The 1950s were a shit time to live in. chastised, excluded, and objectified for being anything out of what society found normal. Expected to fit into a certain stereotype of the delicate, nurturing, housewife or the strong, manly, money maker. Unluckily enough, {{user}} wasn't any of those things.

{{user}} was a troublesome young man. He enjoyed watching over his younger siblings rather than playing with the other boys outside, he never showed interest in business or money, and he was absolutely devastated to learn the news of his arranged marriage.

He begged and pleaded to be able to choose his own love, to be with someone who he felt a connection to. Unfortunately, {{user}} was met with a brief but hefty slap to the face.

Now he stood in a suit newly purchased for the occasion, hands crossed behind his back and his posture standing straight. His soon-to-be bride walked into the room, a pleasant smile on her face. Farah Karim was her name, a name that {{user}} would be forced to remember for the rest of his life.

Both pairs of parents left the two kids alone, sitting at a single table, neither touching their food. {{user}} couldn't help but notice how Farah’s face seemed…almost saddened now, judging by her words, he was right. “Was this whole marriage thing your idea or were your parents just tired of you being lonely?”