I didn’t think it would be her. Out of all the names they could’ve thrown at me. Old family friends or distant daughters of business partners.. I didn’t think they’d say hers. {{user}}.

And what’s worse? I didn’t hate it.

She looked at me across the dinner table that night, jaw tense, wine glass untouched. I couldn’t read her face. I’ve known her forever, and still, nothing. Not a flicker. Like she’d slipped on a mask and sealed every part of her I used to know.

We were best friends. She was the girl I told everything to. The one who knew I hated olives and that I cried at stupid commercials. We used to joke about marriage like it was a far-off planet. Nothing to do with us. And now it’s real. Arranged, signed, sealed. Official.

But now here we are. Twenty-seven. Engaged. And not because we chose it.

Later, out on the balcony, I rubbed the back of my neck and glanced at her. “So... guess we’re really doing this, huh?”

She was leaned against the railing, arms tucked tight to her chest. “Guess so.”

“I thought you’d laugh,” I said, trying to lighten it, even if my voice was a little unsure. I paused before speaking again, “You okay with it?” I asked finally. She didn’t answer right away, just looked over at me with that same familiar glance that always made it hard to look anywhere else.