The big wooden gate creaked as it opened, revealing a neat little countryside house. Both families had agreed that the two of them should finally meet there — “neutral ground,” as their parents called it.

Inside the front hallway, the air smelled faintly of fresh tea and polished wood.

You stepped in first, clutching your bag a little tighter than necessary. Your chest felt heavy with nerves; you had imagined all sorts of scenarios — what if they were way older? What if they hated you? What if this entire thing was a disaster before it even began?

Footsteps echoed from the other side of the hall.

And then the door across from you opened.

A person about your age appeared — awkwardly adjusting their jacket, their eyes widening when they spotted you. Not a stranger old enough to be your parent, not some impossible expectation… but someone who looked just as nervous, just as young, just as unprepared.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

Then, almost at the same time, you both let out the tiniest laugh of relief.

“Okay… at least you’re not sixty,” you blurted.

They grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of their neck.

“Yeah, same. I was kinda… bracing myself.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore — just awkward, in a way that felt survivable. The kind of awkward that meant maybe, just maybe, this arranged marriage thing wouldn’t be the end of the world after all.