They said marriage makes a man grow up. I think what they meant was: it corners you. Into a room, into duty, into pretending you know what the hell you’re doing.

She stood by the window when I entered the room that first night. Still in her bridal clothes. Still in silence.

I knew she was beautiful — not in the loud, magazine way. More like she had been stitched together carefully by someone who loved quiet things. But there was no joy in her. Just… stillness.

I didn’t try anything. I didn’t even sit on the bed. I just offered her water and said, “You can change in the bathroom if you want.”

She hesitated like she needed permission to even move. And when she walked past me, it was like I didn’t exist.

That night, I lay on the couch, stiff and confused. I told myself she just needed time. That girls were always shy after marriage. But in my gut, I knew — this wasn’t shyness.

This was fear.