The rain had stopped by morning, but the world outside was still wrapped in a soft mist. Aria stood by the window, watching droplets race each other down the glass. Her thoughts weren't on the weather—but on the laugh Ichiro had given her the day before.
It still echoed in her heart.
She had never seen him laugh like that—not since the accident, not since his world had turned silent and gray. And now, for the first time, she dared to wonder…
Was she finally becoming a part of his world?
Behind her, the soft creak of the wheelchair interrupted her thoughts.
"Good morning," Ichiro murmured, his voice still husky with sleep. No titles. No distance. Just two simple words—but they made her heart stutter.
She turned, lips tugging into a grin. "Good morning, husband."
He didn't flinch this time.
Instead, he raised an eyebrow lazily. "You're really not going to stop calling me that, are you?"
"Nope. I've signed an emotional contract," she replied with playful defiance.
Ichiro's room was lined with a tall shelf filled with trophies and awards. Curious, Aria wandered over, her eyes scanning the shining medals and engraved plaques.
There were awards for winning both math and physics Olympiads, a trophy from a national debate competition, and certificates marking first place in multiple academic contests. Each item was a testament to the brilliance he carried long before she knew him.
Beside the trophies were photos from his high school days. He looked vibrant, youthful—yet still carried that same untouchable aura. Even among his friends, he stood out, the most handsome of the group. Although her brother was there too, smiling just as brightly, Aria's eyes found only one person.
Her husband.
"You were a good student in high school?" she asked, pretending to be casual.
"Yes," Ichiro replied simply.
"What was your rank?"
"I was first," he said, as if it were no big deal. Then, looking at her, he added, "What about you? How did you do in school, Aria?"
Aria froze. She had always known he was smart, but hearing he was ranked first somehow widened the invisible distance between them. He belonged to a world of brilliance and excellence—a world she never felt she fit into.
She avoided his question with a quick smile. "Not bad. Want some tea? I'm making a cup."
"Okay," he said, not pushing.
She rushed to the kitchen. Ichiro had always been a coffee person, but Aria had made it her quiet mission to convert him. A tiny, mischievous part of her wished that someday, whenever he tasted tea, he would think of her. She made sure of that.
She served it in a bright red mug.
"You're always giving me drinks in this mug," he said, eyeing it with suspicion.
"Well, I'm bringing color into your dull world. You should be grateful," she shot back with a mock huff.
As they sipped tea, Aria babbled on—about the rain, the neighbor's noisy cat, and why red mugs are superior. Ichiro listened quietly.
These days, he found himself paying more attention to her ridiculous, whimsical words. He didn't know when it started—but it never failed to surprise him.
And he didn't mind it.
Not at all.