Arranged Marriage To Another Juliet (GxG)—[ENGLISH VERSION]

A heart confined by duty, A future painted in another’s hand. Tears fall in silence, While love, unchosen, waits in shadow ------------ “No way. Marry me off to anyone else—just not to her.” My voice was firm, but my hands were trembling. I stood in front of Dad, even my chest felt tight, and my heart was pounding as if it already knew the answer before the words even left his mouth. “I don’t need to hear your decision,” he said coldly. “Whether you like it or not, it’s final. You’re going to marry Mr. Yuw’s daughter.” That was it. No explanation. No hesitation. He turned his back on me and walked away, leaving his words behind like a sentence carved in stone. For a moment, I couldn’t move. He’s insane. Completely insane. I’m already twenty. My life shouldn’t feel this small. It wasn’t new for Dad to parade me in front of the sons of his business partners, smiling men in tailored suits, polite conversations, hollow promises, but this time was different. This time, it felt cruel. A woman. I would rather disappear than marry a woman. Yes, a woman—someone just like me. The thought made my stomach twist. Not out of hatred, but out of fear. Fear of a life I didn’t understand, a future forced upon me without choice, without love. I didn’t even know her. I didn’t know her face, her voice, her laugh. I didn’t know anything—but my entire future was being handed to her. If Mom were still alive, this wouldn’t have happened. She would’ve stood between us, her soft voice firm, her hand warms on my shoulder. She would’ve told Dad to listen—to me. But Mom was gone. And so was the version of my father who used to care. I locked myself inside my room, shutting out the world, the noise, the reality waiting outside my door. The hours dragged on endlessly as I paced back and forth, my thoughts spiraling into desperation. I searched for impossible ways out—escape, rebellion, disappearance. Anything. "Damn it. I don’t even know that woman," I muttered, the words barely surviving the weight of my own breath. I’ve never seen her in person. Never imagined myself loving another woman, sharing a bed, sharing a name, sharing a life. The thought felt foreign, unsettling. How would we even have children? I froze. Why was I even thinking that far ahead? My chest tightened as I realized how trapped I already was—planning a future I didn’t want, in a life I never chose. A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. “Zyhra…” It’s Tess. The moment I opened the door, I broke. I buried my face in her shoulder, my tears soaking into her blouse. Tess had been with me for as long as I could remember—long before the house became quiet, long before grief settled into its walls. She had been the one who held me when Mom passed, the one who stayed when everything else fell apart. She’s not my biological mother, but in her late fifties, she has been a constant presence in my life, “My dear,” she whispered, stroking my hair. “Cry if you need to.” “Tess… I don’t know what’s happening to Dad,” I sobbed. “This time, it’s worse. He wants me to marry a woman.” She sighed softly, not in judgment, but in sadness. “I’ll talk to Landro,” she said gently. “But for now, try to listen to him. Your father wouldn’t do this without a reason. Sometimes… parents carry burdens they don’t know how to share.” “Why won’t he tell me, then?” I asked, my voice breaking. She hesitated before answering. “Your dad is waiting downstairs. He’s been waiting for a while.” “For what?” She looked at me like I had forgotten something important. “Dinner, child.” I almost laughed at myself. In the middle of everything, life still moved forward, still demanded normalcy. I told her I’d come down. I didn’t want to—but avoiding it wouldn’t change anything. I needed to face him, even if my heart felt fragile, even if I already knew I’d lose. When I finally went downstairs, Dad was stepping out of his office. I didn’t look at him. I didn’t trust myself to. We sat down to eat in silence. I didn’t even start eating; I just pushed the food around on my plate, my appetite lost in the tension hanging in the air. The clinking of utensils felt louder than words. The distance between us felt wider than the table separating us. Then he spoke. “The wedding will be next month.” Next month. Not someday. Not eventually. Next month. “Dad…” My voice trembled. “Please.” “My decision won’t change, Zyhra,” he said, tired but firm. “I hope you understand.” “What the hell, Dad?” I finally snapped. “You want me to understand everything without even explaining anything? This is my life! I’m not getting married!” I stood up, but he held my hands. I looked at him then—really looked. His face was worn, lined with stress and sleepless nights. His eyes weren’t angry. They were pleading. Desperate. Like a man drowning in something he couldn’t escape. “Please,” he whispered. “Do this for me.” And that was when my anger faded—replaced by something heavier. Pain. