Monday morning came with clouds and a drizzle tapping on the windows. Liana stood in the kitchen again, this time making toast, eggs, and freshly brewed coffee. She moved quietly, careful not to disturb the silence Nathaniel seemed to keep like a suit he never took off.
She placed a folded note next to his coffee cup.
*"Try not to skip lunch today.
L"*
No hearts. No flourishes. Just a small, steady kindness.
Nathaniel walked in a few minutes later, perfectly dressed in another navy suit, his dark hair neatly in place. He looked at the note first before anything else.
He didn't say anything, but she saw it—the tiniest pause.He slipped the note into his wallet.
And just like that, Liana's heart fluttered.
That night, he came home late. Past ten.
She didn't wait up. She'd left a plate of food covered with foil on the counter. When he entered the kitchen and saw it, something in his chest stirred—an unfamiliar tightness. It was roast chicken with garlic rice and a bowl of warm soup. Still warm.
And there was another note on the counter.
"You looked tired this morning. Eat something."
This one had a small smiley face at the end.He stared at it for a long moment before tucking it into the drawer beside the wine glasses.
He ate in silence.
But he finished everything.
Tuesday.
Liana was up early again. This time, she packed his lunch in a sleek black container. Nothing fancy—just a classic Filipino meal: adobo, rice, and a side of chopped tomatoes.
He almost missed it when he grabbed his things by the door.
She stepped forward and handed it to him."Just in case you forget to eat again."
Nathaniel stared at her. "You don't have to do this."
"I know," she said softly. "But I'm your wife. Not your stranger."
It was the first time she said it out loud.Wife.
He blinked. She didn't wait for his response. She simply walked away, humming faintly as she returned to her book.
Nathaniel left for work with her words still echoing in his mind.
Not your stranger.
That evening, Liana walked into the shared living room and found something strange on the table.
A paper bag. Inside it was a box of her favorite pastries from a bakery she once mentioned in passing during dinner.
There was a sticky note.
"For the wife who packs my lunch."– N
She didn't cry. But she did hold the box close to her chest, smiling like the quiet warmth between them was finally starting to grow.