The pumpkin and millet porridge was still warm when I woke up.

Co Dien Chu sat at the dining table reading a medical journal.

I took one spoonful.

Perfect temperature.

Not too sweet.

Exactly the way I liked it.

I glanced at him.

“Professor Co.”

“Yes?”

“Did your colleague give you this too?”

His hand paused on the page.

“What?”

“The porridge.”

For several seconds, he was silent.

Then he calmly turned another page.

“I made too much.”

I looked at the single bowl in front of me.

There wasn’t another serving anywhere.

I lowered my head so he wouldn’t see me smile.

That should have been the moment I realized something was wrong with our supposedly emotionless marriage.

But I didn’t.

Until Tran Du Bach appeared.

After Co Dien Chu dragged me into his office that afternoon, he closed the door.

Then he released my wrist.

A faint red mark remained where his fingers had been.

He stared at it.

His eyebrows tightened.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

He looked relieved.

I sat opposite his desk.

“You said you had ideas about my research topic.”

Silence.

Co Dien Chu opened my thesis proposal.

He flipped through three pages.

Then five.

Then returned to the first.

I waited.

Finally, I asked:

“Professor Co?”

“Yes.”

“The suggestion?”

He looked at me.

For someone considered the most brilliant neurosurgeon in the hospital, he suddenly seemed strangely unable to speak.

After several seconds, he pointed at one paragraph.

“This sentence.”

I leaned forward.

“What about it?”

“It can be improved.”

“How?”

Another silence.

I looked at him suspiciously.

“Did you really bring me here because of my thesis?”

His ears turned red again.

“No.”

I blinked.

Then why?

His eyes moved toward the door.

“Are you close to Tran Du Bach?”

I finally understood.

“You mean Senior Tran?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve known each other for four years.”

His expression became colder.

“He buys milk tea for you often?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you drink it?”

I stared at him.

“Professor Co, are you interviewing me?”

“No.”

“Then why are you asking?”

He closed my proposal.

“Milk tea has too much sugar.”

I nearly laughed.

“So you pulled me away because you’re worried about my blood sugar?”

He looked at me.

Then said very quietly:

“He likes you.”

I froze.

“What?”

“Tran Du Bach.”

His jaw tightened.

“He likes you.”

I stared at my husband.

For the first time in three months, I saw something obvious beneath that cold expression.

Jealousy.

I tested him deliberately.

“What if he does?”

Co Dien Chu’s face darkened.

“You’re married.”

“But nobody knows.”

His fingers stopped moving.

That sentence hit harder than I intended.

After a while, he said:

“That can change.”

My heart skipped.

“What?”

He looked away.

“Nothing.”

That evening, we went home together.

Neither of us spoke much.

But when I went to shower, I found a cup of my favorite milk tea on the kitchen counter.

Less sugar.

Warm.

Beside it was a note written in Co Dien Chu’s neat handwriting:

“Drink mine instead.”

I stared at those three words for a long time.

Then I realized I was smiling.

Things became stranger after that.

Whenever I had night experiments, he somehow finished surgery at exactly the time I finished.

Whenever I forgot my umbrella, he appeared downstairs with one.

When I fell asleep over research papers, I woke up with a blanket around my shoulders.

Every time I asked why, he had an explanation.

“Convenient.”

“Passing by.”

“Habit.”

The man had hundreds of reasons.

None of them included affection.

Then one evening, everything changed.

I developed a fever.

Not serious.

Thirty-eight degrees.

I sent him a message:

“I’ll sleep early tonight.”

He called immediately.

“Why?”

“Fever.”

Twenty minutes later, the front door opened.

Co Dien Chu had been attending an academic dinner across the city.

He came home still wearing his formal suit.

His breathing was slightly uneven.

He touched my forehead.

His face became terrifyingly serious.

“Why didn’t you call me earlier?”

“It’s only a fever.”

He took out the thermometer.

“Sit.”

“Professor Co—”

“Sit.”

I obeyed.

Thirty-eight point two.

He gave me medicine, brought warm water, cooked porridge and changed the cooling towel on my forehead several times.

At midnight, I woke briefly.

He was sitting beside the bed.

Still wearing the same shirt.

His eyes were closed.

But one hand was wrapped around mine.

I whispered:

“Co Dien Chu.”

His eyes opened immediately.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“No.”

I looked at our joined hands.

“Why are you holding me?”

He froze.

Then slowly released me.

“You were restless.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

I smiled.

“Professor Co.”

He frowned.

“What?”

“Do you like me?”

Silence.

Complete silence.

The famous Professor Co, who could perform twelve-hour brain surgeries without trembling, looked as though I had asked him to solve an impossible problem.

Finally, he stood.

“You have a fever.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Sleep.”

Then he left.

His ears were bright red.

The next morning my fever disappeared.

So did Co Dien Chu.

