Esther POV
It's been nine days.
Nine days since my parents and Tony's parents have been waiting for this moment the way one waits for a birth.
Nine days since this house no longer truly feels like mine.
For nine days, my maternal aunts have taken over every room. Noise is everywhere. Laughter, traditional songs, ululations that burst out without warning. Conversations overlapping, advice raining down without pause.
My mother never stops.
Never.
Take care of your husband.
Respect him.
—Speak to him gently.
Don't answer him in the same tone.
A married woman must sometimes know how to stay silent.
A wife must be patient.
The same phrases.
Again.
And again.
I nod. I smile. But inside, I feel like I'm suffocating a little more with every piece of advice.
Even Leila made fun of me.
— Honestly, Esther, at this rate you're going to become a marriage encyclopedia, she laughed while my aunts talked over our heads.
My maternal uncles couldn't come.
Work. Obligations. Life.
On my father's side… there's no one.
He's an only child. Like me.
My grandparents died long before I was born. I never knew them. Sometimes my mother talks about them. She says they were gentle. Kind. Caring.
She says I inherited their kindness.
It tightens my chest in a strange way.
Like a lack I've never fully understood… but still feel.
Last night, my aunts performed several rituals on me.
I felt strange. Exposed. Watched. Crossed by something ancient.
But it's tradition.
And in front of tradition… I said nothing.
The woman who does the henna—the nekacha—arrived late in the evening. Her movements were sure, precise, almost solemn. At my aunts' request, she began drawing on my hands.
And I have to admit… it was beautiful.
Floral, oriental henna.
Delicate flowers, fine spirals, elegant lines stretching from my wrists to the tips of my fingers.
My nails, long and well-kept, were painted a deep dark burgundy.
A discreet ring, set with a clear stone, shimmered softly on my finger.
The whole thing radiated something feminine. Traditional. Sophisticated.
When Leila saw the result, she literally jumped with joy.
— It's so beautiful!
Then, with her devilish smile:
— Ma'am, write Tony's name on her palm. That way the henna will be even darker!
I lifted my head immediately.
— Absolutely not.
She rolled her eyes.
— Oh come on… it'll be even prettier!
— No, Leila.
I could already feel the heat rising in my cheeks. My heart was beating too fast. A strange nervousness ran through my arms.
— You don't know me well if you think I'll accept that, I snapped.
I don't know how.
I don't know by what miracle
—or what silent betrayal.
But when I looked down…
His name was there.
Tony.
Written finely, discreetly, almost tenderly, in the center of my palm.
I froze.
My stomach tightened.
My fingers trembled.
A strange warmth spread through my entire body.
— Leila… I whispered, my voice tight.
She burst out laughing.
— Oops.
I was both angry… and disturbed.
Furious… and unable to erase that name.
After the henna session, all the women applied theirs. The room smelled of flowers, incense, and tradition.
Then my in-laws sent the gifts.
Magnificently decorated Moroccan traditional trays.
Precious fabrics.
Perfumes.
Embroidered slippers.
And above all… gold jewelry.
Heavy bracelets.
Imposing necklaces.
Delicate earrings.
The gold shone under the light like an ancient promise.
And the dowry…
The dowry left me speechless.
Two million Moroccan dirhams.
More than 200,000 dollars.
My legs nearly gave out.
It was… too much.
Overwhelming.
Vertiginous.
I wasn't being bought. I knew that.
But that amount brutally reminded me that this marriage went far beyond my simple existence.
I sat down.
My chest rose too quickly.
My hands, still covered in henna, trembled slightly.
I kept repeating one thing, over and over:
Breathe, Esther.
You are still yourself.
You are not lost.
But deep down, I already knew one thing:
nothing would ever be simple again.
And yet…
in the middle of all this chaos, one thought kept returning.
Tony.
And that strange feeling—tomorrow I would be his wife, and nothing could change that.
They say every young girl waits impatiently for her wedding day.
That she imagines it from childhood.
The dress.
The look of her future husband.
The smiles.
The promises whispered softly.
They say it's the most beautiful day of a life.
I thought about it too, once.
But not like this.
Not today.
Not with this weight in my chest.
For some, this day is a choice.
A dream built by two people.
A love embraced, desired, shouted to the world.
For me…
It's not a choice.
It's a decision made long before I had the right to say yes or no.
An agreement.
A family promise.
A balance to preserve.
I'm getting married because I must.
Because my parents believe in it.
Because this marriage protects what they've built.
Because refusing would have destroyed everything.
I'm