"Tread and Lies." Kassan murmured, soft and faint. Her fingertips moved across the piano keys, feeling them in every nerve she had that night. A thin ray of moonlight pressed through the delicate curtains of the darkened room. Her gaze stayed fixed on the sheet music propped before her — a title breathing there: Tread and Lies.
Her foot shifted to the una corda. Her fingers followed the notes. A soft melody drifted through the air like a second weight. "What if I told you I was a lie?" she hummed alongside.
Her foot moved to the sustain pedal. The melody swelled — fuller, longer. She poured herself into something invisible, fingers pressing deeper into the keys. The room felt like a kind of suffocation. As though some part of her wasn't sure of her own existence.
Then —
The doors flew open. Hard. The melody vanished. Her fingers hung in the air, and she looked toward the disruption. Sy walked in, carrying whatever was left of her patience, and slammed her hand down on the fallboard.
A jarring clash of notes rang out.
"Enough!" Sy screamed. Kassan stared at her, stunned. "What happened, babe?" she said softly, reaching for her shoulders — but Sy stepped back immediately, out of her reach.
"This isn't the time for your music practice, Kassan! I can't sleep! So please—!" Her voice gave out on the last word.
Kassan just looked at her, emptied out. Like a body with nothing left inside it. "What do you expect a pianist to do when she can't sleep either?" Her voice nearly gave way. "Isn't music the one thing she reaches for?" she said — barely above a whisper.
"So what? That doesn't mean you get to ruin everyone else's sleep just because you can't manage yours." Sy's voice still carried the coldness from dinner. Sharp as ice. "I'm not ruining anyone's sleep, babe." Kassan said, defensive now.
"You are, Kassan." Sy dragged the words out.
"You're ruining mine." She said it again — same raw edge. Perhaps not destructive tonight, but close. "But I want to sleep too. I—"
"Then go to your room, close your eyes, and sleep, Kassan." Sy pressed her back against the piano lid, both hands blocking her at the waist. "I'm not pleased with your behavior, Ngawang Sy." Kassan said it quietly — but the weight was there.
Sy let out a brief, humorless laugh, and then her expression went flat. She leaned forward and Kassan stepped back.
"Listen to me, my wife. I have meetings and your entire schedule to manage. I don't want your music getting in the way of that — do you understand?" Her smile had never been warm.
She walked out, banging the door behind her. Kassan stayed behind in the silence, fingers sliding over one another, anxiety settling in like a second breath. She exhaled heavily, head tipping back.
"Why doesn't she understand what's going on in my head?" Kassan muttered, before finally walking out.
•••
"You look terrible — those dark circles.
Haven't you been sleeping, Ms. Kassandreau?" James studied her face, reaching toward her swollen eyelids. She blinked at him lazily and groaned, "I haven't, James." She collapsed against his shoulder with full dramatic commitment. "Please — book a spa appointment."
"Ah. Your golden ticket to heaven."
"Exactly, man."
"Right away." He eased her toward the car — but before he could get her inside, a sharp voice cut through.
"Where are you taking her, James?" He looked up. Sy stood on the balcony, black coffee in hand, expression giving nothing away. "Um — to the spa, Ms. Ngawang." He replied.
"Is that so? I don't remember giving permission for that." The coldness rang clear. James swallowed and glanced at Kassan, who looked as stunned as he felt.
"What did you say?" Kassan straightened, voice rising.
"If you can't hear me, ask me to repeat it. Now get inside — you're not going anywhere." Sy said, and turned back in. Kassan slammed the car door. "I'm done with her!" James flinched. Kassan stormed inside, left with no other choice.
"I told you not to marry your artist manager — but I recall what you said back then." James murmured at her shoulder, maintaining his composure as Sy's footsteps sounded on the stairs.
"Don't make me recall that. I regret it most days." Kassan muttered roughly. He exhaled through his nose, glancing sideways at her.
"Why do you need a spa? Is something bothering you?" Sy asked, walking in. "No. Just mental rejuvenation." Kassan replied, not bothering with eye contact.
Sy caught the reluctance in her — the way she held herself away from the conversation. "Oh, you care so deeply about rejuvenation?" she said, dry and mocking.
"Yes, I do. Is that a problem?" Kassan replied quickly. Sy took her chin and turned her head toward her — steady, deliberate, no force needed. "Yes, it is. So do the things that don't bother me." Her tone went low and raw. No pressure, no volume — and yet Kassan felt the full weight of it. Her pupils wavered. She swallowed instead of arguing back.
