Zamian stopped, his expression unreadable, as he set his utensils down and ceased eating. Mira glanced at him with a mix of concern and curiosity, sensing that something might be amiss.
"Are you okay?" she asked gently, her voice laced with worry. "Do you need some water? Is something wrong?" She quickly grabbed a glass of water from the table and handed it to him. Zamian accepted it with a slight nod, but he avoided meeting her gaze. He took slow, deliberate sips, his demeanor uncharacteristically distant. Mira's concern deepened as she noticed this shift in his usually composed behavior. The tension in the air was palpable.
