Their marriage had never been a love story.
It had been an arrangement.
A compromise between families.
A decision made over tea, polite conversations, and silent expectations.
He had said yes because he believed love could grow.
She had said yes because she didn't have the strength to say no.
There had been someone else.
Before him.
Before the wedding.
Before everything.
A man who had made her laugh without trying.
A man who understood her without explanations.
A man she had imagined a future with.
Until her parents said no.
Firmly. Finally.
And just like that—
That chapter of her life was closed.
Or at least, that's what everyone believed.
But love doesn't disappear just because it's inconvenient.
It lingers.
In memories.
In comparisons.
In the quiet moments when no one is watching.
After marriage, she had tried.
She really had.
She tried to talk to him more.
Tried to adjust.
Tried to accept.
But every effort felt forced.
Every conversation felt incomplete.
And every moment with him somehow reminded her of what she had lost.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
But he never confronted her.
Never demanded answers.
Never raised his voice.
Because deep down, he already knew.
One night, months ago, she had said it.
Not directly.
Not brutally.
But clearly enough.
"I don't think I can ever love you the way you deserve."
He had looked at her for a long moment.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
That was all he said.
No drama.
No anger.
Just acceptance.
That night, something changed.
He didn't stop loving her.
But he stopped expecting her to love him back.
And now—
Two years later—
They were on a train, heading toward the final decision.
She adjusted her earphones again, increasing the volume slightly.
As if she could drown something out.
Maybe her thoughts.
Maybe her guilt.
Or maybe… him.
Behind her, he finally spoke.
Not to her.
But softly, to himself.
"Just one more day."