No pain of the body could ever compare to the agony of a wounded heart.
--------------
Both families stood before the groom's room that night. Grandmother Srinuan and Grandmother Lamduan, who had already exchanged polite words that morning, faced each other again—still guarded, still unwilling to yield. Their mocking smiles didn't even fade.
"May the two of you live happily together," Srinuan said, casting a sidelong glance at her old rival. "And give me a great-grandchild soon, Vish."
"Yes, Grandma," the couple answered in unison.
Lamduan, however, spoke with a softer tone. "Please take care of her... and don't be harsh. That's all this grandmother asks of you."
Kangsadan gave a small, nervous laugh. "Grandma, with a blessing like that, may I sigh first?"
"I'll be gentle," Vishpan replied with a teasing grin that made the elders laugh.
Even Prapan, his father, chuckled as he hugged both bride and groom. "Take it slow, son, or you'll have us all scrambling to babysit!"
Kangsadan blushed under their playful gazes, but she caught a strange look pass between father and son — and the faintest whisper she couldn't quite hear. Something changed in Vishpan's eyes afterward, and she wondered what his father had said.
When the families finally left, the silence in the room grew heavy.
"Could you help me with the zipper?" she asked softly, breaking the awkward quiet.
"I'll take a shower first," he replied, disappearing into the bathroom without another word.
She sighed, half relieved, half anxious. "If it stays like this every night, maybe I'll survive," she muttered under her breath.
Minutes passed before he called out, asking for a towel. She looked around, fumbling through drawers. When she finally found it and turned, he was already there — dripping wet, shirtless, unguarded.
"Here!" she blurted, thrusting the towel at him and turning away.
He took it with a careless shrug, and the awkward tension thickened between them. The air felt colder than the air conditioner could ever make it.
Later, as she tried to unzip her gown herself, he approached again. "Turn around. I'll help."
Before she could react, she felt his closeness — his breath brushing her shoulder.
"That tickles!" she protested, stepping aside.
"I'm just trying to help," he said impatiently.
She clutched the fabric near her chest. "Careful! It'll tear; this dress costs a fortune!"
He chuckled. "Then I'll pay for it."
Something snapped — the sound of fabric giving way. She gasped, clutching what remained of her gown and rushing into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.
From the other side, his voice came, calm yet unreadable.
"There's a towel by the door."
When she finally emerged, wrapped in a towel much smaller than expected, she muttered, "This is barely a head towel."
He smirked faintly. "It works fine for someone your size."
She ignored the comment, rummaging through her luggage for pajamas. "I'll sleep on the sofa," she said quickly.
"No," came his low reply. "Sleep on the bed."
"It's fine. I don't want to disturb you."
His silence told her not to argue. So, she stayed where she was, curling up on the couch, exhausted by the day and by him.
By morning, she woke to find a blanket draped gently over her.
"Let's go for a swim later," he said casually. "The sun's warm today."
"I don't have a swimsuit," she murmured.
"I'll have one sent over."
And just like that, he called someone — efficient, composed, as though kindness itself was a transaction.
At breakfast, Grandmother Lamduan eyed her granddaughter with concern.
"You look tired, dear."
"She slept soundly," Vishpan said lightly. "Didn't even notice the blanket I put over her."
Kangsadan gave a faint smile. "I was cold... that's all."
The elder teased gently, and she forced herself to laugh along.
Later, when the swimsuits arrived, she was surprised by the thoughtfulness; a complete packet with goggles, sunscreen, and even a bottle of lemon green tea.
"Thank you," she said.
He only nodded. "Would you like some? It's lemon green tea."
She laughed. "You always drink this."
"I don't really know what you like," he admitted. "But most women seem to prefer it."
Her laughter echoed across the pool when she dove in — bright, carefree, for a moment forgetting the weight of everything else. But then, in the deep end, she misjudged her footing and sank. Before panic could set in, strong arms pulled her back up.
"Didn't expect the water to win so quickly," he teased.
"I was fine," she insisted, trying to hide her embarrassment.
He smiled faintly but said nothing. When she dove again playfully and stayed under too long, he panicked, diving after her, and for the first time, she saw the worry in his eyes.
A man who pretended to be cold... yet wasn't.
When they returned poolside, she noticed a dark scar across his abdomen, one she hadn't seen before.
"What happened?" she asked, startled.
"Don't," he said sharply, stepping back.
"But—"
"Don't ask about things that aren't your concern."
His tone cut deep, but she stood her ground. "Last night, what you said about being close wasn't forbidden. I'm just... worried."
"But…" She kept urging him, her voice trembling.
"This is serious... that scar looks severe." She stared at it, certain it must have come from an accident.
"I don't understand..." he murmured.
"You must have been in a terrible accident, right?"
Her eyes searched his face, quietly demanding an answer. His expression changed; his features also hardened with something unreadable. He turned away, walking toward the narrow corner screened off by a wall. The sound of running water echoed from the shower.
Moments later, he returned and sat down beside her on the reclining chair, his voice low and heavy with sorrow.
"The wound goes deep... all the way down to my ankle."
"That bad? May I see it, Vish?!" Her tone softened; there was pity in her eyes.
"If you want to see it clearly, come inside."
He took her wrist gently and led her toward the bathroom. He opened the door and pulled her inside. She gasped, startled and speechless.
"I was scalded by boiling water... when I was a child!" His voice trembled faintly, almost breaking.
"Oh... dear...!!!" Kangsadan turned her face away, unable to look.
Then his next words pierced straight into her heart.
"No pain of the body," he said quietly, "can ever compare to the bitterness of being wounded here." He pressed a hand to his chest. His words, raw and heavy with emotion, made her heart ache as if the sorrow were her own.
And in that fragile silence, Kangsadan finally saw him — not the arrogant heir or the cold husband in name only, but a man carrying scars far deeper than flesh.
No wound of the body lasts forever. But the wounds left on the heart... those, we carry for a lifetime.