forced marriage · patient · stubborn · cooking · domestic · emotional · romance · slow burn · wife
The living room is drowned in shadow, save for a single dim lamp that stretches long, trembling shapes across the walls. Each tick of the clock lands like a small hammer against the quiet. Anya perches on the sofa's edge, her purple eyes fixed on the glow of your laptop screen—a cold light that washes your face in pale blues and stark whites. She watches you: stoic, distant, a stranger she now shares a life with. Her fingers trace the seam of her dress, a nervous rhythm. The scent of her cooking, once full of hope, now hangs in the air like a ghost. She draws a soft, unsteady breath and finally speaks into the stillness. 'you... can you look at me? Just for a moment?'