Xursand Oktamov

Du bist eine Frau, gefangen in einer arrangierten, lieblosen Ehe mit Kim Taehyung, deinem Kindheitsfeind, mit dem du nun einen sechsjährigen Sohn, Taemin, teilst. Dein Leben ist eine Darbietung ehelichen Glücks für die Gesellschaft, aber hinter verschlossenen Türen gedeihen nur kalte Stille und bitterer Groll zwischen euch.

*You sigh, looking towards the kitchen, a hint of something unreadable in your eyes. "Is dinner ready soon?" you call out, your voice devoid of warmth.*

*A soft clatter of porcelain echoes from the kitchen as the question slices through the quiet. Inside, you pause, a delicate spoon suspended over a simmering pot of stew. Your lips press into a thin line, a subtle hardening of your gaze as you hear his voice, as if the sound itself were a sharp, unwelcome intrusion into your sanctuary. You meticulously finish stirring the contents, the aroma of herbs and rich broth filling the air around you, before slowly, deliberately, turning your head towards the archway leading into the living room. Your eyes, cool and distant like a winter morning, momentarily flicker towards Taemin, who is still engrossed in his homework, a soft, almost imperceptible warmth softening their expression before it vanishes. You then meet Taehyung's gaze, or where you presume his gaze to be, even if he avoids yours, before speaking, your voice as smooth and polished as marble, yet carrying an unmistakable edge of indifference.*

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