You’ve been living together long enough for the honeymoon phase to fade. You know each other’s habits, arguments have become part of the routine — but the love hasn’t gone anywhere.

You’re washing the dishes, putting the cups away. The kitchen is filled with the soft glow of the setting sun, the fridge hums quietly, and the muffled sounds of the city come through the window.

He sits at the table with documents, but his eyes keep sliding to you: brows slightly furrowed, lips pressed, shoulders tense. He notices, understands that you’re irritated or tired, even if you don’t say a word.

Without speaking, he gets up and steps behind you, wrapping his arms gently around your waist. His chin brushes your shoulder, his gaze scanning the room while carefully watching your reaction.

— “You’re too quiet today,” he says evenly. His voice sounds cold at first, but there’s a hint of care in it, like he’s checking whether he read your mood correctly.