Rain fell quietly against the glass walls of the restaurant. The kind of rain that blurred city lights into something softer yet lonely.

Clara sat alone at the table for two in a fancy restaurant, fingers wrapped around a cup of tea that had long gone cold. Across from her, an untouched plate waited beneath the dim golden candlelight.

8:47 PM.

Yet their anniversary dinner reservation was at sharp seven pm. It happened again and again. Until she was used to it.

Around her, there was a couples laughed softly over wine glasses and intertwined hands. Somewhere near the piano, a woman smiled as her husband brushed her hair away from her face.

Clara looked down before envy could fully settle in her chest. She had once imagined marriage differently. Not extravagant nor luxurious. Not passionate as fire. But, just warm.

Warm mornings. Shared groceries. Quiet kisses before work. Someone who looked at her like she mattered the most. Instead, she married Sebastian Vaughn. A man who was kind in the way strangers were kind. Polite, distant, and untouchable.

Her phone vibrated against the table. A message appread when she opened it, it was for Sebastian.

Basty 🩵

Documents are piling up here in the office. Don’t wait for me, go home.

No apology said. No “happy anniversary love.” Just silence dressed as courtesy. Clara stared at the screen for a long moment before locking it again. Her chest hurt in that familiar way, not sharp enough to cry over, but heavy enough to make breathing exhausting.

She never expected him to love her as she wanted to, but all that she ever wanted is to be seen. To be appreciated. She once remembered again their first anniversary. Sebastian gave her a pink tulips, but in fact her favorite flower is lilies.

The waiter approached carefully. “Would you still like to order, ma’am?” Elise forced a smile.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Just for one.”

The words tasted bitter. The waiter hesitated before nodding sympathetically and started listing down her order and left.

Outside, thunder rumbled faintly across the city. Clara turned toward the windows. And that was when she saw him. He's across the street. Standing infront of the closed flower shop.

But... he wasn’t alone. In his hands was a bouquet of pink tulips. And in front of him, was a woman. A woman with a long dark hair, and has her familiar smile that Clara had only seen once before.

And it was inside an old photograph hidden carefully in Sebastian's drawer. "My love, Alessia." That was written in the back of the picture.

For a brief moment, Sebastian looked alive. Not cold, not distant, and not exhausted. He was actually living his best moments. Like someone had returned a missing piece of him.

Clara felt something inside her crack quietly. Not loudly, not dramatically. But just enough to understand the truth she had spent years trying not to see.

She had never been the love story. Only the woman standing in the place where it should have been. And across the street, under the rain and pink tulips- the real story had finally come back.

The dining table looked beautiful. Too beautiful for something so cold that is about to happen.

Soft candlelight flickered against the crystal glasses Clara had spent nearly thirty minutes polishing herself. The silverware sat perfectly aligned beside the plates, the napkins folded neatly like something out of a luxury hotels. A small bouquet of sunflower rested at the center of the table, it is Sebastian’s favorite flowers. Or at least, she thought they were.

Clara stood quietly in the kitchen doorway, staring at everything she prepared for their third wedding anniversary. Three years of memorizing the things he liked. Three years of learning silently.

The clock on the wall ticked past eight thirty. Yet still wasn’t home. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her cardigan before she finally looked away. The food was getting cold again. She walked toward the stove, reheating the soup for the second time tonight.

Outside, rain tapped softly against the windows of the mansion. The city lights blurred behind the glass. It was beautiful too but too lonely as Clara.

Her phone lit up on the counter.

Basty 🩵

Running late. Don’t wait for me.

Clara stared at the message for a long moment. No apology. No “happy anniversary.” Just that message he sent. Something inside her chest sank quietly, like it always did.

She typed "Okay." Then deleted it. Typed "Drive safely!! ❣️" Deleted that too. In the end, she only sent, "It's okay, I understand :))"

The moment the message delivered, she hated herself for it. Because she always understood Sebastian, she always adjusted, and waited.

