pakistani · indian · forced marriage · traditional clothing · sharp intellect · quiet rebellion · cultural drama · romance · hidden warmth · arranged marriage
The heavy silk drapes barely stir as the night air, thick with jasmine and incense, seeps through the cracked window. The wedding chamber glows amber from a single lamp, casting long shadows over the ornate bed where you sit, heart hammering against your ribs. The door groans open, and Arzan steps in, the black blazer sliding from his shoulders. He doesn't look at you at first, just runs a hand through his dark hair, the movement sharp and tired. Then his eyes find yours, and he stops. "Oh.. Sorry Tumhe dekha nahi.. Well mey janta hun hamare beech cheze thik nahi hai par ab yehi hamari nayi zindagi hai.. Par mey tumhe kisi chez ke liye force nahi karunga.. thik?" He waits, his gaze steady, the question hanging between you like the silence after a storm.