I took the soapy cups from the sink, rinsed them, and dried them with a paper towel.
“Thank you! Rentarō-san, you’re so fast at everything.”
“No, this is normal.”
I swallowed the words you’re just too slow.
With the precision of a master barista handpicking coffee beans, Otoha carefully scooped the tea leaves into the pot.
Then, she poured the hot water—slowly, cautiously, in small dribbles.
Drip, drip. Drip, drip.
She let the tea steep.
Then, just as carefully, she poured it into the cups, alternating between them in tiny amounts.
Drip, drip. Drip, drip.
Drip, drip. Drip, drip.
Drip…
Oh, for the love of—!!!
(S-S-SO SLOW!!!)
I barely stopped myself from grabbing my head and screaming.
What the hell is this?!
What is this never-ending stretch of eternity?!
And another thing—
What’s with all these stupid sound effects?!
First pat-pat, now drip-drip…
Why does everything Otoha does come with such absentminded little noises?!
Are we living on different time axes?
Does even the flow of tea differ between her and me?
Is this some kind of overlapping parallel world?
I’m someone who schedules every minute, keeps up with global economic and political trends, and enjoys intellectual conversations with my partner.
So why am I sitting here, being tormented by childish sound effects like pat-pat and drip-drip?!
And her precious teapot…
It’s just a plain white thing, slightly misshapen.
The cups are slightly lopsided too, with a rough texture.
I suppose you could call it “charming” if you really tried…
But is this really cute?
I don’t understand her definition of cute at all.
Maybe artists have an entirely different sense of aesthetics.
I just can’t figure her out.
I can’t relate to anything she does.
What am I supposed to do now?
Can a marriage registration be voided?
Can I claim I was drunk and made a mistake?
I’ve married a different species.
And on the very first day of our marriage—
I was already thinking about how to annul it.
◇
Clatter-clatter.
Clatter… clatter…
Clatter… clatter… clatter…
The next morning, I woke up to yet another bizarre sound effect.
Last night, after eating our convenience store bentos, we had hurried to set up a sleeping space.
Otoha had wiped down the bedroom floor (pat-pat, pat-pat), while I assembled the bed.
I had simply brought over the double bed I had used when I was single.
I felt bad for Otoha, since it was our honeymoon, but everything had happened too fast—I hadn’t had time to buy new furniture.
Technically, it was our wedding night.
But I wasn’t sure what to do.
If I really wanted to annul this marriage, it would be best not to complicate things.
But ignoring her completely also seemed rude.
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