The date was fixed on a Tuesday afternoon.
Not with excitement.
Not with shouting.
Just with two mothers sitting across from each other and agreeing.
Three weeks.
Three weeks to make it official.
Three weeks before it stopped being “the situation” and became “the marriage process.”
I was upstairs when I heard my mother call my name.
“Lina!”
That tone meant come now.
I went downstairs and found Daniel’s mother seated upright on the couch, handbag on her lap, expression composed.
My mother looked calm.
Too calm.
“We have agreed,” my mother said simply.
“Agreed?” I repeated.
“Introduction,” Daniel’s mother clarified. “Three Saturdays from now.”
My heart did not jump.
It settled.
Like something that had been floating finally touched ground.
“Okay,” I said.
Both women studie
