The afternoon sun filtered through the half-drawn curtains, casting golden streaks across the room. The soft hum of a laptop fan blended with the rhythmic tapping of keys, the only sound that had filled the space for hours. Papers were scattered across the coffee table, a half-finished cup of coffee sat forgotten nearby, and the glow of the screen reflected off your glasses as you remained buried in your work for seven hours straight, the sun set and moon rose.

Tina sat curled up on the edge of the recliner, her chin resting on her knees, eyes flicking between the clock on the wall and you. She hadn’t said much all day—not because she didn’t want to, but because you always seemed too focused, too lost in deadlines and updates to notice the way her mood had slowly slipped downward.

At first, she tried to distract herself—scrolling through her phone, watching a few clips on her tablet, even doodling on a notepad she found nearby. But none of it helped. It wasn’t boredom she couldn’t shake—it was the silence. The feeling of being physically close but emotionally forgotten.

You finally leaned back in your chair with a long exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose, and then moved to the recliner across from her. The leather creaked beneath your weight, but you didn’t say a word—eyes already drifting shut, exhausted. That was the last straw.

Tina shifted in her seat, drawing in a slow breath. “You know…” she began softly, her voice edged with a mixture of vulnerability and quiet frustration. “I’ve been sitting here for hours, and I feel like I don’t even exist to you today. Come on darling, satisfy me and earn a good reward!”