The aroma of sizzling eggs and toasted bread filled the small kitchen, a gentle sunbeam illuminating the chaos of the morning. Kohinur balanced herself on one foot, arms crossed, suspiciously eyeing Rahan as he plated the food with military precision.
"You're… really going to use the heart-shaped mold for the toast?" she asked, a mix of irritation and disbelief in her voice.
Rahan looked up, grin widening, eyes sparkling with that dangerous mixture of playfulness and obsession. "Of course. It's the only way to communicate subtle messages of affection without… you know, terrifying my bride."
Kohinur blinked. "Affection? By shaping bread? Really?"
"Yes," he said solemnly, placing a perfectly toasted heart on her plate. "Bread is the vessel of love. Don't question it. I've studied this. Very seriously. Multiple times."
She pinched the bridge of her nose, groaning. "I think I need a manual just to survive mornings with you."
Rahan tilted his head. "You are surviving, aren't you?"
Her glare didn't falter, but a small twitch at the corner of her lips betrayed that she might actually be enjoying the absurdity. Kohinur had learned long ago that resistance against Rahan's theatrics was futile. A single misstep could result in a meticulously orchestrated prank—or worse, a dramatic, over-the-top display of concern that would leave her speechless.
As she reached for her toast, Rahan's hand shot out, covering hers with startling speed. "Not so fast, dear Kohinur."
She yanked her hand back instinctively. "What now?!"
Rahan's grin softened, just a fraction, but the intensity in his gaze didn't waver. "It's tradition," he said quietly, leaning slightly closer. "We wait. Together. Eye contact. Respect. You see, this is how proper couples bond over breakfast."
Kohinur froze, mid-chew in her mental rehearsal of scolding him. "Eye contact… really?" she whispered, half exasperated, half panicked.
"Yes. Really."
Her cheeks flamed, and she looked down at her plate, pretending that the heart-shaped toast had suddenly become fascinating. She could feel his gaze, sharp and unwavering, and the air between them became a tightrope—awkward, tense, charged.
Rahan, of course, found her flustered expression hilarious. "You know," he said, voice low and teasing, "if you keep looking away, it might be considered rude. And I cannot abide rudeness from my bride."
She groaned, fumbling with her fork, but her eyes betrayed her curiosity. He leaned even closer, careful to maintain the space he knew she was comfortable with, and whispered, almost conspiratorially, "Someday, Kohinur… you'll laugh at how stiff you are. And I will be here to witness it. Every moment."
Her breath hitched, and she choked back a snort of laughter. "You're impossible," she hissed, still avoiding his eyes.
"Ah," he said, leaning back, mock-sad. "Impossible? No, dear bride. Relentless is more accurate."
The doorbell rang suddenly, cutting through the tension like a knife. Kohinur jumped, nearly toppling her toast, and Rahan's hand shot out again, steadying the plate with the precision of a surgeon.
"Who in the world—" she began, but the moment was lost as the maid poked her head in, holding a small, carefully wrapped package.
"For Kohinur-san," the maid said, bowing. "From… someone?"
Kohinur frowned and took the package. Rahan hovered behind her, curiosity gleaming in his sharp eyes. "From someone? How mysterious. Shall I open it?"
"No," Kohinur said firmly, squinting at him. "I will. Alone. Away from your theatrics."
Rahan's grin didn't falter. "As you wish, dear bride. But I will be standing… nearby."
Kohinur tore the wrapping, revealing a small, delicate figurine of a phoenix mid-flight, wings outstretched in brilliant detail. Her eyebrows furrowed. "A… phoenix?"
Rahan leaned closer, whispering in his dramatic fashion, "It symbolizes rebirth, courage, and… a touch of mischief. Quite fitting, don't you think?"
Kohinur stared at him. "You planned this?"
"Perhaps," he said lightly. "Or perhaps the universe did. Hard to tell these days."
She shook her head, exasperated but secretly amused. Rahan was insufferable, yet oddly charming. The morning's tension eased slightly, replaced by this ridiculous, playful intimacy.
The breakfast continued, punctuated by small arguments over toast buttering techniques and fork placement, laughter, and Rahan's constant dramatic commentary on proper dining etiquette. Kohinur found herself relaxing—just a little—feeling a strange sense of warmth she couldn't entirely name.
Then, as the meal drew to a close, Rahan leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table, chin in hand, eyes twinkling. "You know, Kohinur… soon, you'll understand that I am not merely obsessive. I am… creative. And you, my bride, will be the canvas upon which I paint this grand, chaotic masterpiece called life together."
Kohinur blinked, trying to find words. Instead, she muttered, "You really need to see a therapist…"
Rahan laughed, a low, melodic sound that filled the kitchen. "Ah, but therapists cannot appreciate genius in its full glory. Only you, dear Kohinur, may endure it… for now."
She groaned again, dropping her head into her hands. But this time, a small smile tugged at her lips. The awkwardness remained, yes—intense, slightly terrifying, and ridiculous—but somewhere beneath it all was a strange… affection.
The day pressed on, and life continued in its absurd rhythm, but the morning had set the stage: Rahan's relentless devotion, Kohinur's exasperation, and the subtle dance of chaos and intimacy that would define their marriage.
And somewhere, quietly, the thought lingered—this awkward beginning, full of tension and laughter, was only the start.
A storm of emotions, drama, and perhaps chaos awaited… and Kohinur couldn't decide if she was terrified or oddly eager.