The Unwanted Marriage

The very highly finished mahogany table was cold on my trembling hands. My relatives were seated in front of me, faces twisted into practiced complacency, the smiles strained, set on the parents of my so-called 'bride-to-be.' It was one of those situations you view out of a history film, the only difference being we were greeted with the dignified silence of an upper-class dining room instead of a quill and parchment. An arranged marriage. The words still echoed in my mind as a grim joke. How many times had I pleaded with my parents, explained, even shouted, that I did have a girlfriend? A woman I loved, fiercely and irrevocably. The possibility of being bound to another, a stranger, made me shiver with icy fury. Whatever this woman was, desperate enough to take on this ancient trade-off, I vowed to torment her life. "Mrs. Alcantara, my sincerest apologies for my daughter's tardiness," Mrs. Andal's awkward politeness pushed through my simmering rage. "Jarros, where's MJ? Do call he

The beams of sunlight shot through the window into my face, and dragged me from a heavy slumber.I groaned and opened my eyelids with sort of difficulty. As I tried to rise, a lightning bolt would wind its way between my temples—a cruel reminder of the night before "What the hell happened?" Confusion engulfed me. This wasn't my room. A man made it with the sterile modern designs and minimalist furniture screaming 'not mine.' Panic started to tickle my consciousness. I hurriedly checked my clothes. I was clothed- simple white shirt with grey sweatpants. Still, the question gnawed on me; how? “Tell me that I didn't have a one-night stand, please.” There was a woman with her arms crossed and leaning against the door frame when it creaked and opened. She wore a dark blue shirt with white sweatpants. The long cascade of black hair draped down her shoulders, while her facial expression did not suggest that very friendly. "You awake, huh? You can leave now," she informed, her tone abbre

The summer haze has lifted up and replaced itself with one crisp, almost electrifying, energy of a wholly new academic year. Old books intermixed with freshly waxed floors filled the air while traversing the hurrying corridors of the university-a forced marriage, a confusing encounter with MJ, and a painful breakup with Karen: all of these left a bitter aftertaste at the back of my throat, and I was determined to bury myself in my studies as if in search of some remnant of normalcy. This first day, an unbearable cacophony of introductions, syllabus distributions, and inevitable small talk dawned like wild. I went out staring like in some daze, having my mind replaying the past few weeks. It was during this most incredibly boring macroeconomic theory lecture that I actually spotted her. MJ. She was seated a few rows before me, correcting her posture, and then devoting her attention to the professor. Instead of letting dark hair hang loose, it was slickly pulled back into a ponytail