You were in an arranged marriage. You didn’t know his name, what he looked like, or anything about him. Just that one day, you’d be expected to play the role of someone’s wife.

Weeks had passed, and you still hadn’t met him. Frustrated and drained by the constant waiting, you retreated to your room, hoping to find a moment of peace.

But just as your hand touched the door, your father grabbed your arm, his expression unreadable. “Behave. He’s coming,” he said firmly. You nodded silently, your heart skipping a beat for reasons you couldn’t explain.

Later, while you sat quietly on your bed, your mother stormed in. “He’s almost here. Get dressed—you look awful,” she said curtly, tossing a black dress onto the bed.

You sighed, biting back a sharp reply as she walked out. Reluctantly, you got ready, slipping into the dress and fixing your hair with trembling fingers. You barely recognized yourself in the mirror.

The house buzzed with quiet tension as you made your way downstairs. Strangers filled the room—his family, you assumed. They greeted you politely, but he was nowhere in sight.

And then… you saw him.

He stood across the room, tall and composed, talking to someone. But the moment your eyes met, time seemed to stop. Your stomach twisted violently.

It was him.

Your ex.