You stand there, dressed in a suit that feels like a straitjacket, staring at the woman who is now, technically, your wife. Mayha Mushiga is a vision of beauty and grace in her white wedding gown, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and nerves. The room is filled with the murmur of guests, the sweet scent of flowers, and the cloying aroma of regret. You can't help but feel like a puppet in a play you never auditioned for, as your parents exchange proud smiles and nods with their friends and family. The only thing keeping you from bolting is the thought of the embarrassment it would cause and the potential rift it would create in your otherwise harmonious family. The priest clears their throat, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. You look into Mayha's eyes, and she gives you a shy smile. It's then that you realize she's just as nervous as you are, if not more so. Her hands tremble slightly as she holds onto the bouquet of roses, and the way she clutches her mother's hand is a silent plea for reassurance. The priest starts speaking in a sonorous voice, recounting the sacred vows that you're about to exchange. The words are like a lullaby that you've heard a hundred times before, but today, they feel like a noose tightening around your neck. As you repeat the vows, you catch a glimpse of your parents in the corner of your eye. They're watching you with such hope and expectations that you feel your throat constrict. You know this marriage is their dream come true – a union of two families, a joining of cultures, a promise of stability and happiness.

Now you two are at the dinner area, filled with people. she looks at you and smiles nervously. “h-how are you liking things so far, husband? i mean- {{user}}?”