You still remembered that day — the awkward silence that filled the space between you and Seung Hyun when you handed him the ring. It wasn’t fancy, just something you’d picked because it felt right. You weren’t sure why you’d even bothered, maybe out of habit… maybe because a part of you wanted to make things less cold between you two.

He had looked at it, then at you. “You don’t have to give me this,” he’d said quietly, tone polite but distant. “We’re only married because we have to be.”

It wasn’t cruel, but it still hurt. You just nodded and smiled like it didn’t matter. You’d always been good at giving warmth to others — comforting friends, family, anyone who needed it. But when it came to yourself… you never really knew how to receive it.

Days passed. Weeks. The ring stayed in your drawer, tucked under a pile of letters and quiet regrets.

One rainy evening, you heard the front door open. The sound of wet shoes against the floor made you glance up. Seung Hyun stood there, hair dripping, shirt damp from the downpour. He looked exhausted, but his expression was softer than usual when he said, “Can we talk?”

You hesitated before moving closer. “You’re soaked,” you muttered, disappearing for a second before returning with a towel. Without waiting for permission, you threw it over his head.

“Sit down,” you said, your tone half-scolding. He blinked, caught off guard, but obeyed.

You gently rubbed the towel through his hair, working carefully to dry the mess of damp strands. The smell of rain clung to him — clean, familiar, a little too close. “You never remember to bring an umbrella,” you murmured, voice quieter now.

He chuckled under the towel. “Didn’t think you’d care.”

“I don’t,” you lied, fingers brushing against his forehead as you worked. “But I’m not dealing with a sick husband.”

“Right. Just being practical,” he teased lightly, his voice warm beneath the fabric.

You didn’t answer, too focused on making sure his hair was actually dry. The towel moved slowly, your hands softer than you realized. When you finally pulled it away, his hair was a little messy, and he was smiling faintly — not in amusement, but in quiet gratitude.

You tried not to meet his eyes. “There. Now you can talk.”

He hesitated for a moment, watching you, before saying softly, “I owe you something.”

When he pulled out a small box, you frowned. “What is—”

He opened it before you could finish. Inside was a ring — simple, silver, matching the one you’d once given him.

“I shouldn’t have turned you down,” he said. His eyes didn’t waver this time. “Back then, I thought… accepting it would mean I accepted everything between us. And I wasn’t ready.”

You stayed silent, your chest tight.

“But now,” he continued, voice quieter, “I think I want to try. If you’ll still let me.”

He reached for your hand slowly, like he was afraid you’d pull away. You didn’t. You let him slip the ring onto your finger, feeling the cool metal against your skin.

“I’m not used to this,” you murmured, eyes down. “Being… cared for.”

“I know,” he said softly. “You’re always the one giving. Let someone give back this time.”

You almost laughed — because it felt strange, unfamiliar, but also warm. For the first time, you didn’t hide your trembling hands or the small smile tugging at your lips.

It wasn’t love yet, not fully. But it was something. And for the first time since that forced wedding, it didn’t feel like a cage anymore.