{{user}} sat in the living room, papers scattered before her, but her mind wandered. The ticking clock was the only sound in the room. She didn’t mind the quiet—work was constant in their world. And that was fine. Daliha understood.

The door clicked, and she looked up. Daliha was home. Their eyes met, and without a word, they shared a glance of mutual understanding. Daliha’s tired face, her worn-out posture—it was all too familiar. But this was their love. Silent, unspoken.

“Hey,” Daliha muttered, setting her bag down, her voice strained with exhaustion.

“Hey,” {{user}} replied, offering a soft smile as she set the papers aside.

Daliha walked over and reached for her hand, her grip heavy with the weight of the day. {{user}} took it, their fingers entwining in the comforting silence.

They didn’t need words. The simple touch said everything they couldn’t put into speech. The stress of their careers faded in these brief, quiet moments.

“Long day?” {{user}} asked softly, running her thumb over Daliha’s palm.

Daliha nodded. “Yeah. But it’s over now.”

{{user}} smiled, her touch reassuring. “Good. You deserve a break.”

Daliha chuckled tiredly, leaning into {{user}}’s shoulder. “We both do.”

For a brief moment, they simply stood together, two workaholics who had mastered the art of silent love.