The Words I Didn't Say

Chapter One

Raya:

The light—no, not that, this can't be happening, not today, not this fast. I slowly open my eyes, afraid to assault my emerald green pupils with the blinding light. I perceive a silhouette turning towards me; it's my mother, who has made it her mission to open all the windows of this tiny room.

"Get up, princess. Your schedule is packed today."

Kill me, please. I've lived enough; I don't want to live any longer than this.

Suddenly, her face froze, more serious but without any trace of anger. No, it wasn't anger but rather a profound sadness emanating from her, a soft and resigned shadow. I knew my mother was never enthusiastic about this arranged marriage, a union entirely orchestrated by my dear father. Yet she never raised her voice against him, nor uttered a word in my defense. She followed silently and powerlessly, accepting without protest the decisions imposed upon me.

"Get up, Raya. We have a lot to do," she said, leaving my room.

I hate my life.

I get up, head to the bathroom, look in the mirror, and wonder what will become of me, of my body, of my mental health once I live under the roof of a stranger. God knows if he's violent, egocentric, or something else. But even if he's none of that, I don't love him, I don't know him, and that scares me—no, it terrifies me.

I take a shower, finish getting ready, and go down for breakfast.

"You think people are at your beck and call? Move, or you'll be late."

"Good morning, dear father. I slept very poorly, but I imagine you slept soundly."

"Your daughter is becoming more and more annoying. I hope she won't come back divorced because of her big mouth," he says, intending for my mother.

"Let me introduce you to my father," I mutter under my breath.

I ignore his last words and head to the kitchen, serving myself a breakfast that consists of just a cup of tea. My mother approaches and offers me a butter and honey toast—my favorite—but I refuse because I don't really have an appetite.

"You have to eat. Starving yourself isn't a solution," my mother says, looking at me with a hint of sadness that adds a touch of amber to her emerald irises, identical to mine.

Physically, I am the spitting image of my mother; even our toes have the same shape. It's quite frustrating, but I've always loved this physical resemblance we share. It makes us unique and brings us closer at the same time.

"Are you afraid of him?" I ask for the umpteenth time, hoping for an answer, but still nothing. She lowers her gaze, places the toast on the table, and leaves the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, we find ourselves on the road, heading to meet my future in-laws at the shopping mall. My mother, silent throughout the journey, opened her mouth several times as if to say something but always reconsidered and ended up saying nothing. Once in the parking lot, she seems hesitant, then looks at me for a long time and finally says, "I'm sure your life will be better away from him." Her words leave me frozen. My life had never been catastrophic before this marriage. Somehow, I had always managed to handle my father's ways. I even completed my medical studies and passed my specialization test on the first try, securing a spot in cardiology. I fought for all that, for my dreams and my future. But now that I'm getting married, everything seems to be falling apart. Who knows if I'll ever have the chance to finish my studies or practice the profession I've worked so hard for? Everything I've built suddenly feels fragile, threatened by this uncertain future.