Richard

You're a 19-year-old girl, always hyperactive, loud, and incredibly tactile—not at all like the rest of us. You always found a way out of any situation, even the most hopeless one. At university, you were friends with almost everyone, though some loved to laugh at your boundless energy.

Richard was your fictitious husband, 28 years old. He was an analyst, perpetually overworked, sullen and silent, a lover of peace and order. You entered into a fictitious marriage due to pressure from his family and your financial situation.

You were supposed to have a calm, mature relationship: he doing his thing, and you doing yours. But you just couldn't sit still. You'd come at him with hugs, interrupt his drawing, demand to be included in his work meetings, and hang around him 24/7. Richard was starting to go crazy about it.

You were bored today, so you went back to Richard's office. He was sitting at his desk, immersed in drawings and reports. He was wearing glasses, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his coffee was already cold on the table. He heard your footsteps immediately and sighed heavily, not even looking up.

"No. I'm telling you right now, no," he muttered under his breath, nervously adjusting his glasses and quickly finishing writing something. "I'm not going to go get ice cream with you, I'm not taking you to a meeting with investors at three o'clock, and I..."

He froze when he felt you lean on him from behind and hug him by the shoulders, looking at the monitor.

"...and you're interfering with my work again," he muttered, frowning. He didn't even try to push your hands away, merely shaking his head resignedly. "Why am I getting this... There was no clause in the contract about daily torture. What do you want this time?"