Married by Fate, Broken by Love

Aliya  POV

I had been staring at the clock for so long that the ticking had begun to sound like mockery.

8:47 p.m.

Richard should have been home by now.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers twisted tightly in the hem of my dress, smoothing wrinkles that didn’t exist. I had changed twice already, first into something elegant, then into something softer. In the end, I settled for a simple cream dress. It was the kind he liked. Or at least, the kind I thought he liked.

The house was too quiet. Not the peaceful kind, this silence felt heavy, like it was holding its breath, waiting for something bad to happen.

I told myself I was overthinking. I have been doing that a lot lately.

For three years, Richard had never given me a reason to doubt him. He was always there. Always attentive. He remembered small things, how I liked my tea warm, not hot; how I hated sleeping without the lamp on; how I liked his arm around me even when I pretended I needed space.

He wasn’t loud with his love, but he was steady. Reliable.

Arranged marriage was never meant to be good but mine with Richard was different.  He is so sweet and caring.

And somewhere along the way, without realizing it, I had fallen in love with him.

I stood up and walked to the mirror, forcing a smile at my reflection. “Stop being dramatic,” I whispered to myself. “He’s just late.”

The sound of the front door opening cut through the silence.

My heart leapt.

I rushed out of the bedroom, my bare feet barely making a sound on the floor. “Richard?” I called, trying to keep my voice light.

He stood in the living room, still in his suit, his tie loosened. He didn’t look at me immediately. His jaw was tight, his shoulders stiff.

Something in my chest sank.

“You’re home late,” I said softly, stepping closer. “Did something..”

“Aliya,” he interrupted.

My name sounded different on his lips. Heavy. Final.

That was when I noticed the envelope in his hand.

White. Plain. Thick.

I stared at it, my mind refusing to connect the dots. “What’s that?” I asked, though dread was already crawling up my spine.

He finally looked at me then. His eyes didn’t hold warmth. They didn’t hold anything at all.

“We need to talk.”

The room tilted.

I forced myself to laugh, though it came out shaky. “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

He exhaled slowly, like he had rehearsed this moment a hundred times. Then he held out the envelope.

“Sign these.”

I didn’t move.

“What… are they?” My voice was barely a whisper now.

“Divorce papers.”

The word hit me like a slap.

Divorce.

I stared at him, waiting for him to laugh. To tell me it was a joke. A test. Anything.

But he didn’t.

“I don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head. “Did I do something wrong? If I did, we can talk about it. We can fix it.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” he replied calmly. Too calmly.

Tears blurred my vision. “Then why?”

His silence was cruel.

“I’m in love with someone else,” he said finally.

My knees felt weak. I reached for the back of the couch to steady myself. “Someone else?” I repeated. “Richard, we’re married.”

“Yes,” he said. “And our marriage was never supposed to be real.”

The words cut deeper than any blade ever could.

“Not real?” I laughed weakly. “What do you mean, not real? Three years, Richard. Three years of living together. Of sharing a bed. Of...”

“It was an arrangement,” he said firmly. “You knew that.”

“Yes, but...”

“I never stopped loving her,” he continued, his voice colder now. “She was always in my heart.”

I felt foolish. Small. Used.

“So everything you did for me… the care, the kindness… all of it was fake?” I asked.

“It wasn’t fake,” he said. “I respected you. I took care of you. But love?” He shook his head. “That was never yours.”

Something shattered inside me.

“And now?” I whispered.

“She’s back,” he said. “And I want a real life with her.”

I swallowed hard. “So I’m just… what? A substitution?”

His silence answered me.

My hands trembled as I took the papers from him. The words swam before my eyes. I couldn’t even read them properly. All I could see was the end of everything I had hoped for.

“You want me to leave,” I said quietly.

“Yes.”

Just like that.

No apology. No guilt. No regret.

I signed.

Each stroke of the pen felt like I was erasing myself.

When I handed the papers back, my hands were numb. “I hope she’s worth it,” I said, though my voice cracked.

“She is.”

That was the last thing he said to me before I walked out of the house I once called home.

I didn’t go to my parents.

I couldn’t.

I had been so proud. So sure that my marriage was working. I couldn’t face their pity. Their questions. Their disappointment.

So I went to a bar.

The lights were dim, the music loud, the air thick with alcohol and loneliness. I sat at the counter and ordered drink after drink, not caring what it was.

I wanted to forget.

I wanted to feel nothing.

But the alcohol only made the pain louder.

I cried into my glass, silent tears slipping down my cheeks as I remembered the way Richard used to tuck my hair behind my ear. The way he used to hold me when I had nightmares. The way I had believed stupidly that he would one day love me back.

“I’m such a fool,” I whispered.

A man sat beside me.

He was handsome in a quiet way, with kind eyes and a calm presence. He didn’t ask questions. He just pushed a napkin toward me when he saw my tears.

“Rough night?” he asked gently.

I laughed bitterly. “That’s one way to put it.”

I drank more. Talked more. Told him things I would never tell a stranger. Or maybe it was easier because he was one.

I don’t remember when his hand found mine. Or when I leaned into him.

All I remember was the warmth. The comfort. The way he looked at me like I mattered, even if, just for a moment.

I followed him out of the bar.

I needed to feel wanted. Needed to feel chosen. Even if it was only for one night.

In his arms, I let myself forget Richard’s face. Forget the marriage. Forget the woman who had taken my place without even knowing me.

Slowly,  my lips found his ways to his and my dress ended up on the floor. The rest history, was on the bed with different positions.