Genre: Slow-burn, Arranged Marriage au!, angst, fluff, Workplace Romance, Dramedy & power dynamic.
Warnings: visa stress, mild panic response, mentions of deportation, workplace tension, mentions of legal pressure, cursing, light crude language, mentions of death and somewhat proofread.
Please note that the visa processes and mentions are not accurate and should be ignored for the purpose of the story.
a/n: I have realized that chapters are not as long as i want them to be, for the pace of the story. So the chapters from now onwards would be somewhat this length. Hope you enjoy!
Feedback, Reblogs and likes are all greatly appreciated!
Synopsis: When a cold, career-driven art gallery director in Sydney faces sudden visa trouble, she proposes a fake two-year marriage to her charming but reluctant assistant, Hwang Hyunjin. What starts as a professional arrangement quickly spirals into chaos, complete with immigration scrutiny, staged couple moments, and Hyunjinâs dramatic, high-society family. Trapped in close quarters and tangled in lies, can they keep up the act⊠or will real feelings get in the way?
The deal was made on a Wednesday.
By Monday, it felt like it had never happened.
The chaos of the gallery had swallowed the last few days wholeâback-to-back meetings, frantic approvals, half-eaten lunches, and more meetings again. Your inbox was a battlefield. Your head was pounding. By the time the office emptied out, the sky outside had long faded into navy, and the halls were quietâeerily so.
Everyone had gone home. Everyone except you.
âOne last email and then sleep,â you muttered under your breath as you walked back from the conference room toward your office, fingers wrapped around a too-hot paper coffee cup. The bitterness was comforting. Grounding. You focused on that instead of the way your legs ached or how your to-do list still glared at you from your phone screen.
Lost in thought, you shook your head and reached out to flick on the lightsâ
And nearly dropped your coffee.
Hyunjin was already inside.
Not just inside, seated comfortably in your chair, feet tucked under him, spinning in slow, lazy circles like a kid waiting for his ride home. He looked completely at ease, like he owned the place. Or like heâd been here long enough to forget he didnât.
You froze in the doorway.
âWhy are you still here?â you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral, but it came out more startled than youâd meant.
Without missing a beat, he held up a bright pink Post-it, waving it in the air like a prize on a game show. It was smudged and crinkled, your name scrawled across it in thick capital letters next to a crude stick-figure drawing of you in what mightâve been a wedding dress⊠tumbling dramatically off a cliff.
âWeâre getting married on Saturday,â he announced, grinning like heâd just solved world peace.
Your brain short-circuited. For a full second, you just blinked at him.
âSaturday,â he repeated, rising from the chair and stretching like this was all perfectly routine. âThat gives us five days. Marriage license today. Suits tomorrow. Rings Wednesday. Couple photo Thursday. Interview prep Friday. Wedding on Saturday. Boom.â
He clapped his hands once for effect. Like a director calling a cut on a scene heâd just nailed.
He was completely serious. Deadpan. Calm.
Irritatingly collected, like this wasnât your entire career and life imploding beneath a Post-it and a five-day plan.
You, on the other hand, were unraveling. Quickly.
âI never said Saturday.â
âYou didnât say not Saturday,â he replied with a maddening shrug, as if that loophole sealed the deal. âAnd timeâs ticking, boss. You want to stay in the country, right? Keep the job? Want me to fake-love you in public for two years?â
He pointed to himself, eyebrows raised. âWell, here I am. Letâs move.â
And then, just like that, he walked past you, out the door.
Like he ran this operation now. Like you'd somehow become the assistant in your own crisis.
You stood there, stunned. Coffee cooling in your hand. Heart pounding behind your ribs.
This is happening too quickly, you thought, breath catching in your throat.
No... you need it to be quick.
Before you have time to think.
Before it starts to feel like something itâs not.
Before either of you mess this up worse than it already is.
When the early sunshine came the next day, both of you had already made your way to the marriage license office building.
The marriage license office was a beige wasteland.
