The elevator descended in silence.

Co Dien Chu still held my wrist.

Not painfully.

But firmly enough that I could feel the warmth of his palm.

When the doors opened, I looked down.

—Professor Co.

He released me immediately.

His ears became even redder.

—I told you. We’ll talk at home.

—About my research topic?

He was silent for two seconds.

—That too.

That answer almost made me laugh.

When we reached home, he went straight into the kitchen, poured me a glass of warm water and placed it in front of me.

Then he sat opposite.

Back straight.

Expression serious.

Exactly like he was preparing to discuss a difficult surgical case.

I waited.

Finally he asked:

—Are you close to Tran Vu Bach?

I blinked.

—Senior Tran?

—Yes.

—We studied together.

—How close?

Now I understood.

I leaned forward.

—Professor Co, are you interrogating a student?

His expression stiffened.

—I’m asking as your husband.

That word landed heavily between us.

Husband.

He had never used it so naturally before.

I couldn’t help asking:

—Then why did my husband drag me away because someone gave me milk tea?

Co Dien Chu looked away.

—Too much sugar is unhealthy.

I nearly choked.

—That’s your explanation?

—Yes.

—Then why were your ears red?

His hand stopped on the cup.

—The elevator was hot.

It was January.

I smiled.

He knew I didn’t believe him.

After a long silence, he finally said:

—I don’t like him looking at you like that.

My smile disappeared.

—Like what?

Co Dien Chu looked directly at me.

—Like he still has a chance.

My heart suddenly beat faster.

I had always assumed this marriage meant nothing to him.

A family arrangement.

Convenient.

Temporary.

Yet the man sitting opposite me looked almost annoyed by the idea that someone else might approach me.

I lowered my voice.

—But you were the one who asked to keep our marriage secret.

His expression changed.

And for the first time, he didn’t have an immediate excuse.

He stood.

—Wait here.

He entered the study.

A minute later, he returned carrying a folder.

He placed it in front of me.

Inside were documents from the medical school.

Conflict-of-interest declarations.

Research supervision regulations.

Promotion committee membership lists.

My name appeared several times.

I frowned.

—What is this?

—Your master’s project is partially reviewed by the hospital research committee.

He pointed to one page.

His name appeared under:

Academic Review Board Member.

I stared at him.

—You wanted the marriage hidden because of this?

—Partly.

If our relationship became public before my graduation, people could question whether I had received special treatment.

Co Dien Chu had therefore removed himself from every committee related to my grades, grants and future placement.

He had even filed the recusals before our marriage registration.

I slowly turned another page.

—Why didn’t you tell me?

—Because you already thought I didn’t want to marry you.

I froze.

He knew?

Co Dien Chu gave a faint, self-mocking smile.

—On our blind date, you looked at me like I was a difficult assignment your family had forced you to complete.

—I thought you felt the same.

He shook his head.

—No.

One word.

But this time it sounded completely different from the cold “maybe” he had given me months ago.

I stared at him.

—Then why did you say “maybe” when I asked whether you agreed to the marriage?

His expression became strangely uncomfortable.

—I had prepared a longer answer.

—What answer?

He looked away.

—I forgot it.

I laughed.

The famous neurosurgery professor who could speak for four hours at an international conference had apparently forgotten how to form sentences during a blind date.

That night, I started noticing things I had previously dismissed.

The oat milk.

The hand cream.

The porridge.

The lamp beside my desk that had mysteriously been replaced because the old one was “bad for my eyes.”

The medicine cabinet organized around the headaches I occasionally had.

None of it was accidental.

Co Dien Chu had simply spent three months showing affection in the most awkward way possible.

But our real problem wasn’t solved so easily.

The next week, rumors spread through the hospital.

Someone had seen him pulling me into the elevator.

By Friday, the story had become:

“Graduate student To Niem is secretly pursuing Professor Co.”

Tran Vu Bach found me outside the laboratory.

—Do you want me to clarify things for you?

—How?

—Tell people we were together that day.

Before I could answer, a cold voice came from behind.

—There’s no need.

Co Dien Chu walked toward us.

Tran Vu Bach frowned.

—Professor Co?

He stopped beside me.

Then, to my shock, he removed the ring he had kept on a chain beneath his shirt.

He placed it back onto his ring finger.

Several nurses nearby went completely silent.

I stared at him.

—What are you doing?

He answered calmly:

—Correcting the rumor.

Then he looked toward the gathering staff.

—To Niem is not pursuing me.

Pause.

—She is my legally registered wife.

The corridor exploded.

Someone dropped a clipboard.

Professor Trieu, who had just walked around the corner, nearly collided with a trolley.

—Your WHAT?

I wanted the floor to swallow me.

Co Dien Chu remained perfectly calm.

—Wife.

Professor Trieu stared at me.

Then at him.

Then back at me.

—You two have been married for three months?!

I covered my face.

Co Dien Chu answered:

—Yes.

—And you didn’t tell me?

—It wasn’t necessary.

Professor Trieu nearly lost his temper.

But after the initial shock, the hospital handled the matter properly.

Co Dien Chu disclosed the marriage formally.

His recusals were reviewed.

Another professor took responsibility for any assessment connected to my research.

No one could reasonably claim that my work depended on my husband’s position.

A month later, my thesis proposal passed anonymously.

Not because I was Professor Co’s wife.

Because it was good.

That evening, I returned home carrying the approval letter.

Co Dien Chu was cooking.

I placed it on the kitchen counter.

—Passed.

He looked at it.

Then at me.

A small smile appeared.

—Congratulations, Dr. To-to-be.

I leaned against the counter.

—Professor Co.

—Hm?

—There’s something I still don’t understand.

—What?

—If you liked me before the blind date, why didn’t you just say it?

His hand stopped.

Slowly, suspiciously, his ears became red again.

I finally understood.

This man wasn’t cold.

He was hopeless.

I smiled.

—Never mind.

He frowned.

—Why are you laughing?

—Because I finally figured you out.

Three months earlier, I had believed I was married to a man who felt nothing.

Later I discovered that Co Dien Chu didn’t know how to say what he felt.

So he bought oat milk.

Cooked pumpkin porridge.

Remembered my hand cream.

And became irrationally offended by another man’s milk tea.

Our marriage had started as an arrangement between two families.

But somewhere between the secret wedding ring and the bowl of porridge he pretended to cook “by accident”—

the man who was famous for not being close to women had already fallen for his own wife.