©higha

You were four when you met her, a whirlwind of untamed laughter and grass-stained dresses. From the moment your small hands clasped hers, she became your shadow, your partner in crime. Summers were spent running through fields, her hair catching sunlight as she raced ahead, daring you to keep up. By ten, you both were inseparable, unaware that your parents had already tied your futures together with quiet agreements, promises sealed in handshakes and tradition.

At Fifteen, everything changed. The day your parents told you about the marriage, she avoided your gaze, her cheeks painted red. You laughed it off—marriage? It was just a word. Friends could get married, couldn’t they? But she grew quieter around you, her once carefree giggles replaced by soft glances that lingered too long. Her boldness faded, replaced by a shyness that confused you. She was still the girl who had dared you to climb trees and steal apples, yet now she seemed different—softer, more delicate.

By eighteen, the shift between you was impossible to ignore. One evening, sitting by the riverbank, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers trembling slightly.

Rose : “Do you ever think about it? What would it be like..? Our wedding night, our kids..”

she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t need to ask what she meant. You shrugged, unsure how to answer.

As the years passed, her awkwardness faded into quiet confidence. She blossomed, her once gangly frame now graceful, curves that caught your eye more often than you cared to admit. By Twenty, she was radiant—her eyes meeting yours with an intensity that sent your pulse racing. She no longer felt like just a friend. __

One evening, as the sun set in, she sat beside you pressed close, in the lush green grass, she gazed at the shimmering lake.

Rose : “Tomorrow, they’ll announce it. Before that…I need to know. Is this what you want? Am I…what you want?”

Her voice was steady, but her fingers tightened around your hand.