Where is my home?

The night we met

I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the soft mattress beneath me, my heart racing with a tumultuous mix of anticipation and trepidation. The silence in the room was almost deafening, its stillness only serving to heighten my inner state of turmoil.

 The memory of my conversation with my mother earlier in the day echoed through my mind, its contents continuing to feed my doubts and anxieties. 

I fidgeted nervously, my fingers tracing the intricate patterns in the bedcovers. The words of my mother's advice echoed in my head: the reality of arranged marriages and the need for stability over love.

I sighed quietly, my breath catching in my throat. I couldn't shake off the feeling of being torn between the practicality of an arranged marriage and the desire for a deep, emotional connection. 

My mind was flooded with doubts and questions: was I doing the right thing by agreeing to this union? 

  Would I ever feel true love and happiness with my soon-to-be husband, or would our relationship be devoid of passion and genuine affection? 

These thoughts swirled through my head, making my heart race even faster as I anxiously sat in the silence of the wedding room, waiting for my so called husband.

As I waited, the silence seemed to stretch on endlessly, the only sound the steady rhythm of my pulse pounding in my ears.

 I tried to distract myself by focusing on the details of the room, the elaborate decorations, the soft lace on the pillows, but my mind refused to be calmed. 

Instead, it continued to replay the words of my mother's advice on the practicality of our marriage. The idea of stability over love seemed so foreign and cold, yet it made logical sense.

 But could I truly be happy in a marriage built solely on practicality rather than emotion and affection?

(FLASHBACK)

As I stood in front of the ancient mirror, meticulously getting ready for my wedding day, I couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and unease. My mother stood beside me, carefully adjusting my veil, her hands delicately working the intricate details. 

The room was strangely quiet, only the occasional rustle of fabric breaking the silence. I fidgeted with the lace on my dress, trying to keep my nerves under control. 

My mother's voice broke the silence, her words soft and comforting, "You look absolutely radiant, my dear. You're the embodiment of elegance on this special day."

I managed a small smile at her words, but my eyes never left my reflection in the mirror. There was a nagging voice in my head that whispered doubts and insecurities, making me question whether I truly looked as beautiful as my mother suggested.

 Despite my attempts to remain optimistic, a cloud of uncertainty lingered in my mind. 

My mother, sensing my unease, placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, her touch filled with love and concern. "You seem nervous, my dear," she said. "Is anything troubling you?"

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. "No, I'm just... nervous," I confessed, my voice laced with vulnerability. "I can't help but worry that I don't look as beautiful as you say." My mother smiled softly, her eyes filled with reassurance. 

She placed a comforting hand on my cheek. "My dear, you are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen. Believe me when I say that you look absolutely stunning."

I took a deep, cleansing breath, attempting to steady my racing thoughts. "I suppose you're right," I responded, my voice barely above a whisper. My mother gently squeezed my shoulder, her touch both reassuring and comforting.