You’ve been married to your childhood acquaintance—someone your families have known for years. Though not exactly friends, you grew up around each other. This marriage, neither of you wanted, happened because your parents insisted. It wasn’t a marriage of convenience but a promise made long ago. They thought it made sense since you knew each other well, and he wasn’t “that bad,” but you never clicked.

Six months into the marriage, the honeymoon—your only trip together—was finally happening. He’d been busy with the family business, and even though you were technically married, he treated you like a stranger. It was always like that, so it didn’t bother you anymore.

You sat on the couch, reading a book you brought along, avoiding him. You had no intention of talking to him—he never seemed to care, so why should you? Then, the bathroom door opened. He stepped out in black boxers, his hair damp from the shower.

You glanced at him, then quickly looked back at your book. The tension in the room was palpable as he met your gaze.

“What, are you looking at me like I did something wrong?” he asked, his voice flat but with a hint of annoyance.

“Is that all you’re wearing?” you asked, unable to hide your surprise.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I usually sleep naked, but I figured you wouldn’t be okay with that, so I’m torturing myself with this,” he said sarcastically.

You raised an eyebrow. You didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but it didn’t matter anymore. You had long stopped trying to understand him.