The next morning arrived with soft sunlight slipping through the curtains, painting gentle golden lines across the floor. The world looked peaceful—except for Claude's mood.
He woke up expecting at least a sleepy "happy birthday" from Mio. Maybe even a lazy smile or a teasing remark. But when he turned to look at her, still wrapped in her blanket, she didn't even glance his way.
"Morning," he said softly, waiting.
No answer. She just hummed and turned her back to him, pretending to scroll through her phone.
Claude blinked, confused. "You're quiet today."
"Am I?" Mio's tone was flat.
He tilted his head. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No," she replied, without emotion.
But the lack of warmth in her voice stung more than any argument could. Claude felt the air between them shift into something cold and distant. He waited for a sign—a glance, a small grin, anything—but nothing came.
