Miss Move On Meets Mr. Arranged

The screeching tires came first. Then the blinding headlights. Then the silence. Zenobia stood frozen on the cracked sidewalk, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might break through her ribs and change the course of events. But it never did. “Xavy!” she screamed into the cold night air, but her voice was swallowed by the city’s endless hum. He turned to look at her — that familiar half-smile, always too calm, like nothing bad could ever touch him — and then the car hit. Metal slammed against metal. Glass shattered like fragile dreams. And just like that… he was gone. “XAVY!” she gasped, jolting awake with a start, drenched in sweat, heart pounding like she had just run a marathon. Her sheets twisted around her legs, cold against her skin. Same nightmare. Same scream. Same empty bed. She sat there for a moment, clutching the thin cotton sheet, trying to slow her ragged breathing. The echoes of the crash still rang loud in her ears, like it had just happened — not five years ago. Five years. She rubbed her eyes and pushed herself up, her legs weak and trembling. The small studio apartment was quiet, except for the distant sirens and occasional blaring horn of New York traffic outside her window. The city that never sleeps. Neither did she, apparently. The digital clock on the stove read 3:27 a.m. Perfect time for a nightmare that would ruin whatever sleep she could get. Zenobia shuffled toward the kitchenette, poured a glass of water, and took a long, shaky sip. Her hands trembled, and for a moment, she allowed herself to wonder if the pain ever really left. Maybe it was just hiding, waiting for the night to remind her. She stared out the window at the city’s endless glow. Neon signs flickered, yellow taxis zipped by, and the hum of life kept going like nothing had changed. She had come here to start over — a fresh life thousands of miles away from the memories that haunted her. New job, new apartment, new city. New people who didn’t know her story. But the problem with running away wasn’t that the past followed. It was that it stayed inside her, like a ghost that never rested. Her phone buzzed loudly on the counter, making her jump. She wiped her hands on her jeans and picked it up. “Mom” — the name flashing on the screen pulled a tired sigh from her lips. It was 3:28 a.m. What could her mother possibly want at this hour? With a mixture of dread and curiosity, she answered. “Mom? Is everything okay?” “Good morning, sweetie!” Her mother’s voice was bright and chipper, the exact opposite of how Zenobia felt. “Or, well, good evening over there? Anyway, I have great news!” Zenobia sighed, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. “Unless the great news is that you’re finally canceling the arranged marriage thing, I’m not interested.” “Actually, it’s better than that,” her mother said quickly. “You’re finally going to meet him.” Zenobia blinked, confusion mixing with exhaustion. “Meet who?” “Your fiancé, of course!” Her mom sounded like she was announcing a prize at a game show. “The one I told you about years ago — the son of our family friend, Jared King. Very handsome, very successful, and very ready to settle down.” Zenobia almost dropped her phone. “Mom, I’m still trying to function like a normal human being, and now you want me to play fiancée to some stranger?” “It’s been five years, Zen,” her mother said, softer now. “You didn’t just pause your life — you’ve been stuck in it. Maybe it’s time to give yourself a chance to move forward.” Zenobia groaned and pressed her forehead against the cool wall. “You know I don’t believe in arranged marriages, right?” “This isn’t about belief. It’s about you opening your heart again. I’m not asking you to marry him. Just meet him. Spend time. See if there’s something real. And maybe,” her voice cracked a little, “maybe you’ll smile again.” Damn it. The soft voice always got her. “…Fine,” Zenobia muttered, the weight of her mother’s hope pressing down on her. “I’ll come. But only because I’m bored out of my mind. Not because I’m ready for anything.” “Deal!” Her mother’s laughter was a warm balm. “Your flight’s already booked. I’ll send you the details. Just come home, Zen. We all miss you.” The line went dead, and Zenobia stared at the phone as if it had betrayed her. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t healed. But she was going home. The thought both terrified and exhausted her. The next morning, Zenobia woke to gray skies and the hum of New York coming alive beneath her window. She dressed quietly, packed a small suitcase, and looked around the apartment one last time. The familiar, lonely silence greeted her like an old friend. Five years ago, she never imagined she’d be leaving this city to return to a life she thought she’d left behind forever. But sometimes, the past has a way of catching up — even when you run halfway around the world.