𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍 | ʙᴛs ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇs

-Unspoken Melodies-

"Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction."

♛

-YOONGI

The rain drummed softly against the windowpane, filling the silence between us. It had been like this for months-quiet exchanges, stolen glances, a polite distance neither of us dared to cross.

Clara sat at the dining table, her fingers absently tracing patterns along the rim of her coffee cup. She wasn't avoiding me, not exactly, but she wasn't looking at me either. It was always like this. Careful. Measured. As if we were strangers playing the roles of husband and wife.

In a way, we were.

Our marriage was not born out of love but out of expectation. An arrangement made with logic, not passion. We didn't hate each other, but we didn't know how to love each other either.

I should say something. Anything.

Instead, I stood and grabbed my coat. "I have a class to teach."

Clara nodded, her expression unreadable. "I'll see you later, then."

Later.

It was always later with us. Never now.

As I stepped outside into the cold drizzle, I found myself wondering-when would later finally come?

.
.
.

- CLARA

The door clicked shut behind him, and just like that, the silence thickened.

Yoongi and I had been married for seven months. Seven months of carefully chosen words, of side-by-side meals that never felt quite full, of sharing a bed but never truly sharing ourselves.

I had known this would be difficult. Arranged marriages weren't fairy tales. Love wasn't something that bloomed overnight. But I hadn't expected this-this quiet loneliness that settled between us like an unspoken melody neither of us knew how to play.

I sighed, staring down at my untouched coffee.

Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I had been waiting for him to make the first move, to build a bridge between us. But what if he was waiting for the same thing?

The thought lingered as I grabbed my bag and headed to campus.

---

The lecture hall was already filled when I arrived. Yoongi stood at the front, his expression unreadable as he adjusted the sheet music on the piano. To the rest of the class, he was Professor Min-their quiet, distant music instructor. To me... he was my husband.

But sitting among the other students, I wasn't sure what that meant.

"Music," he began, his voice smooth and steady, "is communication. It expresses what words fail to say."

His fingers brushed the keys, and the first notes of a song drifted through the room. Slow. Thoughtful. A melody that spoke of something unfinished, something waiting to be understood.

I knew that feeling well.

My gaze stayed on him, watching the way his hands moved effortlessly across the piano, how his eyes softened just a little when he got lost in the music.

Maybe this was it.

Maybe we didn't have the words yet.

But maybe... just maybe, we could learn to speak through music instead.