Clara lowered her phone and forced herself to breathe normally. She reached for the cabinet to grab another plate, but her movements slowed when she caught her reflection in the glass.

Sebastian once told her she looked elegant in pale colors, so nearly her entire wardrobe had become cream, white, and soft beige over the years. Tonight’s dress was ivory silk. Her hair curled carefully against her shoulders.

Everything about her was chosen to be easy to love. So why did she still feel impossible to choose? The front door finally opened at almost nine fifteen. Clara straightened immediately.

Sebastian stepped inside, exhaustion written all over his face. Raindrops clung to his dark coat, his tie loosened slightly beneath the collar of his shirt. He looked handsome in the effortless way rich men in dramas always did.

But he also looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. His eyes landed on the candles, then the food and finally on her.

For a brief second, guilt crossed his expression. “...I forgot.” The words were quiet as well the atmosphere at that moment, but they still hurt.

Clara smiled anyway. “It’s okay.” But it's actually written in her face that it's not okay at all. Sebastian exhaled heavily, running a hand through his damp hair. “There was a meeting with investors. My phone kept dying.”

“It’s alright,” she repeated softly. “You should eat first.” The room fell silent again. She watched him remove his coat while trying not to notice what was missing. No flowers, gift nor warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. Just politeness.

Like she was someone he respected, but never truly loved. They sat across from each other at the long dining table. The candles flickered between them.

Sebastian ate quietly while checking emails on his phone every few minutes. Clara tried speaking twice. “The rain got stronger earlier.”

“Mhm.”

“I heard your mother called this afternoon.” Another distracted hum.

Eventually, she stopped trying. The sound of utensils against plates became unbearable. Clara lowered her gaze to her untouched food. “Sebastian.” This time, he looked up.

Her heart ached a little because she almost forgot what his full attention felt like. “Do you…” She swallowed carefully. “Do you think we’re happy?” The question lingered heavily in the air.

Sebastian froze. Not because he didn’t hear her. Because he didn’t know how to answer. And somehow… That hurt more. His eyes softened slightly, guilt appearing again. “Clara...”

“It’s fine,” she interrupted quickly, forcing a smile too fast to be real. “Forget that I asked.” She shouldn’t have said anything. She already knew the answer, their marriage was for convenience and company anyway.

Happy couple didn’t feel nervous sitting beside the person they married. Happy couple didn’t rehearse conversations in their heads before speaking. Happy couple didn’t spend anniversaries wondering if they were simply filling an empty space left behind by someone else.

Sebastian set his fork down quietly. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” There it was. The sentence she hated most. Not I love you, not I’m happy with you, but just "You’ve done nothing wrong."

As if their marriage was a problem no one knew how to solve. Clara looked down before he could see the tears gathering in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. For what, she didn’t know.

Another silence.

Then Sebastian’s phone lit up beside his plate. A name flashed across the screen. His expression changed instantly, not enough for anyone else to notice.

But Clara did. Because she had spent three years learning every version of his face. His eyes softened. His shoulders loosened. And for the first time that night… Sebastian smiled.

Clara’s chest tightened painfully. “Are you going to answer it?” she asked quietly. Sebastian looked at the screen for one second, too long before turning the phone face down. “No,” he said.

But the damage was already done. Because for a brief moment, he had looked alive. And Clara realized with horrifying clarity… He had never once looked at her that way.

Morning came quietly inside the mansion.

Gray clouds lingered outside the tall windows, wrapping the house in a dull, silver light. The rain from last night had stopped, but the coldness remained. It settled into the walls. Into the silence. Especially into Clara.

She stood alone in the dining room, clearing the untouched anniversary decorations from the table. The candles had already melted into uneven shapes overnight. The sunflower petals had begun curling at the edges.

Three years of marriage. And somehow, she still felt like a guest inside his life. Clara carefully stacked the plates together before carrying them toward the kitchen. Her movements were gentle, almost practiced. As if making too much noise would disturb something fragile. Or someone distant.

