Don't Leave Me Again

16- Crossroads

The room was alive with the soft murmur of conversation, the air thick with anticipation and the scent of fresh flowers. Zafrin sat on the edge of the ornate couch, her heart racing as the families discussed her future. Brightly colored fabric adorned the walls, reflecting the cultural richness of the occasion, but all she could focus on was the weight of their gazes.

"Do you like the girl?" Sara asked, breaking the tension, her voice hopeful yet apprehensive.

The boy's mother replied with a proud smile, "Yes, she's so beautiful that my son can't take his eyes off her." Zafrin's cheeks flushed, feeling exposed under the scrutiny. She could feel the boy's eyes on her, piercing and hungry, making her skin crawl as if she were some exquisite dish under a spotlight.

As the conversation continued, Zafrin struggled with a cocktail of emotions-excitement tangled with anxiety. The groom's gaze felt heavy, like a shackle binding her to a future she didn't choose. Each passing second amplified her discomfort, leaving her feeling like a specimen on display rather than a participant in her own life.

"So, did you like him?" his mother inquired, a tone of expectation in her voice. Zafrin's throat felt tight, and she could only manage a slight nod, her voice lost in the chaos of her racing thoughts. She wanted to speak, to express her uncertainty, but words eluded her like wisps of smoke.

The boy's mother laughed lightly, brushing off her silence. "She's shy, I guess. Not very talkative. But once she comes to our house, all that shyness will vanish like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon." Their laughter rang out, a chorus that echoed in her ears, deepening her sense of isolation in that moment.

Sara and Nazriya's giggles felt like a mocking reminder of her stillness, and she maintained her neutral expression, a mask over her swirling emotions. Inside, she felt trapped between the weight of tradition and her own yearning for freedom, the vibrant colors of the setting contrasting sharply with her inner turmoil.

Every detail of the room-the vibrant fabrics, the soft light filtering through delicate curtains, the laughter echoing around her-seemed to swirl in a haze, amplifying her sense of disconnect. Zafrin sat there, caught between two worlds, feeling both visible and invisible, longing for the courage to break free from the expectations that surrounded her.

The boy's mother noticed the lingering tension and turned to Zafrin with a gentle smile. "So, you two should take a moment to talk," she suggested, nodding towards her son.

Zafrin's heart skipped a beat. "No, auntie, it's okay," she replied in a shy tone, her voice barely audible.

The boy's mother chuckled warmly. "No, my dear, you have to get to know each other properly so that you will not be shy like you are now. It's important."

Zafrin hesitated, feeling the pressure mounting. She glanced at her mother, Nazriya, who gave her a reassuring nod, and then at Sara, who offered an encouraging smile. Finally, she turned to Zaid, who gave her a supportive look.

"Alright," Zafrin said reluctantly, standing up. The boy followed suit, his nervousness apparent.

They walked a few steps away from the group, finding a quiet corner in the room. Zafrin took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart.

"Hi," the boy said softly, his eyes meeting hers with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.

"Hi," Zafrin replied, her voice still wavering. She glanced around, searching for the right words to break the ice. "So, um, what do you like to do in your free time?"

The boy seemed relieved by the simple question. "I like reading and playing sports. What about you?"

Zafrin smiled faintly, finding comfort in the ordinary conversation. "I enjoy writing and spending time with my family."