Amias drew "truth" in the game of truth or dare and was asked to describe me in one word. He chuckled casually and said, "Nanny, I suppose—efficient and capable." His friends burst into teasing laughter, questioning just how capable he thought I was.

Quietly, I slipped away from the party and caught a cab to Amias's place. Once there, I disabled the central heating and poured glue all over his bed. After that, I blocked all his contacts and left without a word.

A year later, Amias appeared on TV, and when asked about his first love, he paused in contemplation. "I was young and reckless. If I could turn back time, I'd give anything to see her again," he confessed.

Just then, my boss, Tristan, entered and asked, "Roselyn, we've got the tax evasion case with Johnson Corp. Are you up for it?"

I nodded decisively. "Absolutely, count me in!"

---

When I returned after settling the bill, the private room was buzzing with a game of truth or dare. It was Amias's turn, and he chose truth. His childhood friend, Lana, playfully clung to him and asked, "Amias, use one word to describe your girlfriend."

Today marked our one-year anniversary, and it was the first time Amias acknowledged our relationship publicly. I paused at the door, my hand recoiling from the handle. Silently, I stood outside, holding my breath.

Pretty? Charming? Attractive? I know I'm not particularly striking, but there's more to a person than looks. There's inner beauty. I love sports, I'm a great cook, I keep things tidy, and I'm organized. Optimistic? Gentle? Cheerful? I would welcome those descriptions. I even began to anticipate Amias's response. In his eyes, what am I really like?

The room fell silent, and soon Amias's relaxed voice broke the hush, "Nanny, I suppose—efficient and capable."

As soon as those words were spoken, the room erupted with laughter. The loudest among them was Amias's childhood friend, Eric, whose grin was sly. "Hey, Amias, why don't you give us a clear picture of what you mean by 'capable'?"

The laughter grew even louder at that, and everyone exchanged knowing looks, their minds running wild with inappropriate assumptions.

Lana, Amias's childhood sweetheart, giggled and nudged Amias, teasing, "Are you really going to let them keep talking nonsense like this?"

Amias swirled his coffee with a hint of amusement, but Lana's playful prodding made him intervene, albeit half-heartedly, "Alright, cut it out with the wild guesses. I simply meant she's efficient when it comes to work—cooking, cleaning—she's good at everything, so yeah, she's capable."

I let out a tense breath, relaxing my clenched fists, preparing myself to push open the door, when I heard Amias add, "As for the other kind of capable, should we call her in for a demo?"

Another round of loud laughter followed, punctuated by enthusiastic whistles. The room buzzed with crude remarks, while I stood frozen outside the door, my whole body tense.

The first time I met Amias Bennett was during one of my most vulnerable moments. I had just arrived in the bustling city, having left my charming Irish village after being accepted into university. My feet were encased in worn-out sneakers, and I clutched a large duffel bag, feeling completely out of place amidst the urban rush.

I stood at the subway entrance, discreetly watching the people around me, trying to figure out how to navigate this new world. That's when Amias appeared, his friendly smile brightening his face and revealing perfectly white teeth. He offered to help carry my bag, showed me the ropes of the subway system, and even accompanied me to the campus.

It was then I found out he was a senior, one year ahead of me. During our time together, I tasted my first-ever latte, which Amias casually bought for me while getting a drink for himself. As he prepared to leave, I hurriedly smoothed out the crumpled banknotes I had, ran to him, and pushed them into his hand.

Amias paused for a moment, surprised by my awkward gesture, then flashed a grin and waved goodbye. He left with such graceful ease, completely unaware that a small thread of youthful affection had quietly woven itself into his smile.