The walls were a dull, lifeless color, interrupted only by peeling posters that had probably been there since the 90s, advertising marriage benefits with awkward stock photos of smiling couples. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering every few seconds, casting a sterile, almost oppressive glow across the cramped, windowless room. A sad, half-dead plant in the corner struggled to stay alive, its brown leaves limp and curling.
Hyunjin sat next to you in the uncomfortable plastic chairs, whistling the Jeopardy theme under his breath, a tune that seemed at odds with the suffocating blandness of the place. He tapped his foot rhythmically, clearly doing his best to maintain some semblance of normalcy in the middle of this absurd situation.
You focused on the forms in front of you, the sound of your pen scratching across paper filling the silence. The clicking of the clock on the wall was the only other noise in the room, ticking away seconds that felt like hours. You could feel the weight of everything pressing on youâthe speed of it, the absurdity of itâand yet, you kept filling out the forms. No room for second thoughts now.
The clerk behind the counter, a middle-aged woman with an air of resignation about her, didnât even look up from her computer when she asked, âSo, are you excited?â
He didnât hesitate. âWe canât wait,â he said, his voice smooth, warm enough to fool a polygraph. His tone was perfectâtoo perfect, like he'd rehearsed this exact moment in his head. His eyes were locked on the clerk, his smile a mask, too easy and practiced.
But you noticed the shiftâthe subtle tightness around his eyes, the way his shoulders were a little too straight, the small, almost imperceptible clench of his jaw. The smile was still there, but it didnât quite reach him, not all the way. You'd seen that look beforeâat work, when something went wrong, when things started to spiral and he was too proud to let you see how it affected him.
And then, as if on cue, his hand brushed yours under the counter. It was a casual gesture, the kind that couldâve meant nothing, but you knew it wasnât. It was too quick, too deliberate, too smooth. Reflex. A small part of the performance, the play they were both trapped in now.
Still, it made your fingers twitch. Like the brush of a phantom pain, sharp and unexpected.
You signed the papers with a flourish, the pen moving automatically, your thoughts distracted by the tension that hung between the two of you.
Hyunjin signed next, the quickness of his movement a little too sharp, too efficient. No hesitation. Done.
The boutique smelled of cedarwood and old money, the kind of fragrance that clung to the air like a memory of aristocracy. Hyunjin groaned from the fitting room, his voice muffled but still carrying that familiar mix of irritation and drama.
âI look like a funeral,â he grumbled, stepping out in a charcoal three-piece suit that clung to his frame like it had been tailored just for him. Every seam, every stitch, was perfect, but he wore it with an unmistakable air of discomfort.
âItâs a wedding. Youâre supposed to look expensive,â you replied dryly, trying to mask the fact that the suit actually looked unfairly good on him.
âI am expensive,â he muttered, tugging at the collar with a scowl that was far too cute to be taken seriously. âYou just donât appreciate the natural splendor of me in hoodies.â
You didnât respond immediately. Mostly because you had no retort that could be as sharp as the suitâs fit on him. His hair was neatly tied back, a few stray wisps framing his face, and his posture was effortless, almost regal. His cheekbones, sharp enough to cut glass, could have been considered a weapon in their own right. It made your thoughts catch and linger, whether you wanted them to or not.
He caught you staring and raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a mischievous smirk.
âWhat?â he asked, his voice dripping with curiosity.
You quickly looked away, a hint of heat creeping up your neck. âNothing. Youâll do.â
He tilted his head slightly, his smirk widening into something more playful. âCareful. That sounded dangerously like a compliment.â
You didnât give him the satisfaction of responding. Instead, you turned on your heel and left before he could push any further, feeling the weight of his gaze still lingering on your back as you walked out the door.
The moment you stepped into the jewelerâs, the air was thick with the scent of polished silver and diamonds, their brilliance almost blinding under the soft, ambient lighting. The sales clerk launched into her rehearsed spiel about clarity, cut, and the importance of the perfect setting, her voice rising in enthusiasm with every word, as if she were presenting the very secrets of the universe.
