Chapter 4: (Aaira's pov)

I was still sitting on the sofa, staring at my bandaged fingers with a pout, replaying the events of the day in my head. The weight of everything-the humiliation, the loneliness, the constant struggle-pressed down on me, threatening to pull me into a spiral. Suddenly, my phone rang, jolting me out of my thoughts. I glanced at the screen.

It was Seokjin. Panic rose in my chest. I could already feel tears brimming in my eyes, but I quickly wiped them away, clearing my throat before answering. The last thing I wanted was for him to sense that something was wrong.

Seokjin: Hello, cutie pie!

Seokjin's cheerful voice came through the line.

Seokjin: How are you?

I forced a smile, trying to sound as normal as possible.

Aaira: Hey, Jin. I'm good. Just... you know, adjusting to married life.

There was a slight pause on the other end, as though he was trying to gauge the truth of my words.

Seokjin: That's good to hear.

He said slowly.

Seokjin: You sound... different, though. Are you sure everything's fine?

Aaira: Of course!

I said quickly, my voice a little too bright.

Aaira: Actually, I'm doing really well. I even asked Jimin to fire all the maids so I could take care of everything myself. You know, to be a proper wife to him.

The words felt like acid on my tongue, each lie heavier than the last.

Seokjin: 'You' asked him to fire the maids?

Seokjin's tone was skeptical, almost disbelieving.

Seokjin: Aaira, you've never even boiled a cup of water before. Are you serious?

I laughed nervously, avoiding the question.

Aaira: I wanted to do this, Seokjin. It's important to me to show Jimin that I can handle things.

There was a long silence on the other end, and for a moment, I thought the call had disconnected. But then Seokjin spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

Seokjin: Are you happy, Aaira?

The question caught me off guard, and I had to take a moment to compose myself.

Aaira: Of course, I am.

I said, my voice firm but hollow.

Aaira: Jimin's a wonderful husband, and I'm lucky to have him.

Seokjin let out a soft sigh, one that sounded more disappointed than anything else.

Seokjin: You're lying.

He said, his tone flat.

Seokjin: I can tell.

Aaira: No, I'm not.

I insisted, my grip on the phone tightening.

Aaira: Why would I lie about something like this?

Seokjin: Because I know you, Aaira.

He said gently.

Seokjin: You don't sound like yourself. And if Jimin is such a 'wonderful husband,' why isn't he at home with you right now?

I froze, my heart skipping a beat.

Aaira: What do you mean?

Seokjin: I'm looking at him right now.

Seokjin said.

Seokjin: He's at the office. Why isn't he at home with his wife?

Panic surged through me, and I scrambled to come up with an explanation.

Aaira: Oh, that's because he had an important meeting.

I said quickly.

Aaira: He didn't want to leave, but I insisted. I told him work is important, and I'd be fine on my own.

Seokjin didn't respond right away, and the silence felt deafening. When he finally spoke, his voice was tinged with something I couldn't quite place-sadness? Jealousy?

Seokjin: I see.

He said quietly.

Seokjin: You must really love him to let him go so easily.

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening.

Aaira: Of course, I do.

I said softly. Seokjin let out a bitter laugh.

Seokjin: You're too good for him, Aaira. You always have been.

The comment took me by surprise, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. Before I could say anything, he added.

Seokjin: Anyway, I should let you go. Take care of yourself, okay?

Aaira: Yeah.

I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Aaira: You too.

As the call ended, I set my phone down on the table and buried my face in my hands. The weight of my lies felt suffocating, and for the first time, I wondered if I was even capable of making this marriage work.

I sat there for a while, trying to gather my thoughts. Eventually, I forced myself to get up and tend to my fingers. I grabbed a small first-aid kit from the bathroom and sat down at the dining table, fumbling with the bandages.

As I wrapped the first finger, tears began to well up again, blurring my vision. I shook my head, trying to push them back.

Aaira: Come on, Aaira.

I whispered to myself.

Aaira: You can do this.

But the more I tried to focus, the more my hands trembled. The bandage slipped, unraveling twice before I managed to secure it. By the time I got to the third finger, I was barely holding it together.

Aaira: This is ridiculous.

I muttered, my voice cracking.

Aaira: I can't even do something as simple as this.

