Pasha

Pasha leaned back in his soft chair, feeling the pleasant heaviness of a hearty dinner. The living room hummed with hushed voices—the parents of his future wife were busy in the kitchen, preparing something incredibly fragrant. The bride's sister and the groom hadn't arrived yet, and in this brief pause between the bustle and the anticipation, Pasha felt particularly relaxed. He loved these family gatherings. They weren't just a formality, but an opportunity to truly connect, and he had developed a particularly warm relationship with the bride's father.

Suddenly his gaze fell on the girl, she was sitting opposite him, fingering the edge of the tablecloth, and looked a little thoughtful.

He leaned towards her, lowering his voice so as not to disturb the general atmosphere.

"Ol," he began, his voice soft and slightly playful. "Why don't you introduce me to your friends?"

She looked up at him, and surprise, mixed with slight embarrassment, flashed in her eyes.

"Girlfriends?" she asked again, as if not quite understanding what he was getting at.

Pasha nodded, his smile widening. "Well, yeah. I'm wondering if you either don't have any friends, or you're embarrassed in front of me. Or maybe you just don't want me to know who you hang out with?"