The house is quiet after I sit down. Too quiet. I'm not used to being home at this hour. Usually, I'm buried under work, papers spread across my desk until the sun goes down and comes back up again. Being here feels strange, like I accidentally walked into someone else's life.
I lean back on the couch and close my eyes. My head hurts faintly, a slow pulse behind my eyes. I'm sure it's just fatigue. Nothing new.
From the kitchen, I hear the soft clatter of dishes. Suha hasn't asked many questions since I walked in. Just looked at me with that gentle worry she tries to hide. She's always been like that—quiet, calm, watching everything. She doesn't push unless she needs to.
After a few minutes, she steps out with a tray. "Lunch is ready."
I sit up. "You didn't have to cook."
She sets the tray on the small table in front of me. "You didn't eat anything since morning. You need it."
The food looks simple but warm. Rice, a little chicken, soup. The kind of thing that smells like home. I don't know what a real home-cooked meal is supposed to feel like, but this… it feels close.
"Thanks," I say.
She sits in the armchair across from me, hands folded in her lap. Watching me again.
I pick up the chopsticks and take a bite. It's good. Better than the takeout I usually rely on. She doesn't look away until I take another bite.
"Did you eat?" I ask.
She nods. "I did."
"You're lying."
She blinks. "I'm not lying."
"You never eat this early."
She looks down. "I had some soup earlier."
That doesn't sound like a full meal, but I don't push her. We're both good at ignoring our own needs.
I keep eating. She sits quietly, her eyes drifting toward the window. The sun is warm today, bright enough that the curtains glow. I can tell she wants to ask why I'm home, why I suddenly got a day off, but she doesn't say anything.
The silence stretches, and I find myself thinking about how small the house feels with both of us in it. Not uncomfortable. Just… new. Something I haven't learned how to handle yet.
I eat slowly, partly because I don't want her to fuss and partly because I actually feel a little hungry for once. When I finish, she stands to take the tray.
"I'll clean up."
Before she can turn away, something slips out of my mouth without warning.
"Do you like shopping?"
She freezes for half a second, then looks back at me. "Shopping?"
Did that sound weird? Probably. I clear my throat.
"Yeah. Do you like it?"
She nods slowly. "I guess I do. Why?"
"You said you didn't overwork yourself before we got married," I say. "So I'm assuming you used to go out sometimes."
She tilts her head, curious. "Sometimes, yeah. But why are you asking all of a sudden?"
I look away, pretending to straighten the cuffs of my shirt. I don't know why I brought it up. I didn't plan to. The thought just formed, sharp and uncomfortable. Jungho's words echo in my head—rest. Don't come back until you actually rest.
Rest. I don't even know what that is. But I do know this: Suha didn't ask for a marriage where her husband is a walking ghost. She didn't deserve to be pulled into my world and pushed aside every day.
"We can go tomorrow," I say. "Shopping. Or somewhere else. Since I don't have work."
She blinks, surprised. "Are you sure? You never take days off."
"It's… a rare situation." I keep my eyes forward. "But you might want something. Clothes. Makeup. Whatever people buy."
Her eyebrows lift slightly, like she didn't expect that from me. "You want to go with me?"
I nod once. "If you want."
"That's… sudden."
"It's just going out," I say. "We can get what you need."
She steps closer, searching my expression. "Is this because of what your brother said? Did he force you to rest?"
"He didn't force me." That's half a lie. "He insisted. And I didn't feel like arguing."
She studies me for a long second, then asks quietly, "Jay… do you actually want to go? Or are you just doing it because you think you have to?"
I pause.
That's the thing. I don't know what I want. I've spent so many years doing what I'm told, or doing what's expected, or doing nothing at all, that I don't remember what wanting something feels like.
But I know this: if I keep living the way I have been, Suha's life will become a silent prison. She'll spend her days cooking for a man who barely speaks to her, nights alone in her room while I rot behind work and suffocate under expectations that will never be met.
She deserves better than that. Even if it's not love. Even if it's just effort.
"I don't want to ruin this marriage," I say quietly. "Just because of me."
Her eyes soften immediately. "Jay… you aren't ruining anything."
"You don't know that."
She sits on the couch beside me, close but not too close. "You're trying. That's enough."
Trying. I've heard that word my whole life. Usually followed by but not enough.
But the way she says it… it doesn't sound like a judgement. It sounds like a small kindness.
"I can handle going out for a day," I say. "And if it makes things easier for you, then it's fine."
"You don't have to make yourself do things for my sake."
"It's not difficult."
She smiles a little. "You say that now. You'll regret it when you see how long I take to choose things."
I let out a low breath that almost feels like a laugh. "I'll survive."
She leans back. "Alright. Then let's go tomorrow."
I nod.
The house falls quiet again, but it feels a little different this time. Less stiff. Less like two strangers sharing air.
After she finishes cleaning, she sits down again, this time flipping through something on her phone. The light catches her face, and I find myself looking at her for a moment longer than I intended.
She really didn't ask for any of this. Our marriage is something built out of expectations, pressure, and convenience. She didn't choose me. And I didn't choose her. But she tries. She cooks. She waits for me. She speaks gently even when I'm cold.
So maybe the least I can do is give something back.
Something small.
Something normal.
Just a day out.
I lean back into the couch and let my eyes close for a moment. I hear Suha shifting, then her voice breaks the quiet.
"Jay?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For making time. Even if it's just one day."
I open my eyes and look at her. She's not teasing. She's not guilt-tripping. She's genuinely grateful.
It feels strange.
"I didn't do much," I say.
"It's enough for me."
Her words settle somewhere deep in my chest, uncomfortable but warm. I don't answer. I just look away, letting the silence settle again.
Tomorrow, we'll go out. We'll try to act like a normal married couple. Or at least something close to it.
I don't know how it will go. I don't know if I'll be good company. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do when shopping.
But I can try.
Trying is all I've ever had.