Another bandage slipped, and this time, I couldn't hold back the tears. They spilled over, streaming down my cheeks as I let out a choked sob. I hated feeling so helpless, so out of my depth.

Somehow, I managed to finish bandaging my fingers. They looked clumsy and uneven, but it was the best I could do. I sat back in the chair, staring at my hands and wondering how my life had come to this.

As I sat there, my mind drifted back to Seokjin's words. There had been something in his tone, something unspoken but heavy with meaning. And for a brief moment, I allowed myself to wonder: What if?

But I quickly pushed the thought away. This was my life now-my marriage, my reality. And no matter how hard it was, I had to find a way to endure it.

With a deep breath, I stood up and walked over to the sink, rinsing off the fruit tray from earlier. As the water ran over my hands, I glanced at the clock. It was barely noon, and the day already felt endless.

Aaira: I can do this.

I whispered to myself, though the words felt hollow.

Aaira: I have to.

As I stood by the sink, the sound of my phone ringing again startled me. My heart sank when I saw the caller ID. It was my mother. I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I was ready to talk to her, but I knew she would worry if I didn't answer. Taking a deep breath, I wiped my face with a nearby towel and picked up the call.

Mumma: My princess finally remembered her poor mother!

She exclaimed the moment I answered, her voice cheerful and loving. I laughed softly, trying to mask the lingering shakiness in my voice.

Aaira: Hi, Mumma. How are you?

Mumma: How am I?

She retorted playfully.

Mumma: How about 'you'? It's been days, and you haven't called. I was beginning to think you forgot me.

Aaira: Never.

I said, forcing a laugh.

Aaira: You know I could never forget you, Mom.

Mumma: Good.

She said, but then her tone shifted to something more tender.

Mumma: I miss you so much, sweetheart. It's strange not having you here.

Hearing her say that made my chest ache.

Aaira: I miss you too.

I admitted, my voice quieter.

Mumma: Let me see you.

She said suddenly.

Mumma: Turn on the video. I want to see my beautiful daughter's face.

My stomach twisted, and I quickly scrambled for an excuse.

Aaira: Oh, Mom, I would, but I'm... I'm unpacking right now. The room's a mess, and I look terrible.

Mumma: Nonsense!

She said with a laugh.

Mumma: You always look beautiful, Aaira.

I forced another laugh, but my hands were trembling.

Aaira: Next time, I promise.

I said quickly. She sighed, but she didn't press the issue.

Mumma: Fine, but don't think you can get away with this again. Next time, no excuses!

Aaira: Okay, okay.

I said, relieved.

Mumma: What are you unpacking?

She asked.

Aaira: Oh, just some clothes and things.

I said vaguely as I moved to the guest room, where my suitcases were still sitting.

Mumma: Hmm.

She said, and I could tell she wasn't entirely convinced.

Mumma: How's married life treating you? Is Jimin taking good care of you?

I hesitated, the lies already forming in my head.

Aaira: Yes, Mumma.

I said.

Aaira: Everything's great. Jimin's been... wonderful. He's so busy with work, but he always makes time for me.

Mumma: That's good to hear.

She said, but her tone suggested she wasn't entirely convinced.

Mumma: Still, you sound... different, sweetheart. Are you sure you're okay?

I bit my lip, trying to keep my voice steady.

Aaira: I'm fine, Mumma. It's just... a lot to adjust to, you know? But I'm happy. Really.

Mumma: Adjust ? Is he making you adjust with things ?

What am I supposed to reply to this.

Aaira: Umm... No mumma, it's not like that.

Mumma: Then what it's like ?

Aaira: Adjusting to the different atmosphere I meant.

There was a pause, and then she said.

Mumma: I want to meet you both soon. Maybe I'll come visit, or you can come here. What do you think?

Panic flared in my chest.

Aaira: Oh, um... Jimin's really busy right now.

I said quickly.

Aaira: I don't think he'd be able to take time off for a visit.

Mumma: Then I'll come to you.

She said firmly.

Mumma: I won't bother him. I just want to see my daughter.

Aaira: Mumma, you don't have to-

Mumma: Aaira.

She interrupted, her tone gentle but firm.

Mumma: You sound sad. Did we make a mistake by marrying you to him?

