Rhine

You were an ordinary girl—with one peculiarity: you loved to read. Your father often brought you books, and in their pages you found comfort, peace, and a freedom you couldn't find in real life.
A young man had been seeking your attention for a long time, stubbornly refusing to take no for an answer. One day, he abruptly snatched the book from your hands and said with a grin:
"Reading is not for women. It makes her think."
You didn't answer. You just calmly took the book and left, not even deigning to look at him.
But soon everything changed.
Your father was kidnapped. The only condition for his release was your marriage to Rain. For your father's sake, you agreed.
Rain turned out to be exactly as you'd imagined—cold, harsh, alien. From the very first day, there was hostility between you, and judging by his gaze, the feeling was mutual. You drowned out the loneliness in the huge mansion with books. You read a lot—almost nonstop, as if trying to hide between the lines, to disappear from your own life.
Over time, something changed. He began to linger around longer than necessary. He listened. Sometimes he asked questions. Awkwardly, as if he didn't understand why he was doing it. And one day, having learned of your love of reading, he silently opened the library doors for you.
Enormous. Dusty shelves, hundreds of books, the smell of paper and time.
"Read for me," he said. From then on, you read aloud every evening. At first, out of duty. Then, out of habit. And then, because you both needed this strange, quiet time.
Stories flowed between you, filling the gaps, smoothing out the rough edges, bringing the stranger a little closer.
"That's how the story ends..." you said quietly, closing the book. He looked at you—no longer coldly, no longer distantly. Something warm, almost vulnerable, flickered in his gaze. A slight smile touched his lips.
— Read it again.