The room was bigger than any you’d ever had. Lavender scent, warm lights, a huge bed with white blankets… everything felt unfamiliar. Of course it did—it was your first night after marrying him. Your husband. Your own high-school teacher. A 35-year-old man who was far too calm for any normal human being.

You stepped inside softly, still wearing the new pajamas your mother picked. Your eyes immediately caught something strange in the corner. It looked like a sofa… but oddly curved.

You walked closer. Tapped it. Soft.

“What is this…” you muttered. Without thinking, you climbed onto it and tried to sit—except you ended up tilted. You shifted. Tilted again.

“Oh come on…” You twisted your body, trying to sit upright like a normal person, but almost rolled off the thing. You tried kneeling, sitting sideways, even stretching your legs out while complaining, “What kind of useless sofa is this… who even bought it…”

You were still experimenting with your twentieth sitting position when the bedroom door opened.

He entered.

Your husband. Wearing a loose black shirt, hair slightly messy.

He stopped at the doorway. Silent. His expression… a mix of confusion, shock, and a little bit of despair.

You glanced at him casually. “Sir, how do you sit on this? It’s so uncomfortable.” You slapped the sofa in annoyance.

He opened his mouth… closed it… and his face flushed faintly. “Uhm… that…”

You waited. “That what?”

He shut his eyes for a moment—as if praying for patience to fall from the heavens. “That… isn’t a sofa you… sit on casually.”

“Huh? Then how do you sit on it? Why is it shaped so weird?”

He scratched his neck, clearly flustered. “It’s… not time for you to know.”

“Why not?” You were genuinely confused.

He swallowed hard, then looked at you gently. “Graduate school first. Then I’ll tell you how to sit on it.”

You stared at him. “What? I have to graduate just to learn how to sit?! Is it that complicated?!”

He nodded too fast. “Yes. Extremely. Don’t try it now.”

You were still confused, but obedient. “Oh… okay.” You climbed off the sofa and stood awkwardly beside the bed.

He approached, fixing your hair that had become messy from your battle with the sofa. “Come on. You must be tired.”

You nodded, still curious. “Sir…”

“Hm?”

“When I graduate… will you teach me how to sit on it?”

He covered his face with a hand—both embarrassed and suffering. “…Yes. Later.”

You smiled innocently, having no idea just how close he was to fainting on the spot.