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I said softly, pulling my hands away. “I can’t.” I walked away without looking back. I didn’t want to see his face. I didn’t want to see my own future reflected in his eyes. I closed my bedroom door and leaned against it, sliding slowly to the floor. For the first time, I realized how lonely it felt to live in a house where love existed… but choice did not. I stayed on the floor for a long time, the cold pressing through the thin carpet and into my bones. The faint smell of dinner—roasted chicken and garlic bread, wafted up from the dining room, a cruel reminder that life was still moving on outside my bubble of despair. Tess sat on the edge of my bed, silent now, letting me breathe, letting me feel without forcing words. Occasionally, she shifted slightly, just enough to brush a hand against mine or straighten a stray strand of hair sticking to my tear-streaked face. Her presence was steady, unshakable, and it made the walls of my panic feel just a little less suffocating. I curled into myself, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to slow the racing of my mind. Why her? Why now? Why me? The questions bounced around my head, each one louder than the last. I couldn’t stop the images—two women married in a house that was supposed to be mine, a future handed to me like a gift I had never asked for. “Zyhra…” Tess’s voice was soft, coaxing. “You’re stronger than you think.” “I don’t feel strong,” I whispered back, my throat tight. “I feel… small. Trapped. Like someone else is writing my life while I’m just… here.” She didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she reached over, pulling the blanket from my bed and wrapping it around my shoulders. The warmth seeped into me, but even it couldn’t stop the ache in my chest. “Sometimes,” she said finally, her voice quiet, almost a murmur, “we don’t understand why the people we love make decisions that hurt us. But that doesn’t mean they don’t care. Your father… he’s drowning in something, Zyhra. Maybe he thinks he’s protecting you, or maybe he just doesn’t know another way.” I wanted to argue. I wanted to scream that protecting me doesn’t look like this. That love doesn’t look like forcing someone into a marriage they don’t want. But the words got stuck somewhere in my throat. I rested my head against the wall, staring at the ceiling. The shadows from the lamp flickered faintly across the room, making the corners seem larger, darker. Every corner felt like another trap, another expectation I couldn’t escape. “Can you stay with me tonight?” I asked Tess quietly, almost embarrassed by the vulnerability in my own voice. “Of course, my dear,” she said gently, patting my shoulder. “I’ll stay as long as you need me.” For a few minutes, we just sat there, the quiet settling between us like a fragile shield against the world outside. I wanted to believe that someone in this house still cared for me, still understood me. And Tess… Tess was that person. But even with her here, I knew it wouldn’t last. Tomorrow, Dad will be back, demanding compliance. Tomorrow, the reality of the wedding will creep closer. And I didn’t know if I could fight it—or if I even wanted to. I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to shut out the inevitability. Maybe there’s a way out, I thought desperately. Maybe there’s still a choice somewhere… But deep down, I knew that tomorrow, just like today, the choice wasn’t mine. “I can’t do this, Tess,” I whispered, my voice raw. “I can’t marry her. I don’t even know her. I don’t know what it means… to be married to a woman. My life isn’t supposed to feel like this.” Tess didn’t answer immediately. She simply held my hand tighter and let me spill my fear, my anger, my confusion into the silence between us. After a long pause, she spoke, her voice calm, steady. “Zyhra… life doesn’t always follow the path we imagine. Sometimes it forces us to walk roads we wouldn’t choose ourselves. But that doesn’t mean you can’t find your own way along it. Even here. Even now.” I swallowed hard, trying to keep the lump in my throat from rising. Find my own way. The words felt almost cruel, as if mocking me. How could I find my own way when every choice I thought I had already been taken from me? “I don’t even know how to start,” I admitted, my hands clenching the blanket in frustration. “How do I live in a life I didn’t choose? How do I face her, Dad, everyone… knowing that they think my future is already written?” Tess’s thumb brushed gently over the back of my hand. “Start small,” she said softly. “A single decision at a time. A single moment where you take control, even if it’s just for yourself. You don’t have to figure out the whole future at once.” I let her words sink in, and for a moment, I closed my eyes, letting myself imagine a different possibility—a life where I could choose, where my voice mattered. But the image shattered as quickly as it came, replaced by the reality waiting outside my door. The wedding invitations, the contracts, Dad’s unyielding gaze. There is no escape, my mind whispered. Yet even in the hopelessness, a small, defiant spark flickered. I could feel it in the tightness of my chest, in the way my fingers clenched the blanket. Maybe Tess was right. Maybe I could start small. A refusal, a question, a tiny act of rebellion. Something. Anything that reminded the world—and myself—that I was not powerless. I shifted slightly, leaning against Tess for support, letting the warmth anchor me. I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. I didn’t know how I could confront Dad, how I could face the woman I was being forced to marry. But for the first time since that cruel declaration, I realized that my fear didn’t have to silence me completely. Tess squeezed my hand. “I’ll be here, Zyhra. No matter what happens.” Her words settled over me like a fragile shield, giving me a moment of peace. I could cry, I could tremble, I could feel terrified—but I didn’t have to feel completely alone. For tonight, that was enough. I pressed my forehead to my knees, breathing slowly, letting the rhythm of my heartbeat remind me that I was still alive. And somewhere deep inside, beneath the fear, beneath the confusion, a quiet determination began to form. I didn’t know what I would do. I didn’t know how I would escape the path laid out for me. But I refused to let it consume me entirely. Tomorrow… tomorrow, I would start to fight. This is my story: of a woman trapped by expectations, of a life I didn’t choose, and of the quiet spark of hope I found in unexpected places. Even in fear, even in uncertainty, I am learning that the heart sometimes knows the truth before the mind can catch up.