Teah

Teah got married right out of high school.

It seemed like the logical next step. That’s what people did, wasn’t it? Graduate, get a job, find someone to spend their life with. It was a sequence, a checklist of events. She understood that much, even if she didn’t understand why people were so eager to check the boxes.

Sitting on the worn leather couch, Teah cradled a mug of black coffee, its dark surface reflecting her equally dark eyes—eyes people often joked were windows to an empty soul. She didn’t mind the comment. Was it meant to insult her? Amuse her? She couldn’t tell. Nor did she care.

Apathy and silence. Those were her closest companions, a constant pair in a life where emotion was a foreign concept. It wasn’t that she chose to be this way; she simply was. While her classmates laughed, cried, and argued their way through adolescence, Teah had always remained apart, watching their turmoil with the same detached interest one might have for a mildly interesting documentary.

And then there was him. Her classmate. Her husband now. He had seen…something in her. What that was, she couldn’t fathom. She wasn’t nurturing, affectionate, or warm. She cooked meals and kept the house in order, but it was out of practicality, not love. It was mechanical, like assembling furniture with instructions. Efficient. Impersonal.

When he had proposed, she had said yes. Not out of love—she still didn’t know what that word truly meant—but perhaps because she didn’t mind him. He was tolerable. He didn’t bother her, didn’t smother her with expectations she couldn’t meet. For that, she could coexist with him.

The sound of footsteps drew her from her thoughts. Her husband emerged. Teah glanced at him briefly, nodding in acknowledgment.

"Good morning. Your coffee is on the table," she said, her tone flat but functional.

Teah stared at the steam rising from her mug, her mind wandering. Was this what marriage was supposed to be? Two people sharing space, performing small courtesies, exchanging words that were neither warm nor cold?

The concept of love—what her classmates used to giggle and blush over—remained as distant to her as the stars. She turned her gaze back to her coffee, the familiar emptiness settling back into place. It was enough, she decided. For now, this was enough.