Ahce stayed with Richard for a week before Kevin convinced her to return home. Reality had been waiting, a job that needed tending, responsibilities that couldn't be ignored, and a life that still required her presence. Richard had his own, too.
He wasn't merely a young man she had stumbled into. He was a student with dreams yet to take flight, a future still in construction. And though she couldn't explain why he had married her so suddenly, or why she had allowed it, the bond between them felt like a knot neither could quite untie.
Two quiet months drifted by. The world fell back into rhythm, and so did she. Richard buried himself in his final year of Aeronautical Mechanical Engineering, his schedule heavy, his days likely spent between laboratories and sleepless study nights.
Ahce, meanwhile, slipped into routine, her days blending with the hum of work and silence. She never reached out, not that she had his number saved. Perhaps, she told herself, that was a convenient excuse to keep her distance.
Life felt normal again. Until that night.
A knock split the stillness, sharp enough to jolt her from sleep. The hour was cruel. Her eyes fought to open as she shuffled toward the door, hair tangled, thoughts sluggish.
When she opened it, her breath caught.
"You..."
The word barely left her lips before it was swallowed by a kiss, fierce, urgent, and burning with restraint long denied. The world narrowed to the heat of it, the press of his mouth claiming what words could not. Her heart lurched, torn between disbelief and something dangerously familiar.
"Richard…" she managed between breaths.
But he didn't stop. His lips found hers again, more desperate this time, guiding her backward into the apartment. The door shut with a thud that sealed them in a world of their own. She should have pushed him away, demanded answers, but her sleepy mind lagged behind her racing pulse.
The couch caught the back of her knees. She stumbled, and he followed, lowering her gently as if the world might break around them. His weight pressed over her, the kiss deepening, unrelenting.
"Richard!" she gasped, biting down on his lip, not hard enough to wound, but enough to break the spell. He hissed, and the kiss finally broke.
For a moment, silence reigned. Then he lowered his head against her chest, trembling.
"I miss you, Boss," he whispered.
The word pierced through her, that strange endearment that once felt teasing now sounded fragile, aching. His arms wrapped tighter, as though he feared she might vanish if he let go.
"What are you doing here at this dead hour of the night?" she asked, her voice softer than intended.
He lifted his head. His eyes, dark, weary, and stubbornly sincere, met hers. "I'm your husband, too."
"So?" she shot back, trying to steady her tone. Her pulse betrayed her, skipping wildly under his touch.
"I miss you, Boss," he said again, inhaling her presence as if to remind himself she was real.
Ahce opened her mouth to scold him, to tell him he couldn't just barge in and blur the distance she'd worked so hard to build. But then...
Grrr.
The sound came from his stomach. It was so unexpected that she blinked, momentarily robbed of her anger.
"Get up and have dinner," she said flatly.
"I don't want to. I'm not hungry."
His stomach disagreed, growling louder this time.
"You need to eat dinner," she countered.
"But…" His lips curved into a sulk, the stubbornness of a boy slipping through the calm exterior of a man.
"Shut up…"
Before she could continue, he leaned in and stole a quick kiss, light, mischievous, and maddeningly brief, before pulling away with a reluctant grin. It was the kind of grin that could unmake her defenses if she wasn't careful.
With a sigh, she rose and made her way to the kitchen. The refrigerator greeted her with cold air and the faint scent of leftover food. She reheated dinner in silence, the soft hum of the microwave filling the small apartment. Richard lingered in the doorway, watching her like she was something precious and unreachable.
When she placed the plate in front of him, he didn't touch it immediately. Instead, his gaze lifted to her again, that familiar intensity making her skin warm.
"Eat," she ordered quietly.
"Eat with me," he said instead, voice subdued.
"I'm too full," she replied, leaning against the counter. "You eat. I'll watch."
He obeyed eventually, spoon scraping against ceramic, the rhythm steady and oddly domestic. For a moment, it felt like they were back in a time she couldn't quite remember, something warm, something before all the distance.
"Is the food not to your liking?" she asked when he frowned.
He shook his head. "No."
"Then why the face?"
He paused, setting down his spoon. "I just… miss you cooking for me."
The words lodged in her chest like a thorn she didn't know she carried.
"Have I cooked for you before?" she asked softly.
A faint, wistful smile curved his lips. "You always do."
She wanted to ask when, where, and how, but the certainty in his tone silenced her. It was as though he spoke from a memory she couldn't access.
Sleep tugged at her. Her body was too heavy, her mind too tangled. She barely noticed when he stood, gathered the dishes, and carried them to the sink. The soft clink of plates and running water reached her like a lullaby.
Richard was washing dishes.
It was a sight she never expected to see.
"Lock the door when you leave," she murmured, half-asleep as she walked toward her bedroom.
She didn't wait for his reply. The bed embraced her the moment she lay down, and her consciousness began to fade.
But then, the mattress dipped.
A familiar warmth settled behind her.
An arm slid gently around her waist, drawing her back into an embrace that spoke more than any confession could.
He didn't move further. He just held her, like something fragile, something he wasn't allowed to lose again. A soft kiss brushed her hair, barely a whisper against her crown.
"Good night, Boss," Richard murmured.
Morning crept in slowly. Sunlight slipped through the curtains, gold and quiet. What woke her wasn't the light, but the weight of an arm draped over her waist, heavy, secure, and claiming.
Warm breath fanned across her neck, steady and slow.
For a long moment, Ahce didn't move.
The scent of him, soap, mint, and something that was simply Richard, lingered around her, tightening the knot in her chest. She tried to slip away, inch by inch, careful not to wake him. But his arm tightened, drawing her back with sleepy insistence.
"I need to cook breakfast…" she whispered.
"Hm." His voice was low, muffled against her hair. Instead of releasing her, he pulled her closer until her back met his chest. His body fit around hers too perfectly, like muscle memory from a life she couldn't recall.
"Richard…" Her protest came out weak, tangled in exhaustion and something softer.
"Five more minutes," he murmured, lips grazing her hair with every word. The sound of his voice against her skin made her heart stutter.
Five more minutes...
She told herself it was harmless, that five minutes wouldn't undo her resolve.
But the warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart at her back, the way he held her like she was home, it was too much, too dangerous. And somewhere deep down, she wondered if five minutes would ever be enough.