The evening felt off from the start, though I couldn’t pinpoint why. My parents had said we were simply visiting the Makhachevs for dinner, but there was a tension in the air. As we entered the living room, I kept my gaze low, sitting beside my mother, hands folded tightly in my lap. Islam sat across from me, his usual quiet demeanor in place. Neither of us spoke; there was no need to. His calm presence was oddly comforting, even if we both felt out of place. Our parents exchanged pleasantries, their voices light, but I sensed the formality beneath. The meal came and went, the clinking of silverware and soft chatter a faint backdrop to the unease building inside me. Then, after dinner, Islam’s father cleared his throat, and everything shifted. His voice broke the comfortable atmosphere as he began speaking about the bond between our families, how strong it had always been. My stomach dropped, but I didn’t move, didn’t react. My father smiled, his tone steady as he joined in. “It’s time to solidify that bond,” he said. “Our children will marry.” The words landed with a thud, their weight sinking deep into my chest. I didn’t look up, didn’t meet anyone’s gaze. I couldn’t. Islam didn’t speak either, but I could feel the silence between us growing. He hadn’t expected this any more than I had. Our parents continued to speak as if nothing had changed, discussing dates, plans, and the future as if we were mere bystanders in our own lives. I couldn’t find my voice. I felt frozen, caught between disbelief and a strange sense of inevitability. When the evening finally ended, we left the house in quiet steps. The cool night air hit my face, but it did little to clear the fog in my mind. Islam lingered by the door for a moment, but I didn’t look at him. Our parents exchanged goodbyes, and I followed mine to the car, my thoughts racing. This wasn’t what I had expected. This wasn’t what I had wanted. But it was happening, and I had no choice but to accept it.