A newlywed couple rested in their bed, the gentle murmur of the night surrounding them. The man, curiosity stirring within him, turned to his wife and asked in a hushed tone, “How many men have you been with before me?”
The question lingered in the quiet air. The woman remained still, her gaze locked on the ceiling, her lips unmoving. He waited, assuming she needed a moment to gather her thoughts, but the silence grew longer.
After a pause, he spoke again, his voice light and encouraging. “Hey, it’s fine,” he said with a warm smile. “I’d like to know. You can share it with me. How many men have you been with?”
Still, she offered no response. Her body stayed still, her eyes fixed upward, unblinking. The man shifted in bed, his curiosity giving way to puzzlement. “Sweetheart?” he asked once more. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”
Her silence spoke louder than words. The man exhaled, glancing around the softly lit room, uncertain of how to interpret her stillness. Then, he caught it — a faint sound, a quiet murmur under her breath. He leaned in closer, realizing she wasn’t addressing him.
Her lips moved subtly, almost methodically, as if she were tallying numbers in her mind, one after another.
The truth dawned on him gradually — she wasn’t ignoring his question. She was still counting.
