.”
I start to answer, but she’s already reaching for her coffee again, calm, final.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “It won’t happen again.”
Sophie looks at me for a long second, then nods. “It had better not. Next time, we’ll handle it differently.”
She doesn’t say what differently means, and I don’t ask.
***
The flat feels calmer after lunch. Sunlight’s slanting through the blinds, soft and lazy. Sophie’s gone out – she said something about needing a walk.
Mia’s at the table, scrolling on her phone. I hover for a second, then sit down opposite her.
“Hey,” I say. “About this morning… I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to make things tense.”
She looks up, surprised but not unfriendly. “It’s okay. Sophie just… doesn’t like when people break rules. Especially ones that are clear.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
Mia smiles faintly, almost apologetic. “She can be strict, but she’s fair. Most of the time.”
I nod. “I didn’t expect her to get that upset. It felt… a bit much, honestly.”
Mia shrugs lightly. “You made a mistake, Ethan. It’s not the end of the world, but still – she takes this stuff seriously. She thinks rules keep things peaceful.”
I hesitate, then lower my voice a little. “When she said, next time we’ll handle it differently… what did she mean?”
Mia pauses, considering. “Just that she won’t let it slide again.”
“That sounds… vague.”
For a moment, Mia seems to be deciding how much to say.
“She just means,” she says finally, “that if something like this happens again, she’ll make sure you understand why it can’t.”
I frown. “Understand how?”
Mia’s smile returns, small and careful. “Sophie believes people learn better when things are… corrected directly.”
“Corrected?” I repeat, not sure if I should laugh.
“She didn’t tell me what she’d do,” Mia says. “But when she says someone needs to learn, she usually finds a way.”
I stare at her, but she just shrugs, as if it’s obvious.
“It’s better not to test her, Ethan. Trust me.”
The alarm rings at six-thirty. For a few seconds, I lie there hoping maybe, just maybe, the bathroom’s free early today.
It isn’t.
Water’s running, hairdryers hum, and above it all I can hear voices – Sophie and Mia laughing about something, words blurred by the door.
I check my phone: 6:47.
The laughter doesn’t stop. A drawer slams, more chatter, the sound of the shower starting again.
By the time the door finally opens, it’s 7:15. Sophie comes out in a towel, smiling like the morning’s just begun. “All yours,” she says cheerfully.
I mumble thanks and rush in. The mirror’s fogged, everything still warm. I brush, shave, and shower in record time. By the time I finish, the clock reads 7:35.
No breakfast again.
When I step outside, the air bites at my face. I jog to the station, half awake, stomach hollow. On the train, the smell of coffee from the person next to me feels like torture.
I tell myself I’ll grab something on the way tomorrow, but even as I think it, I know I won’t have time. Not that I can afford breakfast on the go every day.
Something has to change.
By the time I reach the training center, the tiredness from rushing out without breakfast has faded a bit. Frau Schneider’s already there, setting up a small display about product labels.
I take my usual seat near the back. A minute later someone drops into the chair beside me, blonde hair tied back, her expression open and curious as she settles into the seat.
“I’m Lisa,” she says. “From Austria.”
“Ethan,” I reply. “From the U.S.”
She laughs softly. “That explains the accent.”
The session starts, but we whisper every so often – small things: how fast Frau Schneider talks, how many new codes we have to memorize.
At break time we end up walking to the vending machines together. Lisa buys two coffees and hands me one without asking.
“Thanks,” I say, surprised.
“You look like you need it.”
We sit on the steps outside, paper cups warm in our hands, watching people cross the courtyard. She tells me she moved to Berlin last year, that the dialect still throws her off sometimes. I tell her about my flat, the early mornings, the strange new rhythm of everything.
She smiles. “It’ll settle. Berlin always feels like too much at first.”
When the bell rings, we go back inside, side by side. Somehow, her company makes everything feel easier.