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I couldn't speak. My mind raced, trying to find the right words to reassure her without revealing the truth.

Aaira: No, Mother.

I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

Aaira: It wasn't a mistake. I love Jimin. I... I just need time to adjust.

She was silent for a long moment, and I could almost hear her thinking.

Mumma: If you're sure.

She said finally, though she didn't sound convinced.

Mumma: But remember, sweetheart, if you ever need anything, anything, you can always come home. We're here for you.

Aaira: Thank you, Mumma.

I said softly, my throat tightening.

Aaira: That means a lot.

Mumma: I love you, my princess.

She said, her voice warm and comforting.

Aaira: I love you too.

I said, blinking back tears. After we hung up, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone. The guilt of lying to her was almost unbearable, but what else could I do? Telling her the truth would only make her worry, and I couldn't bear to burden her with my problems.

I looked around the guest room, at the suitcases I still hadn't finished unpacking. The room felt cold and unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the warmth of my childhood home. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to go back there, to escape this marriage and all the pain that came with it.

But then I shook my head, pushing the thought away. I couldn't give up-not yet. I had married Jimin because I loved him, and I had to believe that love was still there, somewhere beneath all the bitterness and anger.

With a deep breath, I stood up and began unpacking my things, trying to focus on the task at hand. But my mother's words lingered in my mind, a constant reminder of the life I had left behind-and the one I was struggling to build. I struggled with the clothes, pulling them out of the suitcase and trying to fold them neatly, but they refused to cooperate.

Each time I thought I had a perfectly folded shirt or dress, it would unravel, mocking my efforts. The more I tried, the worse it seemed to get. Frustrated, I sighed and began again, smoothing out creases with my trembling hands, determined not to give up.

The pile of semi-folded clothes on the bed was a testament to my lack of skill, but I convinced myself I was getting better at it-even though I knew deep down I wasn't. Still, I pushed through, tucking each item into the closet with care, even if it wasn't perfect. After struggling with the clothes, I took a step back and admired my work.

The closet was a chaotic mess of wrinkled and unevenly folded clothes shoved into random spaces, but at least everything was out of the suitcase. To anyone else, it wasn't worth admiring, but for me, it felt like a small victory in a day that had been nothing but exhausting. Satisfied-though barely-I turned my attention to the dresser.

Placing my makeup accessories was far easier. Lipsticks lined up neatly, brushes placed in a small holder, and my perfume bottles were displayed like little trophies. This was the one task that made me feel a bit more like myself, a reminder of simpler days when my biggest worry was whether my eyeliner was even.

Once finished, I sighed and felt a wave of fatigue wash over me. Moving towards the guest bed, I sat down and stretched my aching back. The gown was still uncomfortably tight, but I told myself I'd deal with it later. For now, all I wanted was to take a quick nap, just a few minutes to clear my head.

I laid back, closed my eyes, and exhaled deeply, letting the tension in my body slowly fade. But just as I began to drift, the thought of dinner jolted me awake. Jimin's harsh words echoed in my mind, and the fear of his anger forced me out of bed. Rest would have to wait-I had a meal to prepare, even if I barely knew where to start.

I stared at my phone, the search results for "tteokbokki recipe" glowing on the screen. I had decided: this was going to be the dish for our first dinner together as a married couple. Jimin loved spicy food, and tteokbokki was a favorite of his. It couldn't be that hard, right? Besides, how else would I prove I could be the perfect wife for him?

I made my way to the kitchen, scanning the fridge and pantry for the ingredients I needed. Rice cakes? Check. Gochujang (red chili paste)? Check. Soy sauce, sugar, garlic, green onions-check, check, check. I grabbed everything in a frenzy, already feeling the pressure. For a side dish, I decided on noodles.

They seemed simple enough, though I had no idea what kind of seasoning to use. The kitchen looked like a war zone even before I started cooking. Utensils and ingredients were scattered everywhere, but I told myself it didn't matter. The result was what counted.

The recipe said to soak the rice cakes in warm water. Easy enough, right? Except I forgot to warm the water first and had to start over. By the time the rice cakes were soaking, I was already sweating-not from the heat, but from the tension.

I carefully measured out the gochujang, soy sauce, and sugar, mixing them in a bowl. The smell was strong and made my eyes water slightly. When I added minced garlic, it spilled onto the counter.