But Hyunjin wasnât having it.
He interrupted her after only five minutes, his expression a perfect mix of boredom and amusement. âDo you have anything that says âI barely tolerate her, but the IRS is watchingâ?â he asked, his voice too casual for the ridiculousness of the question, a hint of playful defiance in his tone.
The clerk blinked, visibly thrown off. For a brief second, you thought she might lose her composure, but she recovered quickly, her professionalism returning. You werenât surprised by Hyunjinâs usual brand of sarcasm. You shot him a lookâhalf exasperated, half resignedâand then turned back to the clerk, ready to end this charade. âTwo plain gold bands. Size seven and nine.â
Hyunjin let out a low whistle, eyebrows rising in mock surprise. âWow, boss. You know my ring size. Iâm touched.â
âI Googled,â you said flatly, your voice laced with just enough amusement to mask the flicker of warmth that touched your cheeks.
Hyunjin tilted his head, his expression turning smug as his eyes locked onto yours. âMy ring size is on Google? Thatâs a bad lie, boss,â he teased, the glint in his eyes daring you to keep the story straight.
You glanced away, pretending not to care as you fought the urge to smile. âYou left your ring once on your table. Thatâs how I know.â
A pause, then his lips curled up at the corners, a small, knowing smile. He looked down at the floor, almost like he didnât want you to catch the pleased glint in his eyes, the one that betrayed how much the moment meant to him. It wasnât often you saw him like this, vulnerable, even in his smugness. But when you did, it made the world feel easier, the connection between you two oddly natural. It was a moment that couldâve stretched on forever, something too comfortable, too effortless as though youâd done this a thousand times before, even if you hadnât.
The clerk eventually brought the rings over. Their simplicity stood in stark contrast to the storeâs otherwise glittering display, a quiet testament to the unspoken commitment they symbolized. You inspected them briefly, feeling the weight of their promise in your hands, then paid without hesitation. The motion was swift, practicing a routine youâd long since perfected. You handed over your card with the kind of precision only someone whoâd done this a thousand times could muster.
And then, without another word, you walked out.
As the door chimed softly behind you, there was a strange silence between you. Not uncomfortable, but thick with unspoken thoughts. The weight of the rings, the deal, everything that was yet to come, it all seemed to settle between you like a shared secret. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you needed to
The gallery was quiet, the kind of silence that settled into your bones when the lights were dimmed and the world outside carried on, oblivious to the small dramas unfolding inside. Felix, the in-house photographer, showed up after hours, a DSLR swinging from his neck like a necklace and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. His energy was contagious, but you didnât need him to know the truth. You didnât need anyone to. He was too excited, too thrilled to question anything.
âYouâre in love,â he squealed, bouncing toward you both, his hands moving toward Hyunjinâs hair as though he were fluffing it for the shot. âUgh, enemies-to-lovers is real!â
Hyunjin took it all in stride. His expression was blank, but there was something about him, some subtle shift in his posture, that made it seem like he might be getting better at pretending. His smile didnât reach his eyes, but it was there, a faint curve of his lips, like he could almost fake his way through a wedding photo.
You stayed by the brick hallway, the one corner of the gallery that had a faint trace of romance. The soft warmth of the stone, the low hum of the air conditioning, and the way the light caught the edges of everything, it was the closest thing to a quiet moment you could find in this chaos.
Hyunjin walked toward you and came to stand beside you. Without saying a word, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours.
You hesitated for only a moment.
âCloser,â Felix called out from behind the camera, his voice too excited for someone who wasnât the one being photographed.
Hyunjin leaned in. The warmth of his body pressing against yours was subtle, but undeniable. His shoulder brushed yours, and his fingers tightened slightly around yours, the pressure faint but there, like they were slowly learning the shape of a lie.
The flash went off with a soft, almost imperceptible pop.
