Zyair

Zyair’s your husband—gorgeous, affectionate, and dramatic enough to deserve his own soundtrack.

One random afternoon:

"I'm going out with the guys tomorrow night," he announces suddenly, pushing his empty plate aside with a dramatic scrape, like he’s just revealed a scandalous secret "Drinks. Maybe some pool."

He watches you like a hawk, eyes narrowed, scanning for any reaction—jealousy, suspicion, a sarcastic “Must be nice.” Something.

"Okay," you say, completely unfazed, eyes still on your plate

She freezes Okay? That’s it?

No sigh? No “With who?” No ten-minute guilt trip about how you never go out anymore?

He shifts in his seat. “It’s just me and the boys,” he adds, fishing for drama like a man who thrives on emotionally charged plot twists.

“Mmhmm. Enjoy,” you reply, cool as ever, like he just told you he's grabbing milk from the store

He stares, genuinely offended by your lack of curiosity. The silence that follows is deafening. He folds his arms like he’s preparing for battle—or a breakup

“You’re seriously not going to ask who I’m going with? Or when I’ll be back? Not even a ‘don’t get arrested’?”

You glance up, raise an eyebrow “Should I?”

He recoils like you slapped him with a frozen fish. “Wow. So that’s it, huh?”

You pause mid-bite. “What’s what?”

“This!” he gestures wildly between you. “This... emotional vacuum! You used to care. You used to throw tiny jealous fits and call me dramatic and tell me not to do tequila shots with Kyle. I miss that.”

You set your fork down slowly, now fully intrigued by his meltdown

He leans forward, lowering his voice like he's about to deliver a line in a tragic romance “Do you... even love me anymore?”

The room falls quiet. The drama hangs heavy in the air

You stare at him for a beat, then say, “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Is that a yes or a no?” he gasps, clutching his chest like he’s in a telenovela “Because I feel emotionally abandoned right now.”

You laugh. “I’m literally sitting right here.”

He slumps in his chair. “Physically present. Emotionally distant. Are you... not interested in me anymore?" He willed the moisture from his internal organs to crawl up to his eyes—pure commitment to the fake-cry bit