Her words were still echoing in my ears, as if they had pierced through me and refused to fade. Chak is going to get married. The thought tore my heart apart, but deep inside, I told myself: If he's going to marry, he will be marry with me.
I looked at Chak – his face was blank, expressionless, but I knew that emptiness. It wasn't calm. It was a wall he had built between himself and the world.
Suddenly, I felt a warm touch. A hand lightly brushing against mine, gentle yet firm. Anamarija. I glanced at her quickly; her touch told me more than words – she knew the moment was tense.
"I'm not getting married," Chak said seriously, his voice firm and cold. "Especially not to someone I don't even know."
His mother smiled faintly. But her smile wasn't warm. It was the smile of someone who already knew they would get what they wanted.
"You know her, Chak. And tomorrow you'll go on a date with her."
"I can't tomorrow," Chak snapped quickly. "The day after."
"Fine," his mother said with satisfaction, as if it was just another business deal completed.
"You're getting married to wash our family name." She looked at Anamarija, and I could feel that she blamed her. "Even if she didn't exist, you would still have to get married. In one week, you'll be married, because everything is already arranged, and you will give me a grandson," she added.
I froze at her words. My chest tightened, as if the air had suddenly been stolen from me. It didn't matter who she blamed, or what excuse she used—Anamarija, family honor, or tradition. The truth was the same: Chak was being pushed into a marriage that would rip him away from me. My hands curled into fists at my sides, but I stayed silent, because if I spoke, I knew my voice would break.
Malai stepped in, her voice surprisingly calm. "Mom, you already have a grandson."
"I know," his mother cut her off, "but I want a grandson from Chak. From him. Chai won't give me that."
At that moment, I caught a brief look exchanged between Chai and Torn. Painful, secretive, and yet full of silent defiance. My heart clenched.
Chak looked his mother straight in the eyes. "I won't get married," he said coldly, almost without emotion, and that was exactly where his determination was strongest.
"When I was your age, I had already been married for three years," she shot back.
"Chak, you're getting married – whether you want to or not. Everything's already arranged. The wedding is in one week."
The room fell silent, so heavy that I felt like the air stuck in my lungs. Then Chak suddenly rose. His eyes briefly met mine.
"Let's go," he said.
Anamarija and I stood almost at the same time. We didn't say much, just exchanged a quick look, and then she whispered softly, "Goodbye."
But before I could take a step toward the door, Chak's mother stood as well. Her eyes locked on me, sharp and penetrating.
"Make sure he goes to that date," she said.
I only nodded silently. The words were caught in my throat, and the air felt too heavy to breathe.
----
On the drive home, the tension in the car was icy. Chak didn't say a word the whole way. And I didn't know how to break the silence. I glanced at him several times – his face was cold, hard, like it had been carved from stone. I knew he was angry, but he refused to show it.
Inside me, everything was boiling. I had so many questions, but I didn't dare to speak. I was afraid his anger would turn on me.
When we arrived, I got out of the car and stepped into the house. Anamarija quietly said "good night" and went to her room. I heard Chak heading to the kitchen.
I followed him quietly, my feet heavy, each step echoing the weight inside my chest. The house was silent, wrapped in the stillness of the night.
When I stepped into the kitchen, it was almost entirely dark. Only the faint LED strip under the kitchen island glowed, outlining its edges in cold, bluish light. The rest of the room was buried in shadows, the silence broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerator.
Chak stood at the island, one hand pressed flat against the counter, the other holding a glass of whiskey. The glow from the LEDs carved harsh lines across his face, catching on the tension in his jaw, the sharp angle of his cheekbones. His knuckles were white around the glass, his shoulders stiff, as though he was bracing himself against an invisible weight.
He lifted the glass toward his lips, but before he could drink, I crossed the room. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. Without thinking, I reached out, my fingers brushing against his hand as I took the glass from him. For a second, he just froze, staring at me, the shock in his eyes sharp as a blade. Then, before he could protest, I tilted the glass and poured its contents down the sink. The amber liquid swirled under the dim light, then vanished, leaving only silence.
"Alcohol won't help you," I said firmly, though my voice trembled at the edges. The words felt fragile against the storm inside him. I forced myself to meet his eyes, their darkness reflecting the pale LED glow. "Let your feelings out. Don't bottle them up. You can be angry at me. I'll be by your side no matter what."
For a moment, he didn't move. His chest rose and fell in heavy bursts, his jaw so tight I thought he might shatter his teeth. Then, suddenly, he exploded.
With a violent motion, he smashed the empty glass against the edge of the island. The sound split the air like a gunshot, shards scattering across the counter and floor, catching the faint light like cruel little stars.
"You don't understand, Niran!" he shouted, his voice cracking, raw. His fists clenched, then slammed against the counter again and again, each dull thud echoing through the room, vibrating through the island between us. "Even though I don't want to get married, I have to! And not because of love — because of them! Everything's already arranged! Nobody cares what I want, nobody cares about my feelings!"
The LEDs lit his face from below, casting shadows that made him look even more haunted, broken. His breath came ragged, his hands trembling as he pressed them flat against the counter, as though holding himself up was the only thing keeping him from collapsing.
"After the wedding," he continued, his voice hoarse, "everything will change! Do you understand? We won't exist anymore! Nothing!"
His words struck me like blades. My throat burned, my chest felt hollow. I wanted to scream back at him, to deny every word, but when I finally spoke, my voice came out soft, breaking:
"I know it won't be easy. But I want this last week… I want to spend it with you."
Chak shook his head violently, the shadows twisting across his face. "Don't talk like it's possible!"
I stepped closer, my hands trembling at my sides, the kitchen island still between us. My eyes searched his, desperate to find the man I loved under the storm consuming him.
"You're my boyfriend, Chak. I love you," I said, steady even as my chest shook. "And as long as you're mine, we'll find a way. Together."
His eyes burned — anger, pain, despair — yet when his gaze locked on me, something in them faltered. His breath was harsh, uneven, his body trembling like a bowstring pulled too tight.
"There is no way out, Niran," he growled, but his voice broke on my name, splintering into something almost fragile. "You don't understand. You can't fix this."
But I didn't move back. I slowly approached him my footsteps light against the floor, until I stood close enough to touch him. The glow of the LEDs painted us both in cold light, the shadows deepening behind us.
I lifted my hand, my fingers brushing against his cheek. His skin was hot beneath my touch, trembling with the force of everything he was holding inside. His eyes softened, as though my hand had cracked the armor he fought so hard to keep.
"Chak," I whispered, my thumb brushing the line of his jaw, "before you get married, don't push us away. Not this last week. Please."