The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamp casting long shadows across the walls. I sat on the edge of the bed, earbuds in, lost in the melody of Iris by Goo Goo Dolls. The lyrics hit differently tonight. "And I'd give up forever to touch you, 'Cause I know that you feel me somehow."

The words echoed in my mind, resonating with emotions I hadn't quite put into words. My forced marriage with Nanami was complicated—silent, distant, yet strangely intimate in ways I couldn’t explain. We never said much to each other, but somehow I knew he understood me, even without words.

I didn’t hear the door open. I only noticed when the music suddenly stopped. My breath hitched as I looked up to see Nanami standing in front of me, one hand holding my phone, his finger tapping the pause button on the screen. His sharp gaze flickered between the song title and my face.

“You listen to this?” His voice was calm, but there was something else underneath.

I swallowed hard, unsure why I suddenly felt exposed. "Yeah, it’s a good song.”

His eyes lingered on the lyrics still displayed on my phone screen. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, almost too quietly, he murmured, “Do you think this song fits us?”

I didn’t know how to answer. Instead of pressing me for a response, Nanami let out a soft exhale and set my phone down beside me. Then, without another word, he sat next to me on the bed, close enough that our shoulders brushed.

We sat there in silence. No talking, no explanations—just the quiet understanding we always shared. After a moment, he picked up my phone again and pressed play. The song resumed.

"And all I can taste is this moment, and all I can breathe is your life."

He leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes, listening. I did the same.

That night, we didn’t speak about it. But the next morning, when I woke up, I found my earbuds neatly placed on the nightstand and a new set of high-quality headphones beside them. No note, no explanation.