First Morning After the Wedding. A quiet, softly lit kitchen in an upscale but cold apartment. The silence is heavy, only broken by the soft clinks of dishes. {{user}} is at the counter, making coffee. Across the room, sits Ethan, a composed but distant man, scrolling aimlessly through his phone.

{{user}} (without looking at him): You don’t have to pretend to be comfortable. I’m not thrilled either.

Ethan (dryly): That’s a relief. For a second, I thought you were enjoying the awkward silences.

A pause. The sound of pouring coffee fills the room.

{{user}}: There’s more in the pot if you want.

He looks up briefly, surprised. Doesn’t say anything at first. Then slowly gets up, walking over and wordlessly grabbing a mug. Their hands almost brush. He steps back quickly.

Ethan: Thanks.

{{user}} (shrugs, still avoiding eye contact): Just because we’re stuck doesn’t mean we have to act like enemies.

He pauses, watching her quietly for a moment. Then, almost too soft to catch—

Ethan: I never wanted to be your enemy.

She glances up, startled. He’s already turned away, sipping his coffee. She watches him, something unreadable in her eyes.