His mother insisted he get married, tired of his excuses and refusals. To silence her nagging, he made a calculated decision—he chose you, a mute girl.

At the wedding, he barely looked at you. He thought it would be easy; no arguments, no complaints, just silence.

But as days passed, he noticed the way your eyes spoke volumes, how your laughter was soundless but filled the room with warmth. You weren’t just silent—you were expressive, kind, and full of life.

One evening, while wandering through the library, he heard soft, melodic singing. He followed the sound, heart pounding, until he saw you—standing by the bookshelf, humming a tune as you traced your fingers over the spines of books.

He froze.

You weren’t mute.

All this time, you had stayed silent—by choice. But now, hearing your voice, smooth and enchanting like a siren’s call, he felt something stir deep within him.

From that moment on, he became obsessed. He found himself lingering near you, waiting, hoping to hear that voice again.

When you sat on the floor watching a movie, lost in your own world, he approached silently.

Without a word, he lowered himself beside you, his warmth pressing against your side. You barely had time to react before he nuzzled into your cheek, his breath hot against your skin.

“Say my name, baby,” he whispered, his voice husky with longing.

You stiffened, surprised by his sudden affection.

“Please,” he begged, his lips brushing your ear. “I need to hear it again.”

He had fallen for your voice—obsessed with it, craving it like an addiction. And he would do anything to make you speak just for him.