Thalia casts a curious glance over Miguel's shoulder, her eyes catching on a guitar case snugly nestled by the bar. "You play the guitar?"

"I... I was trying to learn," he stutters, thoughts gradually gathering like scattered leaves. "Hold on, Thalia. We need to talk about this."

He heaves a deep sigh as he clasps her right wrist, and without fully releasing her, he probes, "What made you change your mind?"

"Change my mind? I told you I was going to think about it."

"I feel like something happened."

"It doesn't matter. You're aware of my predicament. Isn't that why you made the offer?" she questions, eyebrows meeting, gaze flickering to his indoor clothes—matching blue plaid pajamas. "I don't know why I assumed you'd still look so well-dressed at home. Nice pajamas."

Miguel blushes in embarrassment, but the urgency of the matter redirects his focus. "That is why I offered it. But you... You cried," he murmurs. "Why did you cry?"

Thalia hesitates. Miguel lifts his other hand, wiping away a single tear—almost dry, yet still shimmering against her skin. "Thalia, tell me."

Stepping back, she gulps. "Why do you need to know? I came to tell you I'm accepting the deal. That's it."

"Alright," he yields. "We'll talk about the details instead. Do you want to do it tonight? It's a little late. I don't mind, but you have an early start."

"Tomorrow, then," she replies. "After work. I'll come straight here."

"Then you have until then to say no. I won't hold you to this. You might get a clearer perspective after some sleep."

She hisses, "Why do you sound unhappy and unsure?"

"I'm not. You are," he states, drawing closer. "I extended the deal, somewhat aware of what you're going through. I really want to help you."

Thalia heaves a sigh. "Will I really be of any use to you?"

Miguel manages to sense her doubts and answers, "Of course. Do you think I'd enter a loveless marriage without gaining anything?"

Her intense stare bores into him, seeking to dissect his innermost feelings, yet he stays collected. Thalia mumbles to herself, "A loveless marriage, huh."

"What?"

"Nothing." She marches to the closet by the door, grabs a random coat, and tosses it to Miguel. "Let's go."

"Go? Go where?"

Putting her boots on, she yawns, "My apartment. Drive me back. It's cold outside."

Miguel chuckles meekly, rushing to put on the merino coat he purchased on a trip in Milan years ago.

"What's funny?"

"Just that you used to decline whenever I offered you a ride," he notes, sliding into his waterproof boots. "And now you're bossing me around. You're already acting like the perfect wife."

The pink glow that creeps up to Thalia's neck is practically too conspicuous that she immediately pulls up her scarf to hide half her face.

"Shut up."

Driving Thalia back to her apartment takes only three minutes if Miguel manages to avoid hitting the red light. Should one appear, it might extend to four or five, but those extra moments with her feel like a pleasant indulgence to Miguel. It's a welcome treat for him.

He pulls over at the familiar parking spot that often sits empty, unofficially claimed as his own. "I won't be at the store tomorrow. I have to record some videos, do some editing."

"Can you tell me the name of your channel?"

"Why? Do you like video games?"

"No," she admits. "But I'd like to see what you do in your spare time."

Miguel suppresses a smile, clearing his throat and scratching his cheek, resolved to conceal his glee. "Um, yeah. I'll show you tomorrow. Go inside. Self-reflect. I'll wait for you, and if you don't come I'll take it as a sign that you've changed your mind."

"I won't change my mind," Thalia asserts firmly, fiddling with the fabric of her pants. "I need to take action if I want to live properly."

"Okay," Miguel responds softly. "I will see you then."

******

Miguel's day begins with the rhythmic drumming of his chest, a constant glance at the clock, and his thoughts consumed by the lingering memory of the unprecedented kiss—an experience he regrets not reciprocating properly.

He was so out of it, having just decided to talk to Thalia about the proposal, when she emerged before him obviously rattled, too. He wouldn't be surprised if she withdrew; she should regain clarity after a good night's sleep.

Hence, anxiety courses through him. Because he really likes—aherm—would like to help her. Right.

Her shift concludes at 5 PM, and factoring in the commute, she's likely to arrive around 5:20 PM. Nervously, Miguel positions himself by the kitchen island, holding a glass of cold water, his knees uncontrollably shaking. With no hint from her through a text, it's a waiting game—either she arrives or she doesn't.

As 5:30 PM arrives without a sign of Thalia, Miguel starts to feel disgruntled. What was he thinking? Who would agree to marry someone they've only spoken to for a month?

Halfway to his bedroom, a series of knocks echo through the apartment, prompting Miguel to virtually gallop to the door. Thalia, cheeks stained with red from the frigid weather, pushes past him. "That damn bus was late. It's -20 outside!"

Surprised and somewhat relieved, Miguel closes the door and assists her with hanging up her jacket. "You should've texted me. I would've picked you up."

"It's fine," she says, blowing into her hands to warm them. "Sorry, I'm late. You must've been bummed."

Miguel walks to the fridge and pours Thalia a glass of water, lips pressed together. "You wish."

