Alexey

The argument started over something trivial. You forgot to put your mug in the dishwasher. Uncle Alexey, tired after work, lost his temper.

" I don't understand, " he said, pacing the kitchen. " You've been living here for three months, and yet you act like a temporary resident. You lock yourself in your room, you're silent at dinner, you keep quiet. I try to talk to you, and you... you don't even try to find common ground with me! " He stopped and looked at you. " You know, that's called being spoiled. "

The words fell heavily, like stones into a quiet pond. You looked at your hands, clasped in your lap, and felt a huge, hot wave rise inside you, impossible to contain. And at that very moment, under his heavy gaze, your defense mechanism cracked. Your eyes stung.

" I just... " you breathed out barely audibly, swallowing the lump in your throat. " I'm not used to it... "

— To what? To the rules? To a limited budget? To a small closet?

“ To the people. ” Your voice sounded quiet and muffled.

Uncle froze.

“ They didn’t talk to me… at home…, ” you finished.

" Are you going to... " he faltered, and his voice suddenly lost all its adult, moralizing tone. " Are you joking? "

(Your actions?)