Aaira: Great start.

I muttered, scooping it back into the bowl as best as I could. The recipe also mentioned adding water to the sauce, so I poured it into a pan and set it on the stove. Turning on the gas knob, I felt a small victory. At least I had learned how to do that now.

The recipe called for vegetables like cabbage and carrots. I had no idea how to chop them properly, but I gave it my best shot. The knife slipped a few times, almost cutting my fingers again, but I managed to avoid any serious injuries. When I tossed the vegetables into the pan, the hot oil splattered onto my hand. I yelped, quickly pulling back, and ran my hand under cold water.

Aaira: This is harder than it looks.

I muttered, glaring at the vegetables as if they were to blame. With the vegetables somewhat cooked, I added the soaked rice cakes and the sauce to the pan. Stirring it all together, I felt a small victory. The vibrant red color of the sauce looked promising, just like my favourite red colour, though the smell was overwhelmingly spicy. As I stirred, some of the sauce splattered onto my arm, burning me slightly.

Aaira: Why does this keep happening?

I groaned, wiping it off with a towel. My apron, which I had found tucked away in a drawer, was already stained with red sauce. While the tteokbokki simmered, I turned my attention to the noodles. The instructions on the package seemed straightforward: boil water, add noodles, and cook for a few minutes.

But when I poured the noodles into the pot, they clumped together. I tried to separate them with a spoon, but it was harder than I expected. The steam from the pot fogged up my glasses, which I didn't even know I needed until now.

I was wearing them to protect my eyes from any splatter, and I almost dropped the spoon into the boiling water. Adding the seasoning packet, I tasted the broth and realized it was bland. Panicking, I threw in some soy sauce and a pinch of sugar, hoping it would make a difference.

After what felt like hours, the food was finally done. I carefully ladled the tteokbokki into a bowl and placed the noodles in another. But as I moved the bowls to the dining table, a bit of sauce dripped onto the floor. I sighed, grabbing a towel to clean it up.

When I looked at the dishes, they didn't look as appetizing as I had hoped. The tteokbokki sauce was too thick in some places and too watery in others. The noodles, meanwhile, looked limp and sad. I sat down at the table, staring at my "masterpieces." They weren't horrible, but they weren't great either. Just... average. I sighed, resting my chin on my hand.

I looked at the dishes kept in front of me, I took out my phone and took a lovely picture of them, even though they were not worthy of that picture. My hands were covered in small burns, my apron was a mess, and the kitchen looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Was this really worth it? Would Jimin even care? For a moment, I thought about throwing everything away and ordering takeout.

But then I shook my head. No. I had worked too hard for that. Even if Jimin didn't appreciate it, I would. This was my first attempt at making a meal for my husband, and I wasn't going to let self-doubt ruin it. I stood up and started cleaning the kitchen, determined to make it look spotless before he came home. It was the least I could do to salvage the day.

***

As the clock struck 9 p.m., I sat at the dining table, fidgeting with my fingers and staring at the neatly arranged plates. The tteokbokki and noodles sat on the table, steam no longer rising but still holding onto a bit of their warmth. I had even changed into a simple yet elegant dress, my hair tied back neatly, hoping to create the perfect atmosphere for our first dinner as a married couple.

The minutes ticked by. At first, I told myself that Jimin must have been caught up at work, perhaps in a meeting or stuck in traffic. But as the clock struck 10 p.m., I began to grow uneasy. To pass the time, I scrolled through my phone, looking at old photos of us together, back when everything had felt so effortless and happy.

When 11 p.m. rolled around, I found myself pacing back and forth near the front door, my fingers tightly clutching my phone. I debated calling him. Maybe he was just about to pull into the driveway. But after the first call, he disconnected. Then the second. Then the third. My heart sank, but I tried to convince myself that there was a logical explanation.

With a deep sigh, I decided to distract myself by working on my laptop. My father, owning one of the world's largest companies, often shared files with me for review. Helping him with work always gave me a sense of purpose. I opened the files and began reviewing them, immersing myself in the world of financial reports and project analyses.