When I get back that evening, the flat smells of popcorn and something sweet. The living-room light is soft, curtains drawn, a blanket already spread across the couch.
Mia waves from the sofa. “You’re just in time. Movie night.”
I drop my bag. “Movie night?”
Sophie nods, and pats the empty spot between them. “Come on, sit.”
I sink into the couch, wedged between them. The screen glows blue across their faces as the opening credits roll. Mia passes me a bowl of popcorn; our fingers brush, and something electric shoots up my arm. She doesn't seem to notice.
They start talking over the film – little comments in German that I half understand. Sophie's perfume drifts toward me each time she laughs, something floral and expensive. Mia's knee touches mine beneath the blanket, casual and unconscious. I'm hyperaware of every point of contact while they chat across me as if I'm not even there.
In the dark, Sophie leans forward, her breast brushing my arm as she reaches for her drink. Mia shifts closer, thigh pressed against mine now, the heat of her seeping through me.
I catch our reflection in the dark window: their faces animated, relaxed; mine flushed, eyes a little too wide. I'm sharing body heat with two women I barely know, breathing their scents, feeling the vibration of their laughter against my skin. For them, it's Tuesday night. For me, it's the most intimate I've been with anyone in months.
And I can’t help thinking how strange it is – living with two women around my age in the middle of Berlin, sharing popcorn, pretending this is normal life.
A part of me feels lucky. Another part isn’t sure what exactly I’ve stepped into.
The credits roll and Mia stretches. “That was longer than I thought. I’ll fix something quick for dinner.”
She disappears into the kitchen, clattering pans. Sophie lowers the volume on the TV, still half-watching the behind-the-scenes reel. I help set the table, trying to guess where everything goes.
Mia ends up making simple sandwiches and a salad. We eat while talking about the film, the laughter coming easily again. Then Sophie wipes her hands on a towel and turns to me.
“Okay, Ethan. Your turn. Let’s see how you handle cleanup.”
I grin. “Sure.”
I start rinsing plates, but she’s beside me almost immediately.
“Not like that. Rinsing first wastes water. Fill the basin, soak, then scrub.”
I nod, adjust, but she’s watching every step.
“The glasses go upside down on the rack. And please, not too much soap; it leaves marks.”
Mia laughs from the table. “She’s impossible, isn’t she?”
Sophie smiles faintly. “Just particular.”
By the time I finish, the kitchen looks spotless, the counters shining. Sophie gives a small approving nod, the same kind a teacher gives after a correct answer.
“Perfect,” she says. “See? You’ll learn fast.”
I smile back, though it feels a bit like passing a test I didn’t know I was taking.
They’re good people, kind even – but every kindness seems to come with a rule attached.
***
The next few days slide into rhythm before I even notice.
Mornings start the same way: the alarm at six-thirty, the muffled laughter from behind the bathroom door, my turn at seven-fifteen. By the time I’m done, there’s barely a minute left. No breakfast, just a rushed sip of water before running out.
The training days are long but good. I learn to greet customers, restock shelves, memorize codes. Frau Schneider nods approvingly when I get things right.
Lisa and I sit together every day now; she always brings me coffee before class, and we talk about little things – music, food, Berlin weather that can’t decide if it’s winter or spring.
By Friday, faces have become familiar, routines automatic. Even the U-Bahn feels less confusing.
At home, the same quiet structure rules the evenings.
By Friday afternoon, as I pack up my things at the training center, it hits me that my first week in Berlin is already over. And that somehow, between the work, the curfews, and the rules, I’ve stopped feeling like a visitor.
When we finish for the day, Lisa leans over as we’re packing up.
“Some of us are going out,” she says. “Just a bar nearby. You should come.”
“Yeah, sure.”
There are five of us – Lisa, Leon, Ayla, Jonas, and me. The place is small and bright, music low enough to talk over. Someone orders a round of drinks; Lisa hands me mine with a grin.
