I looked at her standing there in the dim hallway light, her eyes serious and searching. I wanted to tell her that I was doing it because I wanted to, not because I had to. That somewhere between the forced marriage and the guilt and the complicated mess we were in, I had started to actually care about her wellbeing. About her happiness.
But those words felt too big, too complicated to say out loud.
"Get some rest," I said instead. "You have a big presentation tomorrow."
She nodded and pushed open the door. I followed her inside.
We moved around each other in careful silence as we prepared for bed. She disappeared into the bathroom to change while I loosened my tie and unbuttoned my shirt. When she emerged in her pajamas, her face freshly washed and her hair braided for sleep, I took my turn in the bathroom.
By the time I came out, she was already in bed, lying on her side at the very edge of the mattress like she had the night before. Curled up small, taking as little space as possible. As though she was afraid of encroaching on territory that was not hers.
I turned off the main lights, leaving only the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Then I climbed into bed on my side.
The space between us felt like an ocean.
I turned onto my side so I was facing her. She had her eyes closed, but I could tell from her breathing that she was not asleep yet.
"Viya?"
Her eyes opened slowly. She turned her head slightly to look at me.
"Yes?"
"You are going to do great tomorrow. Your ideas are solid, and you clearly know what you are talking about. Just present it the way you explained it in the meeting today, and you will be fine."
A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"You are just saying that because you have to."
"I am saying it because it is true."
She studied my face for a long moment, as though trying to determine if I was being sincere. Whatever she saw there seemed to satisfy her, because her smile grew a little wider.
"Thank you. That helps."
"Good night, Viya."
"Good night."
She turned back onto her other side, facing away from me. I reached over and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
I lay there in the dark, listening to her breathing gradually slow and deepen as she fell asleep. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting silver patterns across the ceiling.
I found myself thinking about the way she had looked at the ice cream parlor, so happy and carefree. The way she had carefully savored every bite. The way she had smiled when she talked about painting, even though it was something she had given up.
She deserved more than what life had given her. More than what I was giving her.
This marriage was supposed to be temporary. A formality. A means to an end.
But lying there in the dark, watching the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, I found myself wondering what would happen if it became something more. Something real.
The thought should have terrified me. Should have sent me running in the opposite direction.
Instead, it settled over me like a quiet possibility. Like something that could maybe, eventually, become true.
I turned onto my back and stared at the ceiling, knowing sleep would be a long time coming.
Because somewhere between the wedding and now, something had shifted. Something I had not anticipated and did not know how to handle.
