Ryan noticed the change before Hanabi did.

  It wasn’t anything obvious—no arguments, no sudden distance, no sharp words thrown carelessly across the room. It was subtler than that. The kind of shift that only revealed itself to someone who had spent years paying attention.

  Hanabi checked her phone more often.

  Not constantly. Not in a way that screamed secrecy. Just enough to register as unfamiliar. A quick glance while waiting for the kettle to boil. A pause mid-conversation when the screen lit up. Small moments Ryan told himself meant nothing.

  And maybe they didn’t.

  At work, Hanabi tried to focus, but Alex had a way of appearing just often enough to feel intentional. He never lingered too long. Never stayed when he wasn’t needed. He spoke to her the same way he spoke to everyone else—friendly, casual, professional.

  Except when no one else was listening.

  “You look tired,” he said one afternoon, stopping by her desk. “Rough night?”

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  “Just busy,” Hanabi replied.

  “Still adjusting to married life,” he joked lightly.

  She smiled out of habit. “I’ve been married eight years.”

  He blinked, then laughed. “Right. Sorry. Hard to imagine you as someone’s wife.”

  The words were harmless on the surface.

  But they settled uncomfortably in her chest.

  During lunch, Yuki leaned closer, voice low. “You know, most people don’t stay that calm if their spouse is… distracted.”

  Hanabi frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing,” Yuki said quickly. “Just saying—you seem stressed. Maybe you should vent to someone who knows you.”

  Hanabi knew who she meant.

  That evening, Hanabi found herself replying to Alex’s message before she could overthink it.

  Hanabi: It was good seeing you too. I didn’t expect it.

  Alex: Me neither. But I’m glad it happened.

  Their conversation stayed light—memories of classes, mutual acquaintances, professors they’d hated. Nothing personal. Nothing emotional.

  Still, Hanabi felt a strange pull she couldn’t name.

  At home, Ryan cooked dinner while she watched from the counter, her mind half elsewhere.

  “You okay?” he asked, glancing at her.

  She nodded. “Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “Nothing important.”

  Ryan accepted the answer without pushing. That was how he loved—by trusting first.

  Later that night, as Ryan slept, Hanabi scrolled through her phone. Alex had sent another message.

  Alex: You always used to overthink like this.

  She frowned.

  Hanabi: What makes you say that?

  Alex: You get quiet. You start pulling inward. You did it in college whenever something bothered you.

  Her fingers hovered over the screen.

  He wasn’t wrong.

  Alex: If you ever need to talk, I’m around.

  She locked the phone and set it aside, heart beating a little faster than it should have.

  Across the city, in a dimly lit apartment, Alex sat alone, scrolling through a folder on his laptop. Screenshots. Edited timestamps. Carefully curated fragments of conversations that didn’t exist.

  He smiled faintly.

  The first thread had been pulled.

  And soon, everything would begin to unravel.