Your post had no caption, just the image: a moment frozen in time, his head tilted toward yours, a look that felt too natural to fake. His read:
 Guess iâm a husband now đ€·ââïž #prayforme
Instead, you stared at the photo, watched the way his expression held that strange, half-amused warmth, the way your hand fit in his like it belonged there. And as you studied it, something twisted deep inside of you. We donât look fake.
And that thought terrified you more than anything.
The ceremony was set to take place in a small, ivy-draped church in Paddington. A quiet favor, called in from someone who owed you more than one. Simple. Minimal. Legal. No grand gestures. No friends or family. Just the two of you, and a reverend whoâd once thanked you for helping his daughter land her first gallery internship.
You spent the entire day at your desk, rehearsing lines like an actor preparing for their last audition. Where did you meet? When did you fall in love? Whatâs something he does that annoys you? The usual questions. The ones that would help make the story feel real.
You asked the last one out loud, mostly to break the silence. âWhatâs something he does that annoys you?â
Hyunjin didnât hesitate. âHe leaves paintbrushes in the sink.â
You looked up from your notebook to find him standing in the doorway, sipping his third iced long black of the week. He raised an eyebrow at you, his gaze playful but steady.
âYou do,â you insisted.
You didnât hesitate. âYou want them chronologically or alphabetically?â
He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he sauntered into the room, sinking into the chair across from you.
âAre you nervous?â he asked, his voice softer now, less teasing, more genuine.
You stared at your notebook, the words on the page blurring into the background. âI donât know what I am.â
There was a long pause, and then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke again. âThis isnât forever.â
You looked up at him, your chest tightening in a way you hadnât anticipated. The words hit harder than you expected.
âWeâre not doomed to this,â he said, his tone softer now, almost like he was trying to convince himself.
âI know,â you said quietly, your heart beating a little faster.
âWeâre not... us,â he added, his gaze searching yours for something that wasnât there.
You nodded, your throat tightening.
But something in the air shifted. There was a sharp, aching sting in the quiet between you, something that made it feel more real than you were ready for. Because maybe, just maybe, part of you wanted it to be real. Wanted it to be something uncalculated, something unearned, something that wasnât just your job, your duty, your obligation.
And that thought, no matter how much you tried to dismiss it, stayed with you, lingering like an unsolved puzzle.
Later that night, it rained.
You stood outside the gallery, the sky falling sideways. Youâd forgotten your umbrella.
Hyunjin appeared beside you, silent, and handed you his.
âYouâll get soaked,â you said.
He shrugged. âBeen through worse.â
You didnât thank him. Just tightened your grip and stared ahead.
He lingered for a beat too long.
Then stepped into the storm.
His silhouette blurred and vanished down the street.
And you stood there, holding the umbrella heâd left behind, watching the sky come undone.
For the first time since this all began, you wondered if you'd made a mistakeânot because of the risk. Not even because of the lie.
But because somewhere along the way, the rules were already starting to blur.
And Saturday was almost here.
_______________________________
The chapel was small, quiet, with ivy trailing down its stone walls like the delicate strokes of old poetry. The air was thick with the scent of eucalyptus and something warm, something sunlit, like wood drying after a storm.
âLook happier, youâre getting married,â Felix said, snapping him out of his thoughts. His voice was light, teasing, but with that ever-present note of concern.
âIâm happy,â he replied, offering a small smile. It was enough to satisfy Felix, who turned back to snapping photos of the chapel with a soft hum of approval.
This was it. He repeated the words in his head, though they felt heavyâŠtoo heavy. He was getting married. No, he was getting into a fake marriage with his boss. For two years. The more he thought about it, the more it made his legs feel like they were losing feeling, as though the ground had turned to liquid beneath him.
His eyes scanned the room. Where was she? She was late.
Maybe the nerves had gotten to her too, he thought, trying to ease the discomfort creeping in. No. She was the infamous, cold-hearted director of the gallery, Ms. Y/N. If anyone had control over their nerves, it was her. Or so heâd thought. The thought of her waiting outside made him feel more unsettled.
