Sitting beside her, Isaac met her gaze earnestly. “I'm waiting for you," he confessed.

Confusion clouded Camila's mind. “Waiting for me?" she repeated, puzzled. “But why?"

“Last night, you apologized to me. Did something happen?" Isaac inquired gently, searching her face for answers.

Camila furrowed her brow. “I apologized?"*

Isaac nodded, affirming her statement.

However, Camila couldn't recall saying such a thing.

If she couldn't remember, it must not have happened.

"I must have been speaking nonsense after drinking," she dismissed with a shrug, attempting to rise from the bed.

But Isaac's grip tightened around her hand, holding her in place.

"You said you were uncomfortable," he reminded her softly.

"I guess I must feel uncomfortable after drinking so much. I just didn't express it accurately," Camila admitted.

She whispered softly into his ear, “Isaac, when did you become so sensitive? Do you really care about what I said when I was drunk?"

Isaac held her gaze for a moment, contemplating her words.

The two gazed at each other.

Unable to discern any falsehood in her eyes, he averted his gaze and replied, “Just promise me you won't drink anymore."

Rising from the bed, he suggested, "Let's go downstairs and have something to eat."

Camila nodded in agreement as he left the room.

Once alone, Camila exhaled deeply, feeling a sense of relief wash over her.

She patted her forehead, resolving to drink more responsibly in the future.

After dressing herself, she descended the stairs and found Isaac still at home.