A newly married couple lay in bed, the quiet hum of the night filling the room. The man, his curiosity getting the best of him, turned to his wife and asked softly, “How many men have you slept with before me?”The question hung heavy in the air. The woman didn’t move. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, her lips still. He waited, thinking she might just need a moment, but the silence stretched on.After a minute, he spoke again, trying to sound casual. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, forcing a smile. “I just want to know. You can tell me. How many men have you been with?”

Still, no answer. She remained motionless, her eyes open, staring blankly above. The man began to shift uneasily, his curiosity turning into confusion. “Honey?” he asked again. “Why won’t you answer me?”Her silence was louder than any reply. The man sighed, glancing around the dimly lit room, unsure what to make of her behavior. Then, faintly, he thought he heard something — a whisper, a soft murmur under her breath. He leaned closer, but she wasn’t speaking to him.Her lips were moving slightly, almost rhythmically, as if she were counting… silently, one number after another.The realization hit him slowly — she wasn’t ignoring him. She was still counting.