With a sigh, he pulled out his phone, beginning to scroll through his contacts, but just as he was about to tap a name, a sudden flash of white caught his eye. He turned quickly, watching her run in through the church door. She was barefoot, her heels in one hand, her dress, a mid-sized, satin white gown, flowing behind her in the way only a dress meant for a wedding could. She was breathless, her cheeks flushed with a mix of exhaustion and embarrassment.
She doubled over, trying to catch her breath, and he couldn't move. His eyes stayed fixed on her.
This woman. His boss. The woman who, in every moment of their professional life together, had always held an air of unshakable control. But now? Now she was human. Beautiful. The kind of beautiful he hadnât expected to see, not like this. Sure, he had seen her in elegant gowns at gallery openings and charity events, but this? This was different. This was their wedding. Her wedding, to him.
And for some reason, it made his heart ache, a familiar ache that had been building over the last week, each passing day making it harder to ignore.
He snapped out of his thoughts, shaking his head for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
She straightened up, looking at him with a sheepish smile. âSorry Iâm late. My car broke down, I had to take the subway as I couldn't find a taxi on timeâ she rambled.Â
âItâs alrightâ he said, forcing his voice to steady. âThe official is here, and Felix is here. Weâre just waiting for the ceremony to begin.â
She nodded and moved to sit next to him, quickly slipping her heels back on with an effort that seemed to take her mind off her racing heart.
âYou ready?â she asked, her voice a little softer now, more genuine.
He wasnât. Not even close. But he couldnât tell her that.
She studied him quietly, her eyes dropping to his hands.
âYouâre trembling.â
He quickly pulled his hands behind his back, trying to mask it. âIâm fine.â
âNo, youâre spiraling,â she said, stepping closer. Her gaze didnât waver, and he could see that she wasnât concerned in the way a friend might be. This was her usual, calm, detached way of handling things, but there was something steady about it now. Something grounding.
âDonât pass out. Thatâs a lot of paperwork,â she added with a small smile, her words light but full of the practical concern that only she could offer.
He let out a breath, almost a laugh, and met her eyes again. Something in her expression softened. She wasnât as unreadable as usual. Calm, yes. But not distant. Like if he fell, sheâd be there to catch him. Sure, sheâd probably roll her eyes while doing it, but she'd catch him.
She was close now, and the warmth between them felt almost like a secret, like something neither of them was ready to acknowledge.
âItâs not too late,â she said, her voice quieter now. âWe can run. Stage a mugging. Pretend we were abducted by aliens.â
He blinked, caught off guard by her words. âYou think aliens would take us both?â
Her lips curved into a smirk. âYou, definitely. Me? Maybe if theyâre into tortured artists.â
He raised an eyebrow. âI thought you werenât tortured.â
She paused for a second, eyes narrowing slightly. âI said I wasnât dramatic. Different thing.â
His lips twitched at the familiar banter. She always knew how to make him laugh, even when the circumstances didnât call for it.
Without thinking, he took it.
She didnât walk down the aisle in the way most brides did. It wasnât necessary. There were only flashes of people and cameras, this wasnât a traditional wedding, after all. The reverend gave them both a small, understanding smile, as if he knew this wasnât a romantic union, but he was still part of the charade.
The vows were brief. Legal. No passion. She recited her words like she was reading from a script, and he did the same.
His hand shook when he took hers, and he saw that hers trembled too.
The kiss wasnât planned. It wasnât part of the contract, but neither was the sudden wedding to his twenty-five-year-old assistant, a woman who once called a $400,000 sculpture âthe rock with depression.â No, the kiss was just another checkbox. A formality, like the rings, the signatures, or this entire absurd arrangement.
He leaned in, watching her.
It was supposed to be brief. A quick peck to seal the deal.
The moment stretched, lingering longer than either of them had expected. His hand settled lightly at her waist, not possessive, but steady. Anchoring. He could feel her tremble too, just like he had.
They didnât pull away immediately. Something shifted between them in that brief, unspoken space.
And for just a second, everything else blurred.
