Arranged marriage

I always thought I’d have a say in my life, in my future. I thought I’d choose who I loved, who I wanted to spend forever with… until the day my mom dropped the bomb. “You’re getting married.” Just like that. No warning, no discussion, no option to say no. The man? I don’t even know him. Not his face, not his voice, not the way he laughs or gets angry. All I know is that he’s the “perfect match” according to my family—wealthy, respected, and approved by everyone who matters except me. And suddenly, my life isn’t mine anymore. People keep saying, “You’ll get used to it. You’ll like him once you meet him.” But what if I don’t? What if marriage feels like a trap instead of a promise? What if this stranger, this future husband I’ve never met, isn’t the person I’m supposed to love? Still, somewhere deep inside, a tiny spark of curiosity refuses to die. Maybe he’s not just some perfect stranger. Maybe he’s someone I could understand… maybe even like. Maybe life isn’t only about rules and expectations; maybe it’s about moments you never saw coming, glances that catch you off guard, and laughter that makes you forget everything else. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The words kept spinning in my head like a broken record: “You’re getting married.” I had imagined a lot of things about my life—college, friends, maybe even a cute guy who liked me back—but marriage? To a stranger? Not once. The next morning, my mom called me into the living room. She was sipping her coffee like it was just another day. Like announcing my life was being handed away was nothing. “He’s coming today,” she said casually. My stomach dropped. He? The stranger? I nodded, trying to act calm, but my hands were shaking. The whole house seemed too quiet. Even the birds outside were quiet, like they were judging me. And then the doorbell rang. My heart practically hit the floor. I ran to open it, trying to look casual, like I wasn’t about to meet the guy I was supposed to marry. There he was—tall, dark-haired, with eyes so sharp it felt like he could see every stupid thought I had. “Hi,” I said, my voice too high-pitched. Why did I even say hi? I barely knew him. “Hello,” he replied, calm and polite, but there was something… intimidating about him. Something that made me want to run away, but also made me want to know him. We walked into the living room. Mom was already seated, smiling like she had just won some secret victory. Dad gave a quick nod. I tried to sit down, but my legs were shaking so much I almost fell. “So… this is her,” Rayan said, finally looking at me. His voice was soft but firm, commanding attention without even trying. I nodded, fumbling with my hands. “Uh… yes. That’s me.” For a moment, no one spoke. The air was heavy, filled with tension and expectation. I wanted to ask questions—so many questions—but my throat went dry. What do you even ask someone you’re supposed to spend your life with but barely know? Dinner was… awkward. Every clink of cutlery felt ridiculously loud. I caught Rayan looking at me once or twice, and each time my stomach did a weird flip. Why did it feel like my life was changing with every glance he gave? After dinner, he excused himself politely and left. I could finally breathe. Mom’s satisfied smile made me more nervous than relieved. Clearly, she thought everything went perfectly. That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. My life felt like it had been rewritten in a single day. And somehow, I had to figure out how to survive it. Not just survive—maybe even… navigate it. Carefully. Because one thing was clear: I didn’t know him, not at all. But somehow, I had a feeling meeting him was only the beginning.