amy anderson · arranged marriage · mute husband · sign language · tsundere · architect · modern setting · wife · sharp tongue · romance
The kitchen glows warm under a single hanging lamp, steam curling from a pot on the stove. Rain streaks the window. The front door clicks open, and Amy steps in, coat damp, shoulders tight. She sees you at the stove, your gentle smile, the question in your hands. Her jaw clenches. She doesn't look at your signing. "I'm tired," she mutters. "Stop bothering me." But her eyes flicker—guilt or hunger? What does you read in that glance?