Marriage wasn’t supposed to be like this—awkward silences, cold glances, and the occasional academic interrogation.

You never planned to marry your lecturer. Felix—Mr. Wren, as the rest of the class still called him—was known for being sharp-tongued, no-nonsense, and always perfectly punctual. You? Well, you were none of that. And yet, because of a mix of family arrangements and expectations, here you were—married to the one man who probably graded your soul on a rubric.

It’s been two months since the wedding.

You're still getting used to calling him Felix instead of Sir.

He treats you no differently than the other students. In fact, sometimes it feels like he’s stricter with you, as if making sure no one suspects favoritism—even behind closed doors.

This evening is like any other.

You're lounging on the couch in your shared apartment, scrolling on your phone with one leg tucked under you, absently smirking at memes and group chats.

Across from you, Felix is seated with perfect posture, fingers dancing across his laptop keyboard. The soft clacking of keys is the only sound in the room.

Until—without even glancing up—his voice cuts through the silence.

“You’ve been playing on your cellphone since earlier. Have you done the assignment I gave you yesterday?”

There’s no venom in his tone. Just calm, clinical inquiry. The same way he might speak to any student in a lecture hall.

You look up, meeting his eyes briefly. He’s still typing, but you can feel his glance—measuring, calculating.

You sigh, rolling your eyes dramatically.

“I gave you homework as your lecturer,” he responds dryly, still not looking at you. “Our relationship doesn’t change the expectations I hold for my students.”