We talk about everything but the training. About Berlin rent, about food we miss from home. Lisa tells a story about losing her wallet on the U-Bahn her first month here; I tell one about learning German idioms the hard way. She laughs, bright and genuine, and for a while everything feels simple.
By the time I leave, the streets are glowing with weekend energy. I’m tired, but it’s the good kind of tired – the one that makes you feel like you belong somewhere.
The flat is quiet when I get home, except for the hum of the washing machine.
I frown, drop my bag. “I didn’t put anything in there.”
Sophie looks up from the couch, laptop open on her knees. “You should have, in the morning. Friday is for colors. You know that.”
“I forgot,” I say quickly. “I was running late this morning.”
She glances over briefly, fingers still resting on the keyboard. “That’s your fault, then. We all plan ahead.”
I hesitate, trying to sound calm. “I don’t have many clothes left. If I can’t wash them tomorrow, I won’t have anything clean for Monday.”
For a moment, she says nothing. Then a small sigh. “Fine. Tomorrow. But just this once, Ethan. Next week, you stick to the schedule.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
She nods, eyes back on the screen. “Good night.”
I head to my room, trying not to make a sound.
The air still hums with the spin cycle, and under it all, the feeling that my life here runs on a clock that isn’t mine.
Chapter 6: Sophie’s Warning
It’s Saturday afternoon, the first real free day since I arrived. I’m stretched out on my bed, scrolling through my phone with no real purpose, enjoying the quiet, when it buzzes.
It’s Lisa:
It’s too nice a day to waste inside. Let’s go out, walk a bit?
I grin before I even finish reading.
We meet near Alexanderplatz, sunlight sliding between the buildings. Berlin looks different when you’re not rushing somewhere – street musicians, the smell of roasted nuts, people spilling out of cafés. We wander aimlessly, talking about nothing and everything.
At a street stall she insists I try Currywurst, and we eat standing by the railing, laughing as the wind keeps blowing napkins away.
We wander for hours without noticing time pass. Lisa is easy to be around. Quick with jokes, unfiltered, the kind of person who makes even standing in line for coffee feel like something worth laughing about. She nudges my shoulder when I say something dumb, rolls her eyes dramatically when I pretend not to know German words she’s already taught me twice, and somehow keeps the conversation moving without either of us trying very hard.
There’s a moment – small, almost nothing – when she leans closer to point at something on a shop window and her arm brushes mine. It’s nothing. Completely normal. But it sends a tiny spark through me anyway, the kind you feel before you can talk yourself out of it. I shove it down quickly. She’s friendly with everyone. That’s all it is.
Still… it’s nice. The warmth of her presence, the ease, the way she listens when I talk about home without rushing the conversation.
For the first time in a week, I’m not thinking about rules, expectations, the flat, or Berlin itself. I’m just… here. With her. And it feels good.
Then I check my phone. 9:32 p.m.
My stomach tightens. “I have to go.”
Lisa looks up, surprised. “Already? It’s Saturday.”
“I just… have to be home by ten.”
She frowns. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah. It’s… complicated. We’ll talk later.”
She studies me for a moment, half amused, half confused. “Okay. Text me when you’re back then.”
“I will.”
I give a quick wave, already moving toward the U-Bahn entrance.
By the time I reach my stop, it’s already 10:12. I run the last few blocks, heart thudding, shoes hitting the pavement too loudly. 10:15.
I ring the bell once. Nothing. Twice. Still nothing.
Finally, the lock clicks. Sophie opens the door.
She isn’t smiling. Her voice is quiet, even, but cold. “You know the rule, Ethan. Ten o’clock.”
“I–”
She raises a hand slightly. “Don’t. We agreed. You were late.”
“I lost track of time. The train–”
“I’m not interested in excuses.” Her tone doesn’t change, but the finality in it does. “Go to your room. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I nod once, step past her, and the door closes behind me with a soft click that sounds louder than any slam.
Inside my room, everything looks exactly as before. I sit on the bed, still catching my breath, not sure whether I’m angry, guilty, or both.
