Unbeknownst
The moment when the conversation slows just enough for someone to slide a personal question across the table like a polite accusation.
If there were an Olympic sport for dodging intrusive questions, I would have won gold by now. Many, even. Possibly with a world record. I’d even smile on the podium, gracious and polite, while internally screaming.
There was a rhythm to these things, an unspoken script that everyone seemed to follow. First came the food. Then the compliments. Then the updates about work, health, and neighbours, I barely remembered. And finally, once everyone had relaxed into the comfort of familiarity, ‘the question’ would arrive, dressed in concern and delivered with a smile
Bab Populer