He had already gone to the hospital.

On the table was breakfast.

And beside it, a note.

“Remember your medicine.”

Underneath, after what looked like several failed pen strokes, there was another sentence.

“We will discuss your question tonight.”

I spent the entire day nervous.

But that night he didn’t come home.

At nine, I received a message from Professor Trieu.

“There was an emergency surgery. Professor Co is operating.”

I waited until midnight.

Then two.

At three thirty, the door opened.

Co Dien Chu entered exhausted.

There were faint shadows beneath his eyes.

I walked toward him.

“You’re back.”

“Yes.”

He removed his coat.

Then suddenly remembered something.

He looked at me.

“Yesterday’s question.”

My heart began pounding.

“You don’t have to answer if—”

“I do.”

He interrupted me.

Then, for the first time since we met, Co Dien Chu looked genuinely nervous.

“I like you.”

I stopped breathing.

He continued stiffly:

“Before the blind date.”

“What?”

His eyes shifted away.

“I knew who you were.”

I stared at him.

He confessed slowly.

Three years earlier, I had attended one of his public lectures.

Afterward, I stayed behind to ask him questions about a case report.

I didn’t remember it clearly.

He did.

He remembered my blue notebook.

My ponytail.

The fact that I disagreed with one of his conclusions.

Apparently, no student had ever argued with Professor Co in front of an auditorium before.

“You remembered me because I challenged you?”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t sound romantic.”

His mouth moved slightly.

Almost a smile.

“I looked for your published papers afterward.”

My eyes widened.

“You investigated me?”

“Academically.”

“That’s worse.”

He finally smiled.

A real smile.

It transformed his entire face.

Then he admitted something even more ridiculous.

When our parents suggested the blind date, he had agreed before they finished speaking.

The person being forced into marriage had never been him.

It had been me.

I crossed my arms.

“Then why did you ask to keep the marriage secret?”

His smile disappeared.

For several seconds he said nothing.

Finally:

“You’re my student’s age.”

“I am a graduate student.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“I didn’t want people saying you received opportunities because you married me.”

I became quiet.

He continued:

“You worked hard to get where you are. I didn’t want my name to become the explanation for your achievements.”

My chest tightened.

Three months.

I had thought he was hiding me because he didn’t want people knowing I was his wife.

But he had been protecting my reputation.

I whispered:

“Then why didn’t you explain?”

He considered the question.

“I thought you understood.”

I stared at him.

“Professor Co, nobody understands anything you say because you only use two words at a time.”

He looked slightly offended.

Then I laughed.

He laughed too.

The next day, something happened that shocked the entire hospital.

During the weekly academic meeting, Tran Du Bach approached me carrying another milk tea.

Before he could hand it over, Co Dien Chu walked into the room.

Everyone immediately became quiet.

He looked at the cup.

Then at Tran Du Bach.

Then at me.

I suddenly had a bad feeling.

Professor Trieu smiled.

“Old Co, why are you standing there?”

Co Dien Chu walked toward me.

Then, in front of more than thirty doctors and graduate students, he took my hand.

His wedding ring was visible.

So was mine.

The entire room froze.

Someone dropped a pen.

Professor Trieu’s mouth fell open.

Tran Du Bach stared at our hands.

Co Dien Chu said calmly:

“Let me introduce her again.”

He looked at me.

There was still that familiar cold expression on his face.

But his fingers tightened gently around mine.

“To Niem. My wife.”

The room exploded.

“WIFE?”

“When did Professor Co get married?”

“Professor Co is married to To Niem?”

Professor Trieu looked from him to me.

“You brat! You let me introduce your own wife to you?”

For once, Co Dien Chu looked embarrassed.

I laughed so hard that tears appeared.

Later, outside the conference room, I asked:

“Didn’t you want to keep it secret?”

He answered:

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

He looked toward the hallway where Tran Du Bach was still standing.

Then back at me.

“Too many people buy you milk tea.”

I burst out laughing.

He pulled me slightly closer.

And for the first time, he didn’t care who saw us.

Three months earlier, I had believed I married a cold man who felt nothing for me.

I had been completely wrong.

Co Dien Chu wasn’t cold.

He simply loved quietly.

In breakfast left on tables.

In medicine beside the bed.

In umbrellas appearing before rain.

In oat milk bought at full price and falsely blamed on supermarket discounts.

And, eventually, in the simplest sentence he had ever spoken.

“My wife.”

Later that night, I found my favorite hand cream beside my pillow again.

I picked it up.

“Another gift from your colleague?”

Co Dien Chu remained silent.

I raised an eyebrow.

He finally sighed.

“No.”

“Discount?”

“No.”

“Passing by?”

“No.”

I smiled.

“Then why?”

He pulled me gently into his arms.

His ears turned red.

But this time, he didn’t hide.

“Because my wife likes it.”