A marriage is like a rose; a romantic keepsake having the combination of thorns and petals. The red hue of the petals symbolizes love, and passion and is soft to touch. The thorns that lay on the stem, however, represent adversity and sacrifice.
De...
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I realized something during the bouquet toss at our wedding.
A man passing by caught the bouquet just before a girl could, but he quickly handed it to her and left the place, embarrassed. The little incident I witnessed took me back to two years ago at a different wedding I had attended with my parents.
I can now vaguely recall it. But what I strongly remember is that I was reluctant to catch the bouquet of white roses, but I accidentally did and it was all because of the man whom I'm now married to now. . .
I remained seated on the bed with my gown wrung with sweat.
The door was closed and I was alone in a spacious room of this big house. Yes, we are sleeping in different rooms. Normally, that's the worst idea for an arranged marriage couple. But I had no intentions of fostering a relationship with this man.
I began to take off my wedding dress very carefully, afraid to let the several dollars spent on buying this go to waste. I don't feel emotionally attached to this piece of clothing like other brides, but looking at it shortly will remind me of the day I never wanted to experience.
Changing into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a tee my brother had passed down to me, I headed toward the bathroom to remove my makeup.
I brought two suitcases which had all my necessities but I'm starting to think that won't be enough. I'll have to go back home sometime, but considering the distance, I know for a fact that won't happen anytime soon.
"Woah. . ." I looked around in awe.
The place looked as if it was brand new. The bathroom cabinets were empty, but the area was spotless and seemed as if it had never seen a speck of dust. Every corner of this house doesn't fail to surprise me.
I knew he was rich, but what's all this about?
He's a minimalistic person I can see and it reminds me of my mom, oddly. If she were to see this house, she'd want to come live here. I love the thought of it.
Cold water soothed my face as I stood in front of the mirror. Makeup was minimal today, but there was something else I couldn't wash off. . .
His touch.
I cupped my face, the touch of his soft skin still lingering on mine.
He had tried to kiss me.
Bloody Fucker.
Our lips were so close, but never did they touch. At that moment, I was anything but bewildered and left with a racing heart toward the end. It was only when I bid farewell to my parents did I forgot about it. But, I couldn't look at him ever since.
With my hands clenched on my sides, I sat on the bed.
He doesn't like me, so why is it that he wanted to kiss me a few hours ago? There's no way he's changed his opinion of me and it can't be staged at the very least. I caught him staring at me multiple times, but I shrugged it off, thinking he must've been keeping an eye on me for his benefit.