Sy settled into the sofa in the living room, one leg crossed over the other, iPad in hand. "I've rescheduled your performance to the 24th of August." she said.
That was the last of it. "How could you do that? You should have asked me first, Sy!" Kassan's voice broke open.
"What are you raising your voice for? It's only a month away — be grateful I gave you a month to prepare further." Sy pushed back.
"This isn't about the gap, Sy. I've been preparing for this for six months and you just — rescheduled it? Just like that?" Every part of Kassan felt like it was coming apart. A quiet, subtle betrayal.
"I'm not performing on the 24th of August." Kassan said, cold and final. Sy looked up and declared, "You will, Kassan. I'll make sure of it." Same tone. Exact same weight.
Silence stretched across the dining table.
Neither of them said a word. James sat between them like a stone filled with regret, not uttering a syllable — because in a couple's argument, no one else gets a turn.
He had learned that principle well. Kassan had taught him.
The sound of cutlery was unnaturally loud. Sy sat straight, calm, composed. Kassan chewed mechanically, uninterested in the food. Sy noticed — but didn't try to change the mood. Instead,
"James, serve her the mashed potatoes." Sy ordered. James nodded and moved to lift the pan lid. The smell hit immediately — sharp and garlicky. He looked at Kassan, blank-faced. She was holding herself very still, fingers curled against the tablecloth. "Um — are you sure, Ms. Ngawang?"
"Do I need to repeat myself, James?" Sy said simply. "I don't like truffle oil." Kassan said, quietly. She set her fork down.
Sy froze. Her hand stopped mid-air, fork still in the stew. Her gaze snapped to Kassan. For a fraction of a second she seemed to forget how to breathe. James felt the tension pressing in from all sides. In Kassan, something had been building for a long time, and it had just found its edge.
"Is it so difficult to remember a few things I dislike, Ngawang?" For the first time, Kassan had called her by her surname alone. "I — I've been so caught up in work that I forgot—" Kassan cut her off.
"Forgot that I don't like truffle oil?"
She stood, and the wave broke. She walked straight out of the mansion, the doors crashing behind her. James was on his feet before Sy could even react.
Sy sat with her head in her hands. "What have I done?" she whispered, coming apart at the edges.
"Ms. Kassandreau!" James caught up to her outside. She didn't slow down. He reached for her arm and pulled her to a stop. "Ms. Kassandreau — just stop. Please."
He caught his breath. He watched her, and she didn't fight him. "You were right, James. I shouldn't have married her." Kassan said, grief settling across her face. "Don't say that. I was only joking back then." He replied immediately.
"It felt realistic to me, James." "It isn't, Ms. Kassandreau. Every marriage has arguments and misunderstandings — that's part of it.
You're supposed to stay in it and love your partner the same way you did before." James said. But the threads holding their love together had come a little looser.
"How am I supposed to endure this, James? She isn't the person I fell in love with. Not the person I married." The grief came through in every word. James looked at her with quiet empathy. "Things fall apart — but you have to try to find the person you used to love. They don't disappear; they get buried under the pressure. It's the work that covers them." He tried to reassure her.
"How?! Tell me how, James?!" She threw her hands up. "Have you seen her lately? She doesn't give a damn about me anymore!" Her breath came out ragged. Her eyes moved through the darkening street, hollow. "Am I just something to manage to her? Something without feelings?"
"Maybe she's under pressure. Being a Director of Talent isn't easy—" James started. "I'm talking about myself. My feelings, James. Stop defending her." She cut him off. James flinched at the shift.
"Because you're not trying to understand why she's behaving this way — you're only reacting to how she's behaving. Be logical, Ms. Kassandreau!" He raised his voice back — and then caught himself, going still.
"Enough. Take her side again and I'm done with you too." Kassan said, voice stretching low and cold. James gave a brief nod, swallowing it down.
"Don't speak from the pain right now. Give yourself some space — you might find the answer on your own, Ms. Kassandreau." he replied.
A moment passed between them. The silence grew. Kassan sank into her own thoughts and James watched her. "Let's go." Kassan said finally.
James raised a brow. "Where?"
"I know you're hungry." She replied without hesitation. "No, Ms. Kassandreau — I'm fine." James said.
"I'm hungry, James." Her voice came low and sharp. James nodded immediately.
"Let's go."