Chapter 104: Her What-Ifs
Monday slipped by. Tuesday too. Nothing out of the ordinary—at least on the surface. I didn’t bring up the voice call. Not because I’d forgotten, not because it stopped gnawing at me, but because I didn’t want to bother her. Not yet. Sometimes timing mattered more than questions.
By the time Tuesday ended and we made it back to my place, the sun had dipped behind the city, throwing streaks of orange against glass and steel. The apartment felt quieter than usual. Duchess wasn’t here—Val had left the cat at her house for the week. Apparently, one of the staff was watching her, and though Val had tried to act casual about it, I knew she missed the little furball.
The absence was noticeable. No tiny paws skittering across the floor. No soft thud of a tail hopping onto the couch. Just silence—except for us.
We both headed to shower. And no, I’m not going into details about whether we did it together or not. Not your business.
What matters is by the time we were back in my room, hair damp, clothes clean, books open, the illusion of focus had set in. Exam season was circling closer—April bleeding into May meant long nights, heavy notes, and no room for distractions. At least, that was the plan.
Except Val had other priorities.
For the past fifteen minutes, she’d been stabbing her pen into my shoulder. Not once. Not twice. Relentlessly.
I closed my eyes, exhaled through my nose, and finally groaned.
"What now?"
She leaned in, lower lip jutting out, eyes wide with a mock innocence that fooled no one. "I’m bored."
I turned to stare at her.
"Really, Val? We’ve got exams in a few weeks."
"I know," she sang, swinging her pen between her fingers like a conductor’s baton.
"Then study."
She pouted harder—comically exaggerated, chin propped on her hand as if her life were one long tragedy. Then, after a sigh fit for the stage, she dropped her eyes to her book. For a minute, maybe two, she actually looked like she might cooperate.
Then came the mutter.
"You’re mean to birthday celebrants."
My pen stopped mid-note.
"Your birthday’s also a month away."
"Same thing," she countered instantly, eyes darting up to mine, spark hiding under the sulk.
I shut my notebook, leaned back, and gave her the kind of look that always made her grin wider.
"Fine. What is it?"
And just like that, she beamed—pout gone, mischief replacing it like sunshine after rain.
"I want cake."
I blinked. "Cake."
"Mm-hm." She nodded, deadly serious. "Strawberry. With extra frosting. And sprinkles. And... maybe one of those little edible gold flakes."
I dragged a hand down my face. "Val, it’s nine at night."
She twirled her pen and shrugged, utterly unbothered. "So?"
"So, bakeries are closed."
She tilted her head, pretending to think. "Not all of them. Somewhere, there’s a 24/7 bakery calling your name."
"You’re insane."
"Maybe," she said sweetly, leaning closer. "But I’m your insane."
I shook my head, turning back to my notes. "Not happening."
She gasped, dramatic enough to belong in a play. "You’d deny your wife cake?"
"Your birthday’s not until April twenty-third. You can wait."
"I’m not asking for birthday cake, husband. I’m asking for ’I’m bored, please give me attention’ cake."
I barked a laugh despite myself. "That’s not a category."
"It should be."
I tried deflecting, dodging. I reopened my notes, pretended to underline something important. She leaned in closer, chin practically on my shoulder now.
"You’re impossible," I muttered.
"And you love it."
I bit back my smile, eyes still on the page. "Debatable."
"Liar," she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear.
And just like that, I knew I’d lost.
There was no winning against her when she pulled that mix of brat and sweetness, the way her voice softened just enough to slip under my guard.
I sighed, closing the book again. "Fine. No cake, but... we’ll order dessert. Something sweet."
Her eyes lit up instantly, victory written all over her face. "Really?"
"Really."
She clapped her hands once, quick, like a kid who’d just won a prize. Then, without missing a beat, she leaned back into her book as if she hadn’t just derailed the last twenty minutes of my life.
I stared at her for a second, then chuckled under my breath. This was Val. My Val. Exams could wait a little.
---
Dinner had been simple. She’d dropped hints earlier about wanting that ridiculous layered cake from the café near campus—the one that looked more like an art piece than dessert. But one look at the price tag had been enough for me to veto it. Not because I didn’t want to spoil her, but because, well... it was expensive. And then, when I thought about it again, I realized something else: it was expensive. Twice over.
So instead, I stuck to what I knew I could swing without wrecking my wallet—two burgers, some fries, and a small box of cinnamon rolls from the little bakery three streets down. Cheap, filling, nothing to brag about.
