TRAPPED IN THE MARRIAGE GAME

CHAPTER TWO

The next morning, i woke with a dull ache behind my eyes and a heaviness in my chest. My phone buzzed endlessly on the nightstand. I groaned, reaching for it without lifting my head from the pillow.

21 unread messages.

I rubbed my eyes and opened them. The first was from my cousin:

*“OMG I saw the announcement! You're getting married?? To Zayd king ?? Rich girl moves 😍”*

Another from a classmate:

“So when’s the bachelorette party?”

And more like them.Congratulations, questions, suggestions. A few links to wedding dress accounts. One message even asked if Zayd had a brother.

i rolled onto my back, ignoring them all.

my gaze shifted toward the wall where my vision board hung.cutouts of Florence, art cafés, culinary certificates, and the words “Freedom First”pasted boldly at the top. A distant dream now.

my phone buzzed again. This time, it was my father.

Dad: Meeting with Zayd’s family is confirmed for 6 PM today. Don’t be late.

Short. Businesslike. Not even a "Good morning."

i sat up slowly, my body heavy with anxiety. This wasn’t just a conversation ,it was a meeting to finalize my life. My chest tightened.

I looked at the mirror, and on the corner, Zayneb’s sticky note from the night before still clung gently:

“Breathe. One step at a time. I love you.”

It gave me enough strength to get up.

By late afternoon, the house smelled of rosewater and sandalwood. my mother insisted everything be “graceful, not showy,” but i could see the effort fresh lilies in the corner, soft jazz playing in the background, the golden tea set reserved for “important guests” polished and shining on the tray.

i sat in front of her dressing mirror, letting my mother fix my hijab into place. I wore a pale blue abaya .Simple, flowing, but elegant. My mother’s idea of “neutral but respectable.”

“You look beautiful,” my mother said, smoothing my shoulders gently.

i met my mother’s eyes in the mirror. “Do I look ready for a decision I never made?”

My mother paused. “Zara, sometimes we have to trust the path we’re given. Your father believes this is the best move. And Zayd… well, he’s a good man.”

“That doesn’t mean I want this.”

my mother didn’t reply.

The doorbell rang downstairs.

my heart dropped.

Zayd and his parents sat in the living room by the time i descended the stairs. My father stood to greet me, nodding with approval. “Zara, come join us.”

Zayd looked sharp in a tailored grey suit, seated confidently beside his father. His mother offered her a warm smile, one hand resting gently on Zayd’s.

i sat opposite them, folding my hands in my lap to hide how they trembled.

“We’ll begin,” my father said, already pulling out his reading glasses. “The kings have brought their proposal. We’ll review the arrangement tonight.”

Arrangement.

Zayd reached into his briefcase and handed a document to my father. “It’s not traditional, but we thought a written understanding might help.”

my father began to skim it.

Zayd turned to me, his voice calm and deliberate. “We need to talk. Privately.”

I nodded, heart thudding, wondering what this was about.

Once we stepped aside from the rest, he didn’t waste time.

“I propose a six-month period. A mutual agreement,” he said. “We’ll marry officially, live together as expectedbut after six months, if you’re unhappy, we dissolve the marriage. Quietly. No pressure. No drama.”

My breath caught.

“Six months?” I echoed, stunned.

Zayd nodded. “It’s enough time to see if this could work. I’m not here to trap anyone. But if we’re honest with each other… maybe we won’t hate it.”

He paused, then added, “There’s a catch though. Our parents can’t know. This agreement stays between us. If it ends, we come up with a reason they’ll accept.”

My brows furrowed. Secret terms. Temporary vows. This wasn’t what I imagined marriage to be but maybe that was the point.

“And if I stay?” I asked quietly.

“Then we continue,” he said simply. “On your terms. We set boundaries. We build something at your pace. I won’t rush you. I only ask for honesty and respect.”

There was no emotion in his tone, yet it didn’t feel cold. Just measured. Intentional.

“You don’t even know me,” I whispered.

“I don’t,” he admitted. “But I’ve watched you. The way you carry yourself. The way people look to you. There’s strength in that. I’m not looking for a fantasy, Zara. I’m looking for a partner.Some one who is strong enough to stand beside me”

His words landed heavy in my chest. Real. Unromantic. But clear.

As we stepped back into the room, my father gestured for me to sit. A sleek brown folder sat open on the coffee table, its edges lined with neat summaries and business seals.

“This,” he said, tapping the folder, “is the proposal. The official terms.”

I lowered myself into the seat cautiously, my eyes scanning the neatly arranged documents. Numbers, projections, board approvals columns and rows that looked more like equations than a future.

my father continued, “It’s more than a marriage, Zara. It’s a strategic alliance. Their investment will elevate our company into international markets. We’ll be partnering with one of the most reputable logistics networks in the region. This” he tapped the page again, “puts our name on a global map.”

Zayd stood silently by the bookshelf, his hands clasped behind his back, letting my father speak. I glanced at him, but his face remained unreadable.

I shifted uncomfortably. “And what about me?” I asked quietly. “My dreams? My career? My life? Will those be documented in the proposal too?”

My father paused, his tone softening. “Zara, you’ll still be free to pursue what you love. This arrangement doesn’t erase your identity. But sometimes... we have to sacrifice a little comfort to secure something greater.”

My chest tightened. Words like "greater" and "legacy" sounded noble, but they didn’t hold my dreams. They didn’t represent the small café in Florence I had plastered to my vision board.

Zayd stepped forward at last, his voice calm. “This isn’t a trap. I meant what I said. You’ll still have your life. Your goals. I won’t interfere. We’ll figure it out together quietly, on our terms.”

I glanced between the two men. My father proud and hopeful. Zayd controlled, respectful. And myself, caught in the middle, barely breathing.

my mother finally spoke. “Zara, it’s your choice. No one is forcing you. But this is a good offer. You’d have time, space, and safety.”

I stared down at her hands. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

“I... I need time to think.”

“You have until the weekend,” my father said. “They’re being kind enough to wait.”

The kings stood, smiling politely. Zayd offered her a small nod as they left.

That night, I sat in bed, My thoughts running wild.

Six months.

Can i do it?

Would i lose myself? Or is there really a chance I'd gain more?

i messaged Zayneb:

Zara: "he offered a six-month trial marriage. It’s… crazy.”

Seconds later, my phone rang. She picked it up immediately.

Zayneb’s voice was soft but urgent. “Are you okay? I saw the photos and then just now got your message.”

I explained everythingthe agreement, the terms, Zayd’s tone, my parents’ reactions.

When i finished, Zayneb was quiet.

“Honestly,” Zayneb said finally, “this isn’t how I pictured your future. But… if you’re going to do this, do it on your terms. Not theirs. Not Zayd’s. Not your father’s.”

i felt a tear escape and wiped it quickly.

“I’m scared, Zee. What if I forget who I am?”

“You won’t,” Zayneb said firmly. “Because I’ll remind you every single day.”

i laughed softly, her heart a little lighter.

“Six months,” I whispered. “I don’t know what will happen. But I’m going to survive it.”

“You’re not just going to survive, Zara,” Zayneb said. “You’re going to own it.”