The Hours Passed, Time seemed to blur as I worked, occasionally sipping on the coffee I had ordered from Starbucks. The warmth of the drink helped soothe my frustration, though not entirely. By the time I glanced at the clock again, it was nearly 2 a.m. Jimin was still not home.

I leaned back in my chair, my fingers rubbing at my temples. Was it always going to be like this? I had made so much effort to create something special for us, and it seemed to mean nothing.

The hours crept forward, and before I knew it, the sound of a car pulling into the yard broke the silence. My eyes darted to the clock: 4:56 a.m. Relief mixed with anger bubbled within me as I stood up.

The front door opened, and Jimin stepped inside, his tie slightly loosened, his hair disheveled, and his eyes tired. He smelled faintly of alcohol and smoke, though not enough to suggest he had been out drinking excessively.

Aaira: You're back.

I said, trying to keep my voice steady. He didn't respond, simply shrugging off his jacket and tossing it carelessly onto the sofa. He began walking toward the stairs, ignoring me completely.

Aaira: Jimin.

I called again, following him.

Jimin: What?

He said flatly, not bothering to look at me.

Aaira: I... I made us dinner.

I began, my voice faltering slightly.

Aaira: I waited for you all night.

He stopped in his tracks and turned to face me, his expression unreadable.

Jimin: Dinner? At five in the morning? Do you think I'm going to sit down and eat now?

Aaira: But it's not about the time.

I said, my frustration bubbling to the surface.

Aaira: I wanted us to have our first dinner together as husband and wife. I worked so hard-

Jimin: Then go eat it.

He interrupted, his tone cold.

Jimin: If you're hungry, sit down and enjoy it yourself.

I stared at him, stunned.

Aaira: Jimin, I'm not asking you to eat now. I just... I wanted you to know I put in the effort. I thought it would mean something to you.

Jimin: Effort?

He said, laughing bitterly.

Jimin: Do you think a man wants to come home at five in the morning and hear about dinner that's been sitting out for hours? Use some sense, Aaira.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

Aaira: It's not about the food, Jimin. It's about us. I'm trying to make this work, even if you don't seem to care.

Jimin: Care?

He said, his voice rising slightly.

Jimin: You think I don't care? Yes, I don't care. Do you even understand the kind of pressure I'm under? The meetings, the clients, the endless demands? And now, on top of that, I have to deal with this?

Aaira: This?

I repeated, my voice shaking.

Aaira: Is that what I am to you? A burden?

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated.

Jimin: I'm not doing this right now.

He said, turning and heading up the stairs. I stood there, rooted to the spot. The silence in the house was deafening, broken only by the faint sound of his footsteps retreating to his room. I slowly sank onto the sofa, my hands trembling as I wiped at my eyes. How had things come to this? This wasn't the Jimin I had fallen in love with-the man who used to surprise me with flowers and laugh at my silly jokes.

This Jimin was distant, cold, and unrecognizable. I thought about the dinner I had made, still sitting untouched on the table. My fingers itched to throw it all away, to erase the evidence of my failed attempt to bring us closer. But something stopped me. No. I wouldn't give up that easily.

If Jimin wanted space, I would give it to him. If he needed time, I would wait. But I wouldn't let him break me. I stood up, walked to the table, and quietly packed the food into containers. As I stood there, holding the containers in my hands, the silence of the house became unbearable.

Everything I had been feeling, the hurt, the frustration, the loneliness, pressed down on me like a thousand-pound stone. I had tried so hard, done everything I could, and yet it never seemed enough. Jimin's indifference, his coldness, felt like a slap to my face every time he ignored me, every time he brushed me off. I couldn't take it anymore.

I couldn't be the one always giving, always waiting, always hoping that things would get better when they never did. I picked up the knife from the table, the sharp edge glinting under the dim kitchen lights. My grip tightened around the handle, and for a moment, everything else faded. I raised the knife and hurled it towards the wall with all the force I could muster.

The sharp sound of it hitting the plaster was a sharp contrast to the pounding of my heart in my chest. The moment the knife hit the wall, I felt a small relief, but it was quickly replaced by a sharp rush of regret. What had I just done? The tension in my body didn't loosen. It was still there, coiled tight, but I didn't care anymore.