The click of the camera. The reverendâs final words. All of it faded.
Because for a moment, neither of them was pretending.
And in that moment, he couldnât decide if it terrified him more than it thrilled him.
_______________________________
After the ceremony ended, after the legalities, the signature, and that kiss they hadnât rehearsed, they both stood outside the chapel, saying goodbye to an overly emotional Felix. Heâd hugged them both a little too tight, dabbed at his eyes like this was the ending of a romance drama, and promised to send over the photos âonce they were filtered and flawless.â
Then he was gone, the sound of his cheerful humming disappearing down the block. And just like that, the two of them were alone again. No crowd. No champagne. No reception or rice thrown in the air. Just silence, a cool Sydney evening, and the faint sound of distant traffic.
They walked side by side down the quiet street, their footsteps echoing slightly off the old stone sidewalk. It wasnât what newlyweds usually did after a wedding. There was no shared car, no honeymoon suite. No whispered plans or shy laughter. Just two people headed toward separate cabs and separate homes like colleagues ending a long workday.
But they werenât just colleagues anymore.
Not legally.
âGood job today,â they both said at the exact same time, the words overlapping.
He let out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head. âThis is it.â
âThis is the start,â she replied, but her voice was softer, almost unsure.
He glanced sideways. There it was, that furrow between her brows, the tightness around her mouth. She was worried. Probably about the immigration interview tomorrow. Sheâd been calm at the chapel, composed in front of the reverend, but now that it was just the two of them, that armor had slipped. Slightly.
He should say something. Be the steady one for once.
âThe interview will go well tomorrow,â he said after a beat, his voice low and certain. âIf youâre worried.â
She didnât answer right away. Just stared ahead at the empty road, lips pressing into a thin line. Then, finally, a nod. âLetâs hope soâ she said, offering a small smile that didnât quite reach her eyes.
Another silence stretched between them, comfortable and heavy at the same time.
Her cab arrived first. A silver sedan pulling up with a soft rumble of the engine. She turned to him, her expression unreadable again, something caught between fatigue and something else he couldnât quite place.
âIâll see you tomorrow,â she said, voice quiet.
âYeah. See you tomorrow, wifey,â he replied, trying for levity. It came out a little more tender than teasing.
âThanks, hubby,â she said, too tired to roll her eyes but playing along anyway. Her smile lingered for a second longer this time.
He watched her gather the hem of her gown, lifting it carefully off the sidewalk to avoid the edges of the street grime. She slid into the cab with a soft thud, her body folding in like sheâd been running on adrenaline all day and it had finally worn off. Through the glass, she looked at him again. No words, just a wave. Small. Hesitant.
He waved back, hand raised halfway. She closed the door.
The cab pulled away slowly, tail lights disappearing down the road, and suddenly the street felt much emptier than before.
He stood there for a while longer than he meant to, staring after her even when she was gone. Then he reached into his pocket for his phone, checked the time, and let out a sigh.
And tomorrow, theyâd have to convince a government officer that this was real.
He just hoped it wouldnât be harder to fake now that something inside him didnât feel fake at all.
With one last glance down the street, he turned and walked toward his own cab, the eucalyptus-scented air still clinging to his clothes like memory.
_______________________________
The waiting room was beige. Aggressively beige.
You sat side by side on cracked leather chairs while a digital clock ticked far too loud and a fluorescent light flickered overhead like it was interrogating you before the interview even began.
A tall officer with a clipboard appeared at the doorway.
âY/N L/N and Hyunjin Hwang?â
He led you down a corridor into a small, windowless room.
Inside were two officers: one older woman with sharp eyes and a presence that filled the room, and a younger man who looked a little lost in her shadow. No smiles from either. It was clear who was in charge.
Just clipped greetings and the sound of a tape recorder clicking on.
âThis interview is being recorded,â the woman said. âYouâve applied for a Partner Visa Subclass 820, with Hyunjin Hwang as your sponsor.â
âMrs. L/N & Mr. Hwang.â
Another officer, different suit, same fog-colored tone, led you down a second hallway into a sterile room with a table, two chairs, and a camera mounted to the ceiling.
