Together Forever. Unconditionally.

The first time we met

I was twelve. My parents held my hands and we walked towards the edge of the park.

While we walked, my dad happily told me I already knew you, that we'd played together when we were smaller.

In this dream, it wasn't a dream. Everything was real. A stage for the two of us.

The theme: arranged marriage.

We arrived. You stood across from me, between your own parents. Black hair and dark eyes. You were fourteen.

I didn't know how I was supposed to act, but neither did you.

Our parents greeted each other. They told us to go get to know each other. So we went.

At first we walked awkwardly, trying to say whatever we thought was appropriate. You made me angry being like that. I told you to come with me and pulled you into the public toilet with me. It was cramped, but here we could talk honestly. Here no one could judge us.

You made me laugh. We were happy to be together. Happy to belong together according to the world.

A line built up outside the toilet and we came out again, apologizing, smiling. No one could tell us we shouldn't be together.

The wedding was postponed due to the rain.

I woke up and scolded you for messing with my dreams, but you felt the joy in my chest.

I went to the bathroom. I still avoided looking in the guestroom, down the stairs, in the mirrors or behind the shower door. I still feared you.

This was nine years ago.