"If it's something you're not happy about, you better tell me straight," I demand.

"After dinner, please," Saint grunts while prying the white meat out with his fork.

"Are you upset about me having lunch with my friends?" I ignore him.

He breathes heavily in dissent, drops the fork and folds his arms. "You know I'm not fond of you going out with the guys and yet, you defy me."

"Sayang, there were female colleagues too, not just guys," I defend. "And you've no right to dictate my lunch friends."

"So, you're available for lunch with other people instead of me. I wonder if I've no right for that either," his expression is sullen as he speaks.

My stomach churns reacting to his angry remark, making me regret initiating this discussion. I anticipate that he might blurt it out one day, if not now then maybe later.

As much as I wanted to tell the world about our relationship, I rather keep Saint in incognito whenever people at the Bank asks me about the person I'm seeing just to avoid office gossips. This includes avoiding having lunch with him and he resents to this idea.

I heave a loud sigh, trying to gather all the energy to explain to him about the office hierarchy and its impact on our relationship. "If bosses find out about us, you'd be screwed. I'm doing this to protect you."

"Protect me from what? We've been together for eight freaking months and it's becoming obvious, even my boss knows it too," Saint growls. "You're not doing that for me, you're doing that for yourself. Is that even fair?"

Saint is not wrong either, people at TWIB had been perceiving conspicuous signs about our courtship since Board Breakout, thanks to Sarra. They saw Saint's sudden accommodating behaviour towards the working level employees, his photo with Anita on the desk replaced with old photos of us at KLCC park, and our carpool ride home had given away the clue.

I recall my last birthday where Abang Kamal hooting out loud, "Untunglah (You lucky bastard)!" when a pair Doc Martens' black Victorian floral printed boots delivered to my workstation by Dato' Bahadin's driver, creating a distant chatter that attracted Madam Norma to pry into my personal affairs. She's just rooting for me to fail and my relationship with Saint is a weakness which she could take advantage of. Hence, I denied any assertions that my nosey colleagues probed even though they are right about us.

"I just don't want people to talk about us," I rationalise.

"Like how you didn't want us to be seen holding hands when we were kids?"

"No, that's not it. I think it's a jinx if I were to publicize my love life to anyone. They don't stick around like Aleks, Dan, Chris–"

"You dare to mention their names in front of me?!" his voice ascends to a roar, piercing his eyes at me.

I pause for a moment to recalibrate my explanation as I notice his breathing becomes erratic. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it," I say timidly.

"You shouldn't have start any argument in front of a meal either." his anger intensifies rather than fading. "Pay more attention to what I hate. Get that drilled in that thick skull of yours for once!"

"You've a long list of things that you don't like, not just those two. How am I to keep up?" I excuse.

"To which bit? You only find them difficult because your heart is rebelling to it," he snarls and gestures at his plate. "I changed my ways for you but if you're not making any effort to reciprocate, then this relationship isn't worth progressing."

I realise it's best to surrender instead. Once again, Saint had proven to have a more mature perspective compared to my childish reasoning. I glance down on my half eaten fried rice, feeling my face flushed with a struck of humiliation. 

Despite being angry at me, Saint scrapes off some of the chicken tikka from his plate onto mine which he often does out of love. I wonder if this is what Anita has to put up every day when she was with him.

"How's your food?" I dissipate the argument and change the subject.

"Tastes like chicken," he quips and resumes munching.

When I'm aware that this question doesn't help to end his agitation, I ask a different question, "Are you not going to the gym this evening?"

He hesitates to reply at first but gives in after perceiving my effort for compromise. "I'm skipping my session today. I don't feel like going."

"One day, I'll join any public run with you and we'll go as a unit," I vow.

I take a napkin to rub off the small amount of tikka sauce that stains the corner of his lips. I stare into his gorgeous grey eyes, beseeching for any signs of forgiveness. When his eyes finally soften into mine, he grins at me.

"One day, I'll keep you forever and you'll conform to no one but me," he pledges solemnly.

Sometimes you can't avoid arguing over dinner. Can you?

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