Ailín woke to the soft sunlight filtering through the curtains. For a moment, she didn't know where she was. Everything felt too quiet, too warm, too… perfect. Then she felt it: Dylan's arm around her waist, firm and possessive even in his sleep, as if the world could fall apart, yet she would remain untouched.
Her heart tightened with a tenderness that almost hurt.
And just as she was about to savor the moment of absolute peace—
"Well, well, well…" a voice sang in her mind. "Look at you—a married woman thinking she's the lead in a Korean drama."
Ailín opened one eye.
Oscurita perched at the headboard, legs crossed like a cat claiming ownership of the mattress. Her eyes sparkled with delicious sarcasm.
"Could you not speak so loud?" Ailín whispered mentally. "I want five minutes of peace."
"Five minutes, she says," Oscurita huffed. "Sweetheart, with that hair, you won't have peace for ten lifetimes. You look like a live wire cloud. And you think I'm exaggerating?"
Ailín touched her hair, feeling the chaos. She sighed.
"I'm not that bad…"
"You're beautiful," Oscurita admitted theatrically. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're… how do I put it? Married and messy. It's an aesthetic concept, really."
Ailín stifled a laugh to avoid waking Dylan, but he stirred, mumbling something unintelligible as he burrowed closer. His warm breath brushed her neck.
"Can you believe this?" Ailín whispered, lips barely moving. "We're married."
Oscurita raised an eyebrow.
"I thought you'd faint during the wedding night, but look at you: survived. Certified heroine."
"Shut up!" Ailín thought, cheeks burning.
"I can't. I'm literally your anxiety personified. Being annoying is my job."
The room smelled of clean sheets, of coffee brewing somewhere in the building, of the start of life. And for the first time, Ailín felt something stronger than joy: she felt safe.
"I'm happy," she whispered, more to herself than to Oscurita.
The shadow stopped teasing. Her expression softened, almost protective.
"I know," she said quietly. "And I'm glad… even if it leaves me unemployed."
Ailín smiled.
Oscurita never fully disappeared, but sometimes… she became unexpectedly human.
"You won't be out of a job," Ailín thought. "You and I… we stick together."
Oscurita shivered dramatically.
"Oh, don't start with the sentimentality so early. I haven't taken my daily dose of pessimism yet."
Ailín chuckled silently.
Dylan slowly opened his eyes, and in that deep, husky voice that always melted her, murmured:
"Good morning, wife…"
The word wife sent a soft electric thrill through her.
"Good morning…" she responded, unable to hide her smile.
He pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
And from the headboard, Oscurita applauded slowly.
"Very well. Morning romance activated. Now… how about starting married life with something truly adult? Like… arguing over who does the dishes."
Ailín shook her head, both amused and terrified.
Life together had just begun.
And Oscurita too.
…
The first months of cohabitation were a beautiful, chaotic collage: stacked boxes, impromptu ramen nights, debates over where the new lamp should go, and laughter filling even the silences. Ailín felt her life finally had a warm rhythm, one she could hold in her hands.
But with routine came the inevitable: monotony.
Dylan started arriving home later each week. First ten minutes, then thirty, then hours. It wasn't lack of love—she knew that; it was ambition, responsibility, his way of showing he wanted a better life for them. Still… there were nights when Ailín ate alone, staring at the door, imagining him walking in any moment.
Oscurita perched on the edge of the sofa, legs dangling like a mischievous child.
"Don't worry, he's just… busy," she whispered, stretching the word. "Nothing serious. Just many women admiring him. You know… normal stuff."
Ailín tried to ignore her, but the shadow knew exactly where to poke. Not to hurt, but to remind her of fears she thought she had conquered.
…
When Andrea called from the office, her friend's voice offered a kind of refuge.
"Ailín, got a minute?" she asked one afternoon, a tone mixing care with caution.
"Yes, tell me," Ailín replied, balancing the phone between her shoulder and cheek while tidying the desk.
"Just a heads-up…" Andrea exhaled. "Some girls were talking about Dylan today. Nothing bad, just… you know how it is. Compliments, little giggles, excuses to ask him for help with anything."
Ailín smiled softly, trying to hide the flutter in her stomach.
"Thanks for letting me know. Really."
"I'm telling you because I care," Andrea continued. "Not to worry you. He behaves impeccably, as always. But I'd rather you hear it from me than from some careless comment."
