The day I turned eighteen, everything changed — or at least, that's what everyone kept telling me.
But nothing felt different.
Not really.
The sun was high and unforgiving when my father called me to the living room. I was folding laundry in my room, my hands trembling as the weight of the day pressed down on me. The quiet moments I used to steal were slipping away, faster than I could catch them.
"Layla," my mother's voice echoed from the doorway.
"It's time."
I took a deep breath, trying to steady the knot in my chest.
The living room was exactly as usual.
My father sat in his usual chair, eyes sharp beneath thick brows. My brothers lounged on the couch, eyes on their phones, indifferent. My mother stood beside him, clutching a small envelope in her hands — like a lifeline or a noose.
"Sit," my father said, gesturing toward the worn-out sofa.
I obeyed, heart thudding. The room smelled of old leather and pipe tobacco.
"We have someone to introduce you to," my mother said softly.
Before I could speak, the front doorbell rang.
Noah.
That was his name.
When the door opened, he stepped inside with the confidence of a man who owned the room.
He was tall, with a sharp jawline dusted in grey stubble, and eyes that scanned the room like he was appraising everything — and everyone.
"Layla," he said, his voice deep and practiced,
holding out a firm hand.
I nodded, unsure whether to shake it or run.
"I'm told you're almost an adult now," he added with a thin smile. "That's a big day."
My mother smiled, a tight, rehearsed expression that made my skin crawl.
We sat in the living room, the adults exchanging polite small talk while I felt like a spectator in my own life.
"I own three car dealerships," Noah said casually. "Been in business for fifteen years."
"Impressive," my father said approvingly.
"I was married twice before," Noah added like it was a casual fact,
as if talking about the weather.
My mother's eyes flickered, but she said nothing.
"Divorced?" I finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes," Noah replied. "The right woman hasn't come along yet."
I wanted to laugh. Right woman? How many women had he tossed aside like old clothes?
My sisters peeked through the doorway, whispering and giggling.
"So this is the man," Reema whispered to Lina.
"Looks scary," Lina muttered.
I wanted to tell them I agreed.
The conversation moved on.
Noah asked about my school, my hobbies, my future plans.
I gave polite answers but the words felt hollow.
Because my future had already been decided.
At one point, Noah leaned forward and said,
"Layla, I want you to be happy. That's important."
I forced a smile.
"Thank you," I said. "I just… want to live my own life."
He looked at my parents.
"And I want to help with that," he said smoothly.
My father nodded, satisfied.
Later, after Noah left, my mother sat with me in my room.
"He's a good man," she said softly. "Stable. Reliable."
"He's divorced twice," I reminded her quietly.
"Everyone has a past, Layla," she said. "What matters is the future."
I looked out the window, the sky darkening.
The future looked like a cage.
And I was the prisoner.