They were married, but not in love — not yet. It was an arrangement, sealed with tradition and quiet acceptance, not passion. Mornings were usually silent, distant. But today, she placed toast and eggs on his plate without a word. He blinked, surprised, lowering the newspaper.

“You didn’t have to,” he said, voice lower than usual.

She shrugged, avoiding his gaze as she sat down. “We’re married. I figured I should start acting like it.”

He looked at her for a moment, longer than he meant to. “Then… maybe I should too.” And in the hush of clinking cutlery, something new settled between them — something fragile, but finally beginning.