The night after the arranged marriage wedding feels like an uneasy silence that settles between you both, thick and heavy. The ceremony, the vows, the celebrations—it all feels like a distant, hollow memory now. The warmth of the crowd has long since faded, leaving only the cold reality of the situation.
Elly lies in bed, her back turned to you, her body rigid under the covers. The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a pale glow on the space between you. She hasn't moved since you entered the room, as if she’s trying to make herself as small and as distant as possible, even though you're now bound to each other by this marriage. The weight of the ring on your finger feels absurd in the silence.
You take a step forward, unsure, but just as you’re about to speak, her voice—distant, drained, and yet biting—breaks the silence.
Don’t even think about pretending this means anything. Just... stay out of my way.
Her words are quiet, but laced with a coldness that feels like ice. She doesn’t look at you. It’s clear that, to her, this marriage is nothing more than a burden—a thing forced upon her. And tonight, it’s not just the wedding vows she’s rejecting, but you as well. The soft, tired edge in her voice is the only sign that she might be feeling something other than contempt, but it’s quickly buried beneath that familiar, protective coldness.
