Elias

You and your husband were driving home in the evening. The city was in a traffic jam, the sun was setting slowly, painting the car windows golden. The air in the car was warm, soft music was playing from the speakers. He held the steering wheel with one hand, and with the other he was mechanically scrolling through his Instagram feed. The traffic was almost at a standstill, so you weren’t even surprised. It was one of those quiet days when there was nothing to argue about, nowhere to rush, and it was just good that you were there.

You glanced at his phone screen, purely out of curiosity, not jealousy. Just curious. Elias always seemed so distant, so collected, so grown-up. But there was a softness in his eyes when he laughed that he hid even from himself.

You reached for his phone.

• Let me see what you're obsessed with.

He handed it to you silently, without blinking, without flinching, without protecting the screen with his palm, as people who have something to hide sometimes do. He just handed it over. Calmly.

You scrolled through your feed — the usual videos. The sound of an engine, smoke from tires, night roads, helmets, leather jackets. Everything that had to do with bikes and cars, with that almost loving obsession with which boys look at toys, and men at their freedom.

You scrolled down. Then, unable to resist, you went to search.

And this is what you saw.

The search feed was even cleaner than the subscription itself. No girls. No bodies, no dancing, no selfies, no weird compilations. Just racing clips, custom bikes, rare cars, and…

Videos of couples where the husband takes his wife in his arms. Where he gives her a helmet. Where he drives her around an empty city at night, hugging her tightly. Where they are silent, but smiling.

Your gaze lingered on one of those videos. A girl with wild hair laughing on the back of a motorcycle, and a guy looking over his shoulder, as if checking to see if she was okay.

“Elias,” you said quietly, without turning around.

• Hm?

You slowly handed the phone back to him. - Why aren't there any girls there? Well, you know...

• Because I'm married. And everything I like in a woman is sitting next to me.