I always thought the worst day of my life would come quietly.
But it didn't.
It came with music. Loud, ugly music that pulsed through the walls and into my bones. It came with laughter and perfume, heels clicking against tile, and my sisters shouting over each other about their makeup.
It came with dancing.
And I was the only one in the room who felt like she was dying.
They dressed me in gold.
Not a soft, delicate gold — but loud, bright, blinding. The kind that clung too tightly and made me feel like my body wasn't mine anymore.
There were so many people in the house I could barely breathe. Aunts, cousins, neighbors, strangers. Everyone smiling. Everyone whispering. Everyone celebrating the transaction like it was a fairy tale.
"You look beautiful," my mother said as she adjusted the gold scarf around my shoulders.
"I feel sick," I whispered.
She paused, just for a second. Then she smiled like she didn't hear me.
"Try not to cry, now. Your makeup took forever."
I didn't respond. I didn't want to ruin her night.
Apparently, mine was already disposable.
Noah arrived with his family in a brand-new suit and an even newer smile. He shook hands, kissed cheeks, slapped backs. He looked right at me like he already owned me — and maybe, in a way, he did.
He was thirty-five. I was eighteen.
He kept calling me baby girl under his breath.
"You're a quiet one, aren't you?" he said as we stood side by side in the main room while people snapped pictures of us like we were mannequins.
"I guess," I mumbled.
"Good. I like quiet girls. Keeps the house peaceful."
I looked away.
He laughed like he'd said something clever.
Someone put a flower crown on my head.
Someone else placed a heavy necklace around my neck.
I barely noticed.
I was floating somewhere outside myself, watching it all unfold like a scene in a movie I never wanted to see.
There were speeches. Toasts. Someone cried from happiness.
And I stood there, still, like if I didn't move, none of it would be real.
Then came the dancing.
Girls my age, spinning in glitter and heels, shouting lyrics to love songs they thought applied to me.
Aunts stomping in circles, clapping. Older men watching from the side with drinks in their hands, smiling too long.
And in the middle of it all, me — in gold, with red lipstick, smiling like my mouth had been stitched into place.
"Why aren't you dancing?" Reema asked, grabbing my hand.
"I'm tired."
"It's your engagement! You're supposed to be the happiest girl in the room!"
I pulled my hand back gently. "Maybe I'm not."
She blinked like I had just confessed to murder. Then she gave me a look I couldn't read and walked off.
I didn't follow.
I sat in the corner, near the wall, and watched them all twirl around me like I was invisible.
At one point, Noah sat beside me. His cologne was too strong.
"You're lucky," he said softly, leaning in too close. "You've got a family that cares. A father who makes sure you end up with someone who can take care of you."
I said nothing.
"I'm not perfect," he added, "but I'll give you a good life."
I looked down at my hands.
"I don't want a life someone picked for me."
"That's just fear talking."
"Maybe. But it's still mine."
He didn't respond to that.
He just stood and rejoined the dancing. Someone handed him a drink. He toasted toward me from across the room.
I didn't raise my glass.
Later, in the bathroom, I stared at my reflection for a long time.
I didn't recognize the girl looking back at me.
She looked older. Smaller. Not dressed up — just dressed wrong.
Her eyes were hollow. Her skin pale.
She looked like a girl being sent to the slaughter in a golden dress.
I pressed my palms against the counter to steady myself.
I wanted to leave.
I wanted to scream.
But most of all — I wanted someone, anyone, to notice that I wasn't okay.
No one did.
They were too busy celebrating.
The wedding was set for two weeks later.
Just enough time to finalize the contract. Just enough time to learn how to be still.
Two weeks to bury the part of me that still believed in freedom.