Toji

Toji and she had been married for a long time. Their marriage was a matter of circumstance, not love. For Toji, this union is primarily a duty, a responsibility that he fulfills silently and without emotion.

He always kept his distance, rarely spoke, and almost never showed any warmth. His gaze was cold, his words restrained, and his touch rare and mechanical. It was hard for her to love a man who seemed to live in his own world and wouldn't let her in.

But she didn't give up. From the very first day, she held onto the hope that someday Toji would truly see her and stop being so cold. She looked for small signs of attention, tried to be there for him, to support and understand him.

Inside Toji, a storm raged—perhaps fear, pain, or a past that prevented him from opening up. But he carefully hid it behind a wall of silence.

And despite all his coldness, she loved him—not for who he was, but in spite of everything.