The first snowstorm of January sealed Mira into her apartment with nothing but her research and a faint gold band hidden in a drawer. She was still “Miss Sen” to her department, still the quiet student in the second row of seminars, but at night she would receive encrypted emails from Adrian with subject lines like Budget Transfer Completed or Foundation Meeting – Need Your Signature. Each message reminded her she was someone else, too: his wife.

She tried to treat it as an equation. Variables: one year, one stipend, one secret. Control: distance. But like an unstable particle, her thoughts kept slipping into new states. She found herself imagining the weight of Adrian’s coat as he had draped it over her shoulders after the dinner, the warmth of his palm on the small of her back. Nothing graphic, just presence. It unsettled her more than she cared to admit.