Ailín closed her eyes briefly, grateful yet quietly anxious.
"I appreciate it. A lot."
Oscurita leaned on her shoulder, chin resting there.
"See? Even your friend notices. But don't worry… just smile and pretend it doesn't bother you."
Ailín clenched her teeth.
"I'm not pretending," she thought firmly.
"Sure, sure," Oscurita rolled her eyes. "And I'm the fairy godmother."
…
Small differences began to emerge.
Ailín wanted plants in every corner; Dylan preferred clean, minimal surfaces. She wanted walls full of photos; he said empty walls looked better.
"Maybe we leave this wall clear," he suggested one night, holding a frame she insisted on hanging.
"Why?" she asked, trying to keep the tone light.
"Looks tidier."
"But… without photos, it doesn't feel like home."
They stared at each other. Not a fight, not a happy conversation either. Just a small disconnect, suspended in the air like dust in the lamp light.
Oscurita, from the hallway, whispered:
"Episode one of Little Things a Marriage Avoids Talking About. Stay tuned for the next installment."
Ailín exhaled and put the frame aside.
"We'll talk later," she said simply.
…
As time passed, professional events began. Dylan shone brighter than ever: projects, recognition, promotions seeming inevitable.
"You should see him," Andrea texted. "Your husband is turning heads here. Don't say I didn't warn you."
Ailín replied with a playful emoji, but inwardly, a part of her tensed. Not because of Andrea, but because she feared letting old insecurities creep back.
Oscurita prowled around her slowly, like a cat observing its owner.
"You're doing great ignoring me…" she whispered mockingly. "But don't get too comfortable. There's still a lot of chapter left."
And she was right.
Ailín knew it.
…
Until that moment, nothing had exploded.
Nothing was serious.
Everything was manageable.
But soft cracks… were already there.
Small invisible lines that, from afar, seemed harmless.
Only Oscurita could see them clearly.
…
One call from Andrea left Ailín unsettled for days. Andrea mentioned a new girl at Dylan's company who seemed overly interested in him. It wasn't just admiration—it was obvious.
The girl always tried to sit near him at lunch, brought snacks to the office ("thought you might not have breakfast"), asked for advice on tasks she could manage herself… sometimes even cried to him about personal problems. And Dylan, being polite, always listened.
"Strange, isn't it?" Andrea said. "Reminds me too much of Vivian at university. Just wanted you to be aware."
Ailín felt a small knot in her stomach. Andrea had always been her ally—a silent spy inside Dylan's world—and rarely exaggerated.
When Ailín asked Dylan directly, he laughed softly, surprised it could even be a concern.
"Oh, no… nothing like that. She's like… a little lost sister at work. That's why I help her. Nothing else."
But soon, the situation crossed lines she couldn't ignore. The girl started calling Dylan at home outside office hours. Sometimes for almost an hour, even just before dinner, when Ailín was already serving plates.
And, of course, Oscurita seized every opportunity:
"Look, calling again. Sure, 'just like a little sister.'"
"Oscurita, shut up."
"What if she likes him? What if you're the only one not seeing it?"
Ailín breathed, trying not to spiral. She knew Andrea wasn't jealous or dramatic; if she noticed, it was for a reason. But she also knew she wouldn't be her old self—silent, swallowing, pretending nothing happened.
So this time, she did the opposite: she spoke.
One evening, while Dylan packed some work things, Ailín approached calmly. No reproaches, no raised voice, no assumptions. Just the truth.
She explained that the late calls, the excessive attention, and the bond the girl was forming with him made her uncomfortable—not from distrust, but because women just… notice.
Dylan listened carefully, calm, nondefensive.
"I understand. And I appreciate you telling me this. I didn't think it could look like that… but you're right. You women always notice these things before we do."
The conversation ended peacefully, a giant step for Ailín: she had set boundaries without fear, without shutting down, without letting Oscurita take over.
And just then, as if waiting for the right moment, Dylan smiled.
"By the way… I haven't told you yet. My promotion was confirmed today."
Ailín hugged him, heart racing.
"Really? Dylan, that's amazing!"
"Yes… and I want you to come with me to the celebration party. I want you there."
Ailín felt that rare alignment of life: speaking boldly, being heard, and receiving news that marked a new beginning.
Oscurita, curiously, said nothing. Just watched, as if she'd learned something too.