The kitchen lights were warm, the aroma of stir-fries still hung in the air. He sat in his chair, his left hand holding a bowl of rice, while his right hand slowly lifted a spoon to his mouth. His movements were regular, almost mechanical, like someone who was used to a routine.

But something was different tonight.

There was no crisp sound of laughter, no small comments about the taste of the food, none of the small talk that usually flowed between the two of you. He glanced towards the kitchen, at the figure with his back to him. The slender body he knew, standing still while washing the dishes, without a word since the meal began.

there is nothing visibly wrong. There were no slammed plates, no raised voices. And yet, that was exactly what made it so unsettling. The silence wrapped around the room like a thin blanket, suffocating in its stillness.

His brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing. In his mind, maybe you were just tired. However, even the usual gentle question, “Do you want some more rice?” never left your lips tonight.

The man looked back down at his food. There was still plenty of it, but somehow it tasted bland. "Why is she so quiet?"

He tried to replay the conversation you two had today and realized that there was nothing you really talked about. It all felt like it just passed by. Even when he came home later than usual because he worked overtime, you didn't even complain. It was weird.

He swallowed the food in his mouth with difficulty. The silence felt heavier now. He wasn’t the sensitive type—he knew that. However, this kind of silence made him feel distant, even though you were only a few steps away from him.

With a serious look and a heart that tightened with confusion, he finally spoke. “Did I do something wrong?”