Just two pens. Two files. And one giant lie.
_______________________________
The lead officer had the kind of face that gave away nothing.
Not cruelty. Not curiosity. Just⊠silence.
âWeâll be recording this conversation,â she said. âAnswer honestly. Any deliberate omissions or contradictions will impact the results of your application.â
Hyunjin nodded beside you. His leg was still bouncing. You wanted to reach for it. Steady him. Steady yourself.
You didnât.
She opened a folder. âWhere did you meet?â
âSolstice Arts Gallery,â Hyunjin added. âShe was my boss.â
âShe still is,â you muttered.
âCute,â the officer deadpanned. âAnd when did the romantic relationship begin?â
You hesitated. âAround⊠September?â
âAugust,â Hyunjin said at the same time.
She made a mark on her form.
You forced a laugh. âHeâs better with dates.â
âSheâs better with moods,â Hyunjin shot back.
The officer didnât react.
_______________________________
The questions came faster than expected.
Your first trip together. What side of the bed you sleep on. Who does the dishes. The name of Hyunjinâs shampoo. Your favorite type of flower.
âLilies,â he said. âShe hates roses. Thinks theyâre clichĂ©.â
You looked at him. â...Thatâs actually correct.â
âOf course it is,â he muttered.
âHer middle name?â the officer asked.
âEliseâ Hyunjin answered without missing a beat.
You blinked. âYou remembered that?â
âI forget things. Not you.â
It sounded too soft. Too close. Like it came from the wrong place in his chest.
You turned back to the officer.
âMiss L/N, your visa renewal request was filed three days before the marriage application.â
âYes,â you said. âMy work visa was expiring. I needed a new path to stay.â
âAnd this marriage,â she said slowly, âappeared, very suddenlyâŠjust in time.â
âIt wasnât planned that way.â
She gave you a long, unreadable look. âYouâve lived in Sydney for nearly five years, yet have no local emergency contacts, no immediate family, and minimal social records outside of your workplace.â
âMy parents passed away a long time ago. I moved here after uni.â
âNo roommates? No personal references outside the gallery?â
You didnât answer fast enough.
âAnd the wedding, organized in five days, without family or friends present. Minimal guest list. No reception.â
She clicked her pen. âConvenient.â
They split you up halfway through.
Hyunjin was taken to another room. You stayed behind.
Your chair felt smaller without him beside you.
âHow long has he lived with you?â she asked.
You scrambled. âTwo weeks. NoâŠten days.â
âWhat color are his bedsheets?â
You blinked. âDark green?â
âWrong,â she said. âHe said navy.â
âWhatâs the name of his mother?â
You paused. âHe⊠doesnât talk about her much.â
She stared at you. âHe gave us her name. And number.â
_______________________________
Meanwhile, in the next room, Hyunjin was unraveling.
He looked calm, back straight, voice steady, but his mind kept replaying every time he almost reached for your hand. Every time he almost kissed you like it meant something.
He hated how close the truth felt. Like a lit match near dry paper.
âWhat does she do when sheâs stressed?â the officer asked.
âShe makes tea,â he said. âBut never drinks it.â
âWhatâs her worst habit?â
âShe stays too late at work. Tries to fix everything herself. Thinks that if she lets go for even a second, the world will fall apart.â
The officer scribbled something.
âHow many siblings does she have?â
_______________________________
They brought you back into the same room after an hour that felt like a week.
The officer closed her folder with a sharp clap.
âYour answers were inconsistent.â
âYou contradicted yourselves on multiple domestic details. Anniversary dates. Sleeping arrangements. Family.â
You felt Hyunjin shift beside you.
âThere are red flags in your timeline. The speed of the marriage. The lack of documented history. The proximity to your visa expiration.â
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
âIt doesnât feel natural.â
âIt was complicated,â you said quietly. âBut itâs real.â
You couldnât answer that.
