After dinner, we found ourselves in my room. The air was soft, still carrying a faint trace of her perfume and the warmth of the food we'd shared. Val was sitting cross-legged on the edge of my bed, scrolling through something on her phone while I leaned against the desk, pretending to fix the lamp that didn't need fixing.

"So…" I finally said, breaking the quiet. "How long are you staying before you have to go back?"

She looked up immediately, her smile still lingering from earlier. "A week."

A week.

I tried not to let my face fall, but judging by the way her eyes softened, she caught it.

"I'm not exactly on break yet," she said quickly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I just… kind of slipped out."

I raised an eyebrow. "Slipped out?"

She shrugged, grinning. "Let's just say my dad thinks I'm in the guesthouse studying."

That made me laugh, but it didn't change the way my chest tightened. A week. That was barely enough time to make up for all the nights we'd spent apart.

"Hey," she said softly, voice lighter now, "don't give me that look. I'll be back by the end of next month. And that's an actual break. Almost a whole month. You'll get sick of me."

"Not possible," I said before I could stop myself.

Her lips twitched into that familiar half-smile, the one that could pull me back from anything. She tilted her head, her eyes glowing with something playful—and then, just as I was about to say something else, my phone buzzed.

Both of us looked down.

The screen lit up with a name that immediately turned the air still.

Tasha: Did you get home safely?

For a second, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the fan.

Val's gaze flicked to me, then back to the screen. No words. No change in expression. Just that calm, unreadable look she got when she was thinking too fast to show it.

I cleared my throat. "She's… uh, the team leader I told you about."

Val nodded, slow. "Mm."

"She probably just wanted to—"

"You should reply," she said, voice steady. "It'd be rude to keep your team leader waiting."

I stared at her for a moment. The edge in her tone wasn't sharp—it was worse. It was polite.

"I'll just… reply later," I said, locking the screen and setting the phone face down on the desk.

Silence. Again. The kind that doesn't need volume to make your ears ring.

I glanced at her, trying to find something to say that didn't sound like an excuse. "I'm not cheating on you, Val."

Her head turned slightly, and she met my eyes without hesitation. "I didn't say you were."

But she didn't smile when she said it.

I wanted to say something else, to bridge the small, invisible space between us that hadn't been there before. But before I could, she stretched.

"I'm going to bed," she said quietly. "You should too. You've got work tomorrow."

"Val—"

She didn't let me finish. She just lay down, turned her back to me, and closed her eyes.

I sat there for a long time, staring at her. The rise and fall of her shoulders. The faint rhythm of her breathing.

She wasn't asleep—I could tell. Her breaths were too even, too deliberate, like she was trying to convince both of us that she was.

Finally, I switched off the light, lay down beside her, and stared at the ceiling.

The silence between us wasn't angry—it was heavier than that.

Because for the first time since she arrived, I wasn't sure what she was thinking.

---

Morning came quietly, the kind that seeps into the room like a secret you weren't meant to wake up to.

I turned in bed, reaching out—empty space. The sheets beside me were already cool.

By the time I opened my eyes fully, the faint sound of a pan and the smell of toast drifted through the hallway. I rubbed my face, got up, and followed the sound.

She was there. Val. Standing in front of the counter like she'd never left, flipping toast with one hand and stirring something in a small pan with the other. Her hair was tied up, her sleeves rolled, and she was already dressed—white blouse tucked neatly into jeans, bag by the counter.

For a second, I just stood there. Watching her.

"Morning, love," I said softly.

She turned around instantly, and her face lit up like nothing about last night existed. "Morning, husband," she said, smiling like sunshine. "Go get ready. Breakfast will be ready in a few."

Then she turned right back to her toast.

I stood there for a beat longer, not because I didn't hear her, but because she was smiling. Like really smiling. Not angry. Not distant.

But I knew Val. That smile didn't mean nothing happened—it meant she didn't want to talk about it yet. She never pushed when emotions were fresh. She always waited until I relaxed, then hit me with the truth like a well-aimed dart.

Still, I also knew this much: we'd talk. Sooner or later, because we always did.

I sighed, turned, and went to shower.

By the time I came back, my shirt still half-tucked, breakfast was already on the table—toast, scrambled eggs, and coffee steaming beside them. She was sitting across from my chair, scrolling through her phone, the picture of calm.

"Wow," I said, taking my seat. "You're really trying to spoil me today."

She smiled faintly. "Trying?"

I grinned. "Doing a good job then."

She chuckled and took a sip of her coffee. I ate quietly for a bit, the silence stretching. But my brain, as always, refused to stay quiet.

Finally, I set my fork down and looked at her. "Are you mad about the text?"

Her eyes flicked up from her mug. Calm. Collected. "Should I be?"

"I mean…" I scratched my neck. "There's really nothing going on between me and her."

Val tilted her head slightly, lips twitching into that knowing smirk she gets when she's about to make me squirm. "Kai," she said softly, "I'm not angry. Maybe just a tinsy bit jealous or something, but I trust you..."

She leaned forward a little, still smiling. "...completely. So eat your food."

And just like that, my chest loosened. I smiled, half in relief, half in disbelief at how easily she could undo every knot in me with a few words.

I took another bite, swallowed, then looked at her again. "Are you… going somewhere this morning?"

"Mm-hmm." She nodded, chewing her toast.

"Where?"

> "To drop you off at work."

I blinked. "You're what?"

She shrugged, grabbed another toast triangle from my plate, and took a bite like she owned the place. "I'm driving you. Unless you'd rather go with your team leader?"

I gave her a look.

Her eyes flicked up—steady, but not in the lighthearted way she usually did. There was something else there this time, a quiet challenge that didn't need words. The corner of her mouth curved, just barely, as if she was daring me to say something wrong.

That look alone said it all. Not exactly anger… but definitely not "a tinsy bit jealous" either.

I couldn't help it—I laughed. "You're sure you were only just a tinsy bit jealous?"

She shot me a side glance. "Don't push it."

But even as she rolled her eyes, I caught the faint tug of a smile on her lips. The kind she gets when she's trying not to admit she's happy.

After breakfast, she picked up her keys while I grabbed my briefcase. We walked to the driveway, and before I could even reach for the handle, she circled around and opened the passenger door for me.

I blinked. "What's this?"

"Chivalry," she said with mock seriousness. "I heard it's dying, so I'm taking turns keeping it alive."

I laughed as I slid into the seat. "You're impossible."

She closed the door, grinning. "And yet, you love me."

I didn't bother denying it.

The car purred to life, smooth and steady, and soon enough we were gliding through the quiet streets. For a while, neither of us spoke. Just the sound of the tires and the faint music from the stereo filled the space.

My eyes drifted to her hand on the steering wheel. The sunlight caught the silver band around her finger—the same ring that matched mine. Simple. Clean. Ours.

In that moment, I realized something I'd been forgetting lately.

No matter how messy things got, no matter how tempting the world around me could be, this—her, us—was what grounded me.

The reason I kept my head straight when things blurred.

The reason I didn't fall.

By the time we pulled into the parking lot, my chest felt steady again. Clear.

She parked, turned to me with that soft look that made everything else fade. "You good?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I'm good."

"Good," she said. "Now go impress the world, Mr. Tanaka."

I smiled, unbuckling my seatbelt. "You're coming to pick me up after work, right?"

She smirked. "We'll see."

I stepped out, watching as she drove off—her laughter echoing faintly in my head, warm and light.

And for the first time in a long while, I didn't feel the usual weight when walking into that office.

Because no matter what waited inside, I knew where my heart belonged.

Where it always would.

---

To be continued...

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