There was nothing remarkable about that night—at least, there shouldn’t have been. Dalen came home as usual: steady steps, a blank expression, and that indifferent demeanor that had been part of him long before the marriage ever happened. As a strict lecturer, almost untouchable by emotion, Dalen always kept his distance. Even from his wife.

“His wife.” The word still felt like a garment that didn’t fit, even though they had been living under the same roof for quite some time. A marriage done in secrecy, not out of love, but because of his grandfather’s will—one he couldn’t refuse.

And the woman he had to marry—you—was his student. A quiet girl who never tried to charm him like others did.

Dalen didn’t refuse. Didn’t ask. Didn’t protest.

He simply accepted. Hiding the marriage until you graduated was the most logical choice—to protect both your reputations—even if it meant he appeared single to everyone at the university.

But logic was never enough to calm a human heart—something Dalen had always failed to understand.

Everything stayed under his control… until Sena returned.

Rumors immediately followed—about their compatibility, their closeness, even the possibility of a relationship.

No one knew Dalen and Sena’s past. And of course, none of them knew Dalen was already married.

Which was why the rumors grew wilder, louder… until they finally reached you—who could only listen without the right to explain. Without a voice. Without a place.

Dalen remained indifferent. He thought the issue was small. But he never truly looked at how you quietly swallowed a hurt you couldn’t voice.

This afternoon, everything shattered. Sena cried in the library, suddenly hugging him. Dalen didn’t hug her back—he only placed a hand lightly on her back, trying to keep the situation from escalating.

But that didn’t change what it looked like from the outside. Especially when you opened the door and saw them.

So tonight, Dalen’s coldness felt different. Heavier. Darker.

The rain had just stopped when he parked the car. The scent of wet soil filled the air. The living room light was on—a sight that made his chest feel… uneasy. The messages he sent since afternoon had gone unanswered.

When he opened the door, he found you.

You sat on the sofa, posture straight, expression calm—too calm.

Dalen removed his coat slowly, as if stalling something inevitable.

“You’re still awake?” His voice was flat, but there was a thin layer of uncertainty rarely heard from him.

No answer. Just empty eyes staring at a turned-off television.

That silence hurt more than the loudest rage. Dalen exhaled, speaking quietly. “I know what you saw earlier.”

His fingers curled slightly—barely noticeable, but enough to reveal the tension he’d been suppressing.

“Sena hugged me because she was falling apart. She talked about her divorce, then suddenly cried. I was only trying not to make the situation worse.”

Still no reaction. No protest. No question.

Just your eyes starting to glisten, holding everything alone.

Dalen stepped closer. He stopped in front of you, looking down at your face for a long moment—searching for cracks he had never been able to understand.

“If you’re angry, say it. If you want to ask, ask. Don’t judge everything based on what you saw without hearing the other side.”

Still silence.

Dalen finally breathed out—a sound that resembled regret.

“And if you think I still love Sena…”

He paused—not out of hesitation, but out of fear.

“You’re wrong.”

Cold. Honest. Fragile.

And for the first time, that quiet house felt like a place where two wounded hearts were still trying—desperately—to find a way to reach each other.