The Perfect Strangers

Act Like You Love Me

The golden morning light crept through the blinds, marking a full three weeks after their marriage, casting long streaks of amber across the sleek tiled floor. Jimi stirred beneath the duvet, stretching his limbs with a deep yawn, the peace of a restful sleep lingering like honey on his skin. The crisp air inside their new apartment hinted at peace—at least on the surface.

Slipping out of bed, he padded softly to the bathroom, the floor cool beneath his bare feet. The sound of running water, the hiss of steam, the faint scent of mint soap—it was a quiet ritual, one that helped him anchor himself in this fragile new life.

He emerged freshly bathed, towel slung over his shoulder, when he spotted Lara seated on the living room couch, legs tucked beneath her, phone in hand. Her laughter rose like music—light, effortless, genuine.

She was radiant in that moment. A glow in her cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes, the kind of smile he hadn’t seen directed at him in weeks.

He stood frozen for a moment, half-smiling. Who’s making her laugh like that? he wondered silently. Then he cleared his throat lightly and gestured toward her.

“Is there no food I can eat?” he asked, his voice low and husky from sleep, tinged with a boyish charm he hoped would make her smile.

Lara glanced up, her smile vanishing almost instantly. Her eyes were sharp now, her tone clipped. “I’m too tired to cook, Jimi. Why don’t you just grab some snacks or something? Don’t stress me, okay?”

The warmth of the moment dissolved like sugar in hot water. Jimi nodded slowly, managing a chuckle. “Alright, alright. I’ll survive,” he said, raising his hands in surrender.

As he walked past her, he bent slightly and wrapped his arms around her in a brief, gentle embrace from behind.

“Morning hug,” he whispered, with a playful grin.

Lara tensed. She didn’t return the hug. She didn’t lean into him. But she didn’t push him away either. That small mercy was enough for now.

“I’m heading out,” Jimi said, grabbing his bag and keys. He paused at the door, looking back. “Have a great day, my love.”

Lara rolled her eyes—annoyed, amused, undecided. “Bye,” she muttered, her voice softening just enough to keep him from feeling entirely dismissed.

As Jimi stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him, he inhaled deeply. There was distance between them, sure—but there was still hope.

“I’m looking forward to seeing what the day brings,” he whispered to himself, forcing a smile as he walked into the sunlight.

Inside, Lara sat in silence for a moment. The call had ended. Her fingers hovered above the phone screen as she stared blankly ahead. What kind of man wakes up asking for food like a prince in exile? But even as she scoffed inwardly, a ghost of a smile tugged at her lips.

“Maybe I’ll have to get used to this marriage thing,” she murmured to herself. “Or at least... get used to him for a while.”

That evening, the door creaked open, and Jimi stepped in, drained. His shoulders slumped under the weight of the day. But clutched in his hand was a small white box—the one from Lara’s favorite patisserie. He had passed three traffic jams and walked two blocks just to get it.

“For you,” he said, holding it out like an offering at a shrine.

Lara took it without much emotion. “Thanks,” she said flatly, her eyes still glued to the TV screen.

He swallowed, disappointment threatening to rise in his chest, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he turned toward the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves.

If she won’t cook, I will. He sliced vegetables, sautéed onions, added spices with careful hands and tired eyes. The aroma began to fill the apartment, rich and warm, like a home trying to remember how to love.

“Dinner’s ready!” he called, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Lara walked in, lifted a spoonful to her lips, and winced. “This is too salty.”

A beat of silence. Jimi exhaled through his nose. “Well, I guess I’m not Gordon Ramsay yet,” he said, grinning. “But I’ll get there.”

Lara raised an eyebrow. “You’re trying to compare yourself to a five-star chef?”

He shrugged with a boyish grin. “No, but I’m trying to be a five-star husband. That’s gotta count for something.”

Her face remained blank. “You mean... this abomination is your five-star effort?”

Jimi laughed, placing a hand over his heart. “Wow. I feel so validated right now.”

She took another bite. And another. Her face didn’t soften, but she kept eating.

Jimi leaned forward, curious. “Hey wifey, I’m glad you’re talking to me.”

“What do you mean?” Lara asked, barely looking up.

“I mean, I was starting to think I’d married a mute,” he said, eyes twinkling.

“Shut up,” she murmured with a smirk she tried to hide.

“But seriously,” Jimi said, voice low now, honest. “It’s nice to talk to you. Even if it’s about salt.”

She glanced up. There was a flicker in her eyes. Something caught between resistance and amusement.

“Cool,” she said, her voice soft as a sigh.

After dinner, Jimi cleared the table, rinsing dishes under warm water.

“You don’t have to,” Lara said quietly.

“I know,” he replied. “But I want to.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t tense this time. It was... comfortable.

Later that night, the apartment was silent except for the soft hum of the TV and the rhythmic tapping of Jimi’s keyboard from the study. A warm desk lamp cast a glow over his focused face as he typed, deep in thought. He hadn’t realized how late it was. His eyes drooped. His head dipped.

Moments later, the keyboard slid off the desk. The clatter startled no one—except Lara, who peeked into the study and found him slumped over the desk, dead asleep.

She stared at him for a long second. His jaw, tense from stress. His hand still hovering above the desk. Something stirred in her chest—Pity? Affection? She shook her head and walked over.

“Jimi,” she said sharply, nudging him.

He jolted awake. “Thanks for waking me up,” he mumbled, blinking.

“You’re welcome. But don’t expect me to be your personal alarm clock,” she snapped.

He rubbed his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, you’re already doing a great job.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re so weird.”

He grinned, still half-asleep. “That’s the plan. I’m going for World’s Weirdest Husband. You think I have a shot?”

She snorted. “You already won.”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “Wow. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Lara rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re starting to enjoy it,” he said, daring to smile.

She paused. Her lips curled slightly.

“Don’t push your luck,” she said, and turned away.

But behind her, Jimi stood up, fully awake now, watching her go. Something was changing. Slowly. Subtly.

Maybe she wasn’t in love with him yet. But maybe, just maybe, she was beginning to see him. He sat back down, hands on the keyboard, heart lighter. This marriage thing... it just might work.