The house woke before the sun.
Clara heard it in fragments—the muted thud of footsteps, the soft slide of a zipper, the careful quiet of someone trying not to disturb what little peace remained. She lay still for a moment, eyes open, heart heavy with a knowing she had carried since the night before.
Today he leaves.
She dressed slowly, choosing neutral colors, tying her hair back with the same care she used before teaching. When she stepped into the living room, Zayd was already there.
He stood near the door in full uniform.
Everything about him was precise. Composed. Complete. The kind of man who belonged to movement and purpose, not hesitation.
"You're awake early," he said.
"I couldn't sleep."
Neither could I, he did not say.
Grandma Tika appeared from the kitchen, placing a thermos on the table with unnecessary force. "Eat something," she ordered. "Both of you."
They obeyed.
Breakfast was quiet, heavier than the silences before it. Every movement felt deliberate, final. Clara noticed details she hadn't allowed herself to see before—the faint scar near Zayd's jaw, the way his hand paused briefly before lifting his cup, as if memorizing the moment.
When it was time, he reached for his bag.
"I'll call when I can," he said.
She nodded. "I'll keep my phone on."
Their eyes met.
There were a thousand things she wanted to say.
She said none of them.
⸻
The car waited outside.
Zayd's driver stood a respectful distance away, eyes forward, pretending not to witness the quiet tension unfolding behind him.
Grandma Tika hugged her son tightly. "Come back whole," she whispered. "And remember—you have a wife now."
Zayd nodded. "I won't forget."
Then he turned to Clara.
They stood facing each other, unsure of the rules that suddenly applied to them.
He placed a brief, formal hand on her shoulder.
"Take care of yourself," he said.
The words were careful. Safe.
She swallowed. "You too."
For a moment, he hesitated—as if he might say more.
Then he stepped back.
The car door closed.
And he was gone.
⸻
The house felt hollow in his absence.
Clara stood in the doorway long after the car disappeared down the road. Morning light spilled across the floor, warm and indifferent.
"You'll get used to it," Grandma Tika said gently.
Clara nodded, though she wasn't sure what it meant.
Being married.
Being alone.
Being both at once.
⸻
Days settled into a rhythm.
Clara returned to teaching, carrying her books through familiar streets, her steps lighter now that she no longer rode her bicycle under the unforgiving sun. Some parents looked at her differently—curious, measuring.
"You married a soldier?" one asked.
"Yes," Clara replied calmly.
"Where is he?"
"On duty."
The questions always ended there.
At night, Clara lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying conversations that had never happened. Words she might have spoken. Words he never gave her the chance to hear.
She learned how to fill the silence with routine.
And with patience.
⸻
Zayd called for the first time on the fifth night.
The signal was weak. His face appeared grainy on the screen, half-shadowed by dim light.
"You're late," she said softly.
"It's different here," he replied.
She nodded. "I thought so."
A pause.
"How is my mother?"
"She's fine. She complains you don't eat enough."
A faint sound—almost a laugh—escaped him.
"And you?"
"I'm adjusting."
He studied her through the screen. "You don't have to pretend."
"I'm not," she said quietly.
Another pause.
"I have to go."
"Be safe."
He nodded once before the screen went dark.
The silence afterward felt louder than before.
⸻
That night, Clara dreamed of rain.
Of a small room.
Of warmth mistaken for safety.
Of arms that held her without intention—and let go without regret.
She woke with her heart racing.
For the first time since the wedding, she cried.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to acknowledge the truth she had been avoiding.
She had married a man who had already left.
⸻
Under a foreign sky, Zayd stood outside the barracks, phone dark in his hand.
The camp buzzed with activity—voices, machinery, distant echoes of conflict. He knew how to compartmentalize. Had trained himself to do so.
Yet when he closed his eyes, he saw Clara standing in the doorway.
Still.
Waiting.
His jaw tightened.
This was exactly why he had never wanted a wife.
And yet—
Something had already shifted.
Something he could not command back into order.