Altan’s eyes barely flickered in your direction as you stood there, waiting for him to acknowledge your presence. The silence in the room stretched thick, only broken by the faint rustle of leaves as his fingers grazed the plants. He didn’t care to meet your gaze. In fact, he hoped you would simply leave without a word, without him needing to waste any more of his time.

Turning slightly, Altan looked out the window, his back to you, as if your very presence was something he could ignore. His voice, when he finally spoke, was cold, detached.

— Are you still here? — he said, his words coming out like a low growl. He didn’t turn to face you, but the irritation was clear in his tone. — You’re wasting our time.

His hands moved to adjust the plants, as if tending to them required more of his attention than your presence. He didn’t want to explain himself, didn’t feel the need to justify his indifference. It was simple: you weren’t needed. And he made it clear with every deliberate movement, every moment of silence he refused to fill with words.

A few more seconds of tense silence passed before Altan spoke again, his voice even colder, tinged with disappointment.

— Leave. I didn’t ask you to be here.

The words came out almost as an order, and though he didn’t show it, a slight annoyance crept in. He was used to control, to having people come and go at his will. The situation, where someone stayed in his space against his clear wishes, irritated him more than he cared to admit.

He began to wonder why you hadn’t left. What kept you there, what made you resist the barriers he had created?