I half-expected her to pout, to tease me for skipping out on the cake she wanted. But she didn’t complain. Not once. She just unwrapped the burger, smiled like it was exactly what she’d asked for, and dug in without a single word about the cake.
And somehow, that made me feel worse and better at the same time.
By the time we were back at my desk, plates pushed aside and crumbs dotting the corner of her notebook, it was like nothing had interrupted study mode. Or at least, the illusion of it.
Val sat cross-legged on my bed, leaning forward, highlighter in hand like it was a weapon against the exam syllabus. Every so often, she hummed under her breath, probably not even realizing it. Me? I was trying to decipher a paragraph in my econ notes that seemed to loop on itself no matter how many times I read it.
And then, halfway through a bite of cinnamon roll, she called out.
> "Babe."
Mouth full, I only hummed, "Mm?"
She swallowed her own bite, then licked sugar from her thumb before speaking again. "Would you get mad if I beat you again?"
That made me pause mid-page. Slowly, I raised my head, one brow cocked. "Beat me?"
She nodded, hesitantly.
I set my pen down, leaned back against the chair, and looked her over. She wasn’t teasing. Not exactly. She looked... smaller somehow. A little cautious, like she was waiting for me to laugh it off or snap.
"In the exams," she clarified, eyes darting back to her book as if retreating.
For a second, I just stared. Then a chuckle slipped out. "Wow. That came out of nowhere."
Her lips twitched, caught between a smile and a pout. "What? Do you know—" She cut herself off, shaking her head like she’d said too much.
I tilted my head. "Do I know what?"
She wouldn’t look at me. Instead, she jabbed her pen into the margin of her notes, pretending to underline something that didn’t exist.
"Val," I said, leaning forward, arms folded on my desk. "You annoy me all the time. And like, ninety percent of that is intentional. And I still don’t get mad—at least, not like that."
That got me a faint smile, but she shook her head. "Yeah, but that’s different."
"Oh?" My tone was deliberately light, amused. "How so?"
She fidgeted with her pen. "That’s the playful kind of annoying. You know I don’t mean it. You’ll forgive me even if you get mad."
"It’s the same thing," I said with a laugh.
Her pout deepened, voice slipping into that soft whine she used when she wanted to sound dramatic. "It’s not."
That stopped me. The way she looked at me—serious, lips pressed, brows tugging—made me pause. It wasn’t her usual act.
"Alright, alright." I held up a hand, schooling my grin into something gentler. "I’ll listen. Promise. No laughing."
She exhaled, slow, like she’d been holding the words back. "It’s just... with this, it matters. If you got mad because I beat you again, even if I didn’t mean to... it wouldn’t feel the same."
Her voice dipped, almost trailing off.
I watched her. And in that moment, I thought I understood. She was overthinking again. Not unusual. Sometimes it came out of nowhere—these little spirals where she doubted things no one else would question. But this one carried something heavier.
I didn’t know it was her brother’s shadow, the sting of him snapping at her when she hadn’t meant harm. I didn’t know how deep that cut ran, how it sat behind her eyes every time she second-guessed herself. All I saw was my Val, shrinking into herself over something that shouldn’t matter, and me sitting here trying to figure out how to ease it without making her feel small.
A beat passed. Then I cracked a grin. Couldn’t help it.
Her eyes narrowed instantly. "You promised!"
I held up my hands, laugh escaping anyway. "Sorry, sorry. I just—come on, Val. You’re adorable when you get like this."
She swatted my arm with her pen. "I hate you."
"Love you too," I shot back without missing a beat.
And just like that, the glare broke. Her lips trembled, then curved, and a giggle bubbled up—light and bright, the kind she couldn’t suppress no matter how hard she tried. Especially not when I was still chuckling like an idiot.
She leaned back, shaking her head, eyes glimmering with exasperation that didn’t hide the smile tugging at her mouth.
I leaned back in my chair, watching her settle again, watching her reach for another bite of the cinnamon roll like nothing happened. But it wasn’t nothing. Not to me.
Because behind that laugh, behind her playful swats and her whiny pouts, I’d glimpsed something else. A shadow she didn’t let me touch.
And maybe I didn’t understand it yet, not fully. But I knew this much:
Whatever weight was on her, whatever storm sat just out of sight, I wanted to be the reason she didn’t drown in it.
If keeping her smiling meant pretending I hadn’t noticed the flicker of doubt in her eyes—at least for now—then fine. I’d carry the wondering in silence.
Because as long as she laughed like that, with sugar on her lips and warmth in her eyes, I’d take every question and every ache and shove them down until the time was right.
---
To be continued...