âAt this time,â she said, âwe are not convinced this is a legitimate relationship.â
The words landed like ice water.
âBut,â she added, âthis isnât a final decision.â
You looked up, hopeful. Too hopeful.
âYouâll be placed under a six-month observation period. Home checks. Surprise visits. Digital audits. Weâll also be contacting your employers, coworkers, and known family members.â
You barely heard her say, âYou may go.â
You walked out on autopilot.
_______________________________
Not in a peaceful way, just empty enough for the air to feel tense. Artificial. Like the silence was watching them too. Like it had taken a seat at their table.
Hyunjin sat across from her, elbows resting on the cool laminate, tie loosened, collar tugged open like he couldnât breathe right. His blazer was somewhere behind him, probably slipping off the back of the chair, but he didnât bother turning around to check.
He kept folding a sugar packet between his fingers. Crease, flip, crease. Again and again.
The paper had softened from the heat of his hands. It was pointless, a stupid nervous habit. But it gave him something to focus on. Something that wasnât the hollow look in her eyes or the buzz of dread still crawling under his skin.
She hadnât said a word since they walked in.
Not about the way the immigration officerâs stare had lingered too long.
Not about the failed answers. Not about the holes in the story.
Not about the final words delivered like a verdict: âYouâll be monitored for six months.â
He didnât need to look up to know she was still gripping her coffee cup like it might save her.
Like if she let it go, the whole thing would collapse.
Her hands were probably burning, but she held it tighter anyway.
Hyunjin broke first.
His voice was low, almost apologetic.
âIt couldâve gone a lot worse.â
She let out a soundâsomewhere between a breath and a laugh. Bitter. Detached.
It didnât reach her eyes.
âYeah. Well. I tanked it anyway.â
He looked up at her then.
Her head was tilted slightly downward, lashes casting soft shadows beneath her eyes. She wouldnât meet his gaze. Her fingers were trembling.
He hated that.
Hated that she was the one shaking, that she was the one shouldering all the blame.
Like she hadnât saved his job. Like he hadnât looked her in the eye and agreed to this mess.
He was the one whoâd said yes.
He couldâve walked away. He shouldâve.
âIâm sorry,â he said.
She blinked like she wasnât expecting it. âFor what?â
âFor dragging you into this.â
Her eyes finally found his.
Still tired. Still defensive. But softer, for just a second.
âHyunjin,â she said, voice thin. âI dragged you into this.â
He gave a small shrug, voice quieter this time.
âYeah. But I let you.â
The words hung there, suspended between them like the rest of the conversation they werenât having.
She turned her head, gaze drifting to the window beside them.
Outside, a woman in a blazer was laughing into her phone. A couple crossed the street, fingers intertwined, sipping iced drinks like they had all the time in the world.
She looked tired. Not physically, though the dark smudges under her eyes said otherwise. No, this was something deeper. That bone-deep weariness people carry when theyâve been surviving too long.
âWeâre gonna have to live together now,â she murmured.
He nodded slowly, still watching the empty chair next to her instead of her face.
âThatâs one side of it.â
The other sides whispered at the edge of his thoughtsâthe rules, the check-ins, the pretending.
Smiling in front of strangers. Memorizing a script. Lying to his family.
Acting like he was in love with her, when sometimesâquietly, secretlyâhe wondered if maybe it wasnât all an act anymore.
She shifted again, one foot curling under the chair like she wanted to disappear into it.
He hated that she looked like she wanted to vanish.
And even more, he hated that he didnât know how to make this easier for her.
The silence came back, pulled a chair up to their table again.
Outside, the world kept spinning.
People walked by with their coffees, their to-do lists, their simple lives.
But for them, something had shifted.
No reset. No do-over.
And it already felt like forever.
ââââââââââââââ
@tsunderelino @linofthelace @necrozica @vixensss @ @girlblogger-04 @my-neurodivergent-world @t1eekn0wsaurus @casperlynn23 @edevotion