Just as the knife lodged into the wall, I heard the familiar sound of heavy footsteps coming from the hallway. Jimin. He was coming towards the kitchen. I didn't bother looking at him. My eyes stayed focused on the food in front of me as I continued to pack the containers with precision, with care.

My hands were moving on autopilot now. It was easier to focus on the task than to face him. I didn't know what I expected, maybe a reaction, maybe him to yell, or maybe even for him to care, but I wasn't prepared for what came next.

Jimin: What madness is this?

Jimin's voice cut through the silence, hard and cutting, like a blade of its own. I didn't reply. I didn't even look up. I didn't want to face him right now. The anger, the confusion, everything inside me felt like it was about to burst. The tension from the night had been building for so long. But the shame was quickly masked by a defiant strength I didn't even know I had.

Jimin: You didn't throw this knife, did you?

His voice, though calm, held an edge of disbelief, but also something darker, something more dangerous that made my heart skip. Still, I didn't say anything. I just kept working. I didn't have the energy to argue, to explain myself, to justify what I had just done. I wasn't going to.

He moved closer, his footsteps suddenly louder, more forceful. I could feel his presence in the room, looming over me as he came to stand next to me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body.

Jimin: Answer me, Aaira.

He demanded, his voice dropping, turning from controlled to threatening. But I didn't respond. I continued placing the food neatly, my fingers moving methodically, the rhythm of it almost soothing, despite the chaos of emotions I was feeling inside. I wasn't going to break. I wasn't going to give in to him.

He wanted an answer, but I wasn't going to give it to him. I wasn't going to give him that satisfaction. Suddenly, without warning, he grabbed my arm and jerked me towards him. My breath hitched as I was spun around, and before I could process anything, he had me pinned against the fridge, his hands gripping my shoulders with a force that made me gasp.

Jimin: How dare you ignore me like this?

His voice was low now, dangerous, and there was no mistaking the fury in his eyes. His gaze locked onto mine with an intensity that made the room feel smaller, suffocating.

Jimin: You think you can do whatever you want, and I'll just let it slide? You think you can throw knives around without consequences?

I couldn't breathe, the proximity between us too much to handle. My heart was racing, my mind scrambling for something, anything, to say, but I couldn't find the words. There was a part of me that wanted to pull away, to scream, to fight him, but another part of me, the part that had been starved for attention, for some sign that he cared, just stood there, frozen in place.

His face was inches from mine, his breath warm against my skin. I could feel his chest rise and fall with every harsh breath he took, and in the dim light of the kitchen, his eyes glimmered with something I couldn't quite understand, rage, frustration, or something deeper. I didn't know, and I wasn't sure I wanted to.

Jimin: Dare to ignore me again, and I'll show you hell.

He hissed, his voice so quiet it almost felt like a threat, like a promise. I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. His grip on my shoulders tightened, and I couldn't look away from his face. The words hit me harder than I expected. But I didn't say anything. I just stood there, staring up at him, too stunned, too caught up in the moment to respond.

Jimin: Now.

He growled, his eyes flashing.

Jimin: Tell me, did you throw this knife?

For the briefest moment, I could have sworn I saw a flicker of something else in his eyes, something softer, maybe regret, maybe guilt, but it was gone so quickly, replaced by the familiar coldness I had been seeing in him for the past few weeks. And then, just as quickly, I realized that it wasn't just anger.

I didn't reply immediately. My lips parted, but nothing came out. For a second, I felt like I was suffocating, trapped in this moment between us, unsure of where we stood. But then, as if something inside me snapped, I smiled. Not a happy smile. Not a relieved smile. Just a smile, almost as if I were amused by the intensity of the situation.

Jimin stared at me, and for the first time in a long while, I saw a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. It wasn't a look I was used to. It wasn't one I expected. And for a brief moment, I thought I had finally managed to break through to him. But that fleeting moment passed as quickly as it had come.

Without another word, he let go of me, his grip loosening as he stepped back, his gaze still locked on me. The tension between us hung in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating, and I could feel the weight of everything that had been left unsaid.

Jimin: I'll see you, Aaira.

He said coldly, before turning and walking away, his footsteps fading into the distance. I stood there, still pinned against the fridge, the silence of the room pressing down on me. I wasn't sure what had just happened, but for the first time in a long while, I felt something I hadn't felt in days, alive.