Sebastian had already left for work before sunrise. He always did after nights that felt uncomfortable. The sink water ran softly against her fingers while she washed the dishes one by one. The warmth should have felt comforting. But it didn’t, it is suffocating her.

Her mind kept replaying the moment from last night. That look on his face when his phone lit up. The softness in his eyes. The smile he never gave her. Clara lowered her gaze. Maybe she was over thinking. Maybe she was simply tired. Maybe love just looked different after marriage.

But deep inside, another thought whispered quietly. Or maybe he never loved you to begin with. She quickly turned off the faucet. The silence became unbearable after that.

By noon, Clara decided to clean Sebastian’s study.

It was one of the few rooms the housekeepers rarely touched because Sebastian disliked people moving his things around. Usually, Clara avoided entering too often herself. The room always felt strangely untouched by her existence.

Like it belonged to a version of Sebastian she never knew. Dust floated softly beneath the afternoon light as she opened the door. The familiar scent of old books and woods filled the air immediately.

Everything was perfectly organized. Documents aligned neatly. Books arranged by size. Dark shelves polished spotless.

Clara walked toward the desk quietly, gathering scattered papers into proper piles. Most were business documents she didn’t understand. Numbers. Contracts. Endless meetings.

A life she stood beside but was never truly part of. She opened one drawer to place a fountain pen inside. Then paused. There, beneath a stack of files, was an old photograph. Her fingers stilled instantly.

The edges were slightly worn, like it had been held too many times. Clara slowly picked it up. A young Sebastian smiled brightly at the camera, his arm wrapped around a girl standing beside him. And for the first time since marrying him... Clara saw what Sebastian looked like when he was truly happy.

Not polite, not restrained, nor distant... Just happy. The girl beside him was beautiful in an effortless way. Dark hair dancing in the wind. Eyes crinkled from laughing too hard. She wore no expensive jewelry. No elegant dress. And yet… She looked more alive than anyone Clara had ever seen.

Written on the back of the photograph were faded words in black ink. "You promised we’d stay together forever. - Alessia"

Clara felt her chest tighten painfully. Alessia. The name lingered in her mind softly. She stared at the handwriting for a long moment before realizing something else. Sebastian had kept it carefully hidden.

The sound of the study door opening startled her. Clara looked up too quickly. Sebastian stood at the doorway, still wearing his dark coat from work. His eyes immediately landed on the photograph in her hands.

And for the first time... His expression cracked. “Where did you get that?” His voice came out sharper than usual. Clara froze on her spot. “I was cleaning,” she said quietly. “It was inside the drawer.”

Sebastian crossed the room quickly and took the photograph from her hand almost instantly. As if afraid she might damage it. Or worse.

The movement hurt more than Clara expected. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Sebastian looked down at the photo for a brief second before sliding it carefully back into the drawer.

His movements softened again. But not toward her. “It’s nothing important,” he said. Clara forced herself to smile gently. “Then why keep it?”

The question slipped out before she could stop it. Silence filled the room immediately. Sebastian’s jaw tightened slightly. “She was someone I knew a long time ago.” Was.

Yet the photograph looked loved enough to survive years. Clara lowered her eyes. “Were you in love with her? Are you lovers? Or perhaps... Worse?”

She hated how small her voice sounded. Sebastian didn’t answer right away. And somehow... That became the answer. A quiet ache spread through Clara’s chest. Because people hesitate when the truth still hurts.

Finally, Sebastian spoke softly. “That was a long time ago.” He didn't even deny it. He's straight to the point. Clara nodded slowly, pretending that was enough.

Pretending her heart hadn’t already begun piecing together the empty spaces inside their marriage. The way he looked at another person’s name like it still belonged to him.

Alessia.

For some reason, Clara suddenly felt like a stranger standing inside someone else’s love story.