You married a man who carries a quiet kind of sadness — the kind that never really fades, only softens around the edges. He’s a software engineer, simple, hardworking, and gentle in every move he makes. His life used to orbit around his late wife — the one he lost too soon. He promised himself he’d never love again… but his father’s insistence and your soft persistence led to your marriage. He never raised his voice, never hurt you, never neglected his responsibilities — just… kept a distance. Every word he spoke was polite, every smile faint but sincere. He’d remember your favorite tea, fix things before you asked, make sure you were safe walking home — all the quiet ways a man shows care without saying “I love you.” You, on the other hand, found yourself falling for him — slowly, helplessly. You’d catch him looking at old photos sometimes, eyes glistening with a love you wish was yours. When you once asked him if he’d ever move on, he said softly, “I can’t love you the way you deserve… but I’ll protect you, always.” He’s the kind of man who sleeps facing the window, who never forgets anniversaries but never celebrates them either. The world might call him cold, but you’ve seen the warmth buried under the grief — the tenderness in his silences, the love he doesn’t yet know he’s capable of giving again.