She smiles. "Come on. Make me feel wanted."

They settle at the round dining table. Thalia's eyes wander around the apartment, appreciating the comfortable 22-degree room temperature.

"Um, I'll order some Chinese food for dinner. If that's cool," he offers.

"You want me to stay over for dinner?" Thalia asks.

"Yeah. If there's one cultural thing I've adopted, it's the: be hospitable and feed your guests," Miguel reasons. "But of course, you can leave if you want—"

"No, I'll eat. I'll eat, for sure. I'm so tired," she says, sighing, collapsing on the chair. "So many shipments came in today, and a lot of customers, too."

"Papa was there, wasn't he?"

"We were fully staffed. I was just assigned to inventory today. Made the time fly." Thalia nods, crossing her legs. "How was your day?"

"So-so. I did some editing," he replies. "I can show you the channel later... If you're still interested."

"I am." She leans forward, fingers intertwined, her chin resting on them easily. "Anyway, enough small talk. Let's get started?"

Miguel's muscles tauten ever so slightly, and he fidgets. Thalia senses his nerves, asking if he's sure about what he's getting into. The response is a swift yes.

Yes. He's weighed the pros and cons. The bad: Thalia might not reciprocate, leading to wasted time and well, potential... Heartbreak. The good: He has a year or more to turn the situation around, transforming the negative into a parallel universe experience. He might be able to keep the marriage.

Keep her.

"I'll put it in writing," he utters, turning his laptop on, the glow illuminating his face.

"Okay," she replies. "First, I would need my permit extended. I checked the waiting times for spousal sponsorships, and right now, it's at 12 months. I don't think we can get married right away without risking the application approval. There's a lot of proof we need to gather for the officials. Photos. Text messages. Confirmation from those around us."

"Agreed. I'll talk to my parents first. We can secure the extension, at least," Miguel answers, having researched the process himself. Immigration officers require evidence to validate the relationship, so some need to be carefully fabricated. "We have a few photos from that team building night and the Christmas party. We can say we began our secret relationship from then on. We've exchanged some text messages and phone calls since the new year. In a way, we've got about a month and a half's worth of material to present."

Thalia's shoulders relax, acknowledging Miguel's efforts to match her level of commitment. He seems to want this as much as she does, regardless of his underlying motives. However, she's not entirely convinced that his motivation is purely what he claims. His parents? Leaving the province? He doesn't need her for that.

Miguel likes her to some extent. Or maybe pities her. The latter refuses to leave her system. That he developed some sort of affinity towards her because she's a project he can work on, someone he can shelter, as if he's a savior.

She bites her tongue, nearly drawing blood. She tends to think the worst about people, but in this foreign land, she has nobody else to rely on. She can only truly rely on herself. She'll have to be shrewd and disregard her pride.

This, too, shall pass. Or something like that.

"So... With this timeline, we can plan a June or July wedding, then start the sponsorship process for a year. We're looking at approximately two and a half years."

"Including the divorce."

Miguel stops typing, shifting in his seat, before continuing, "Including the divorce."

Thalia looks out the window onto the balcony, where the view is obscured by the overcast sky and continuous snowfall. "Two years and a half..."

Miguel follows her vacant gaze. "Do you think it's too long?"

"No, time will fly fast. I gotta do what I gotta do. And hopefully, at some point, I can go back," she murmurs.

"Back?"

"Home."

He doesn't reply, knowing fully well that Thalia's home is not his home. And that she will always desire to leave.

"Miguel, thank you. I appreciate your willingness to help. And if, during the duration of this whole thing, you want to date another woman, I won't stop you. I won't take that away from you."

Miguel tightens his jaw. "Is that what you think of me? Unfaithful? A bigamist?"

"I'm just saying," she explains. "But you can't just back out, alright? You can't simply withdraw. I'm covering all processing expenses, so you can't. Write that down, please."

"We'll share it."

"No need–"

"Thalia," he cuts her off and enters another clause in their not-so-expertly-written contract.

They delve into more technicalities. When is the fifteen grand due? It may be paid in installments. The last tranche will be a month after the divorce is finalized. Will there be a ceremony? Thalia's dream is to have a church wedding, but it'll be expensive, and the circumstances demand practicality. She suggests civil. Miguel offers to pay for a small one. She insists on the former. Who moves to the other's place? Thalia. Miguel can't help but entertain fleeting daydreams about living with her, though he quickly represses them. The discussion carries on for an hour until their dinner arrives. Over the meal, the conversation becomes more relaxed, slightly personal, yet cordial.

If this is what it's going to be like, maybe the sham marriage won't be so dreadful. Thalia can dine with him. And Miguel, he's a reasonable guy. Considering everything, she's fortunate that someone like him proposed this to her. It could be someone she doesn't even want to look at.

"Come," he says, gesturing to his bedroom once all the dishes have been washed and all the containers have been disposed of.

"Huh?"

"I'll show you where all the nonsense happens."