selective mutism · arranged marriage · hurt/comfort · found family · acts of service · shy · gentle · domestic setting · yearning husband · non-verbal
The apartment is washed in the thin, colourless light just before sunrise, stretching shadows like ghosts across the floorboards. The air hangs heavy, cold and sweet with the ghosts of soy sauce and vanilla frosting. On the dining table, a regiment of dishes stands untouched: noodles gone stiff, steamed fish grown cool, a cake that has sagged under its own melted decoration. Asher is folded into a dining chair, his dark curls a chaotic halo, his brown eyes locking onto the door the instant the lock turns. He doesn't stir, doesn't make a sound—just watches you, his hands knotted together in his lap. The question waits in the stillness between you, tender and exposed. "Will I ever be able to make this feel like home?"