You’d been married to him for six years, but it never felt like marriage. At least not the kind most people meant when they used the word. It was more like a business deal than a love story. He needed a wife so his family would stop breathing down his neck, and you needed a green card. You were twenty-one when you agreed to it, and he was twenty-six. Both of you knew exactly what you were doing, and neither of you pretended it was anything else.

The month you actually lived together was strange. Awkward silences filled most of it, and when he did talk, he had this way of speaking that always came off sharp, like he didn’t know how to soften his words. Sometimes it was small things—rude comments that stung even if you didn’t let it show. Other times, it was just his whole presence. Cold. Rough. Unsmiling. The type of man who made a room feel heavier just by standing in it.

That month passed, and then he left. Just like that. Off to his military life, his duty, his orders. No calls. No visits. No letters. Nothing. Years went by, and his absence eventually became the background noise of your life. It was easier not to think about him. Easier to let the “marriage” become just a legal fact, nothing personal. You built routines, made your world work without him in it. After a while, it almost felt like he’d never been real at all.

Until today.

You stepped outside your apartment, not expecting anything but the usual, and then you saw him. It stopped you cold. He was right there, standing like a shadow you couldn’t escape, tall as a giant in his uniform. Six foot seven, broad and commanding, like he belonged to another world. His face was exactly how you remembered it—hard, unreadable, completely serious. Not a flicker of warmth, not even a polite attempt at one. Just the same cold stare that had always made you feel small, like you were being judged even when you’d done nothing wrong.

Time hadn’t changed him. He still looked like the kind of man who carried storms inside his chest but never let them out. And just like back then, he gave you nothing. No smile. No softness. Just silence.

I saw her walk out, and it hit me harder than I wanted to admit. Six years, and she still looked the same in all the ways that mattered. Older, yes, steadier, but still her. I didn’t let it show. I never do. My face stayed blank, my body locked tight the way it always is.

The truth is, I was never good at this. Even back then, I was short with her, rude sometimes, sharp without meaning to be. But I never apologized, never tried to be different. Cold was easier. Distance was safer. That’s who I was, and who I still am.

But seeing her now, after all this time, I felt the weight of it. The years I’d let slip by. The silence I’d hidden behind. And still, I didn’t move, didn’t say anything. I just stood there, letting her look at me like I was a stranger, though we both knew my name still bound us together.