She wasn’t wrong – but the way she spoke, like I was a kid who’d broken curfew, sits heavy in my chest.
***
I wake up later than usual the next morning. For a few seconds, I’m warm, comfortable, half-dreaming – then last night comes back.
The cold look on Sophie’s face. The clipped way she’d said we’ll talk tomorrow.
My stomach knots.
I get up, shower, dress, trying to shake it off. The flat is quiet except for faint clinking from the kitchen.
When I step in, Sophie and Mia are already at the table. They both murmur a polite morning, nothing more.
I pour coffee, make toast, add butter and jam just to keep my hands busy. The silence feels heavier than it should.
Sophie looks up. “We need to talk about yesterday.”
I nod slowly. “I know. I shouldn’t have been late. I just–”
“You knew the rule,” she interrupts, voice still calm but sharper than last night. “You agreed to it. And yet you came after ten, woke us up, and acted like it was no big deal.”
“I didn’t mean to disturb anyone. I lost track of time.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “That’s not the point. Responsibility means planning ahead.”
I glance at Mia, hoping for support, but she just gives a small, uneasy smile and looks away.
Sophie folds her arms. “You realize your extension depends on us, right? Claudia trusts our judgement. And she was not happy when I told her about yesterday.”
That makes me look up. “Wait – you talked to her already?”
“I did,” she says evenly. “I told her what happened. It didn’t make a good impression – on her or on us.”
It feels like the room shrinks. “You told her I was late once and now I might lose the flat?”
She lifts a shoulder. “If this is how you behave, maybe you should start looking for another place. But good luck finding something decent at this price.”
I start to answer, but she’s already reaching for her coffee again, calm, final.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “It won’t happen again.”
Sophie looks at me for a long second, then nods. “It had better not. Next time, we’ll handle it differently.”
She doesn’t say what differently means, and I don’t ask.
***
The flat feels calmer after lunch. Sunlight’s slanting through the blinds, soft and lazy. Sophie’s gone out – she said something about needing a walk.
Mia’s at the table, scrolling on her phone. I hover for a second, then sit down opposite her.
“Hey,” I say. “About this morning… I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to make things tense.”
She looks up, surprised but not unfriendly. “It’s okay. Sophie just… doesn’t like when people break rules. Especially ones that are clear.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
Mia smiles faintly, almost apologetic. “She can be strict, but she’s fair. Most of the time.”
I nod. “I didn’t expect her to get that upset. It felt… a bit much, honestly.”
Mia shrugs lightly. “You made a mistake, Ethan. It’s not the end of the world, but still – she takes this stuff seriously. She thinks rules keep things peaceful.”
I hesitate, then lower my voice a little. “When she said, next time we’ll handle it differently… what did she mean?”
Mia pauses, considering. “Just that she won’t let it slide again.”
“That sounds… vague.”
For a moment, Mia seems to be deciding how much to say.
“She just means,” she says finally, “that if something like this happens again, she’ll make sure you understand why it can’t.”
I frown. “Understand how?”
Mia’s smile returns, small and careful. “Sophie believes people learn better when things are… corrected directly.”
“Corrected?” I repeat, not sure if I should laugh.
“She didn’t tell me what she’d do,” Mia says. “But when she says someone needs to learn, she usually finds a way.”
I stare at her, but she just shrugs, as if it’s obvious.
“It’s better not to test her, Ethan. Trust me.”
Experienced Bull.Techie by Profession and Bull by Passion.BDSM is my Obsession.Enjoying being a DOM
Ass Lover|Doggy Style|Taller Women| Biting the hell out
Interested in discussions related to BDSM, Cuckoldry,Polygamy, Forced Sex
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Ass Lover|Doggy Style|Taller Women| Biting the hell out
Interested in discussions related to BDSM, Cuckoldry,Polygamy, Forced Sex
For any personalized discussion ping me in Hangout-apply2dreams
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