The day unfolded leisurely, marked by their tardy awakening and a leisurely noon repast. The languorous afternoon dissolved into evening.

Their dinner comprised a serving of noodles, much to Tyrone's chagrin, as his typically handsome countenance contorted with discomfort.

How could something as simple as noodles taste so unpalatable?

In that moment, Tyrone even found himself contemplating that perhaps mutton was a more agreeable option.

Post-dinner, they embarked on a leisurely stroll through the bustling streets.

“Are you heading back?" Tyrone inquired.

Sabrina shook her head, her gaze resting upon him as she beamed, "I have a yearning to go to the bar."

After a contemplative pause, he responded, “Indulging in nighttime drinks isn't advisable."

“If you don't, then I will."

Be it due to concern for Sabrina's well-being or his own health, he could not partake in the consumption of alcohol.

Noticing his continued silence, Sabrina huffed in frustration.

“If you won't come, I shall go on my own!

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the basement bar within the confines of the club, carefully selecting a booth in which to take their seats.

Sabrina delicately savored a sip of her chosen wine, while a steaming glass of hot water awaited Tyrone at his place setting.

The ambiance of the bar was bathed in dim, sultry lighting, with kaleidoscopic beams emanating from the dance floor. On the stage, a spirited rock vocalist poured his heart into his performance, captivating a throng of enraptured onlookers.

Rock and roll failed to resonate with Sabrina's sensibilities, her musical inclinations leaning toward nostalgic melodies of yore.

An inspired notion seized her, prompting her to gently nudge Tyrone's arm. Curious, Tyrone inquired, "What's on your mind?"

“Take to the stage and grace us with a song,” she proposed with a glint of mischief in her eye.

Tyrone momentarily froze, disbelief etched on his countenance. Recognizing her sincerity, he replied, “I'm afraid I can't do that. It's generally not permitted for regular patrons to ascend the stage..."

“Are you truly a run-of-the-mill guest? If memory serves me right, this establishment is under Tyson's proprietorship," she remarked, arching an eyebrow.