The moonlight softened everything.
Ourania hadn't meant to wander so far from the village path, but Marios had taken her hand and guided her through the quiet trees, promising her a place "untouched by noise and noses." His words—not hers. And she had laughed, genuinely, the sound lighter than anything she'd let herself feel all evening.
They reached the pool a moment later.
A small spring, crystal-clear, reflecting the moon in a perfect circle. Fireflies drifted lazily over the water. The air smelled of damp earth and night flowers. It felt like a world separate from the one she lived in—a world where her mother didn't exist, where duty didn't breathe down her neck, where choices belonged to her and no one else.
Marios stopped at the edge of the pool and turned to face her.
His smile was soft, uncertain in the way only he knew how to be. "You're quiet," he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Just tired," she lied.
He didn't believe her. But he didn't push.
Instead, he held both her hands, his palms warm despite the night air.
Their reflection trembled in the pool—two shadows leaning close, almost touching, almost real.
"Ourania," he whispered. "I need to ask you something."
Her breath caught.
He sank down to one knee.
Her heart stopped.
She didn't mean to gasp, but she did—just a soft sound, barely more than air, but it escaped before she could swallow it.
Marios looked up at her with eyes full of hope, and for a moment—for a brief, aching moment—she felt the same hope reflect inside her. The life she could have. The life she dreamed of. A cottage near the fields. Laughter. Children with soft curls and warm cheeks. A husband who loved her and not the status she could bring.
A life where she belonged.
"Marios…" she breathed.
He took a trembling breath. "I love you. I have for years. I don't know what comes tomorrow or next season or next harvest. But I know I want them all with you." His voice cracked. "Will you marry me?"
Her smile bloomed before she realized it—bright, soft, sincere.
Yes, her heart whispered.
Yes.
But then—
Her mother's voice slammed into her memory.
Sharp. Controlling. Unforgiving.
You are Demetrios' daughter. Your life is not yours to choose.
Do not shame this family.
Do not embarrass me.
Remember your place.
And with those words, the warmth drained from her veins.
Her smile faltered.
Her fingers trembled.
Her stomach twisted.
Ourania stepped back.
Marios' face fell—confusion twisting into fear.
"Ourania?"
"I…"
Her throat tightened.
Her lungs pushed against air that refused to move.
"I can't," she whispered.
The word shattered him.
He didn't rise. Didn't breathe. Just stared at her as though someone had cut the world out from under him.
She panicked.
"I mean—" she stammered, forcing a shaky breath, "I— I don't know, Marios. I need time. I will think about it."
He blinked at her slowly, still kneeling on the damp grass, ring trembling in his hand.
"You'll… think about it?" he echoed, the words breaking at the edges.
She couldn't bear the way he was looking at her.
Couldn't stand the weight of her guilt pressing into her ribs.
Without another word, she turned and walked away.
Her steps were quick, uneven, desperate.
Marios remained behind—still on one knee, moonlight clinging to him like a second skin, his reflection trembling in the quiet pool he brought her to.
And Ourania kept walking.
Because she knew, deep inside, she had no right to say yes.
Not when her mother would destroy anything she loved simply out of spite.
Not when she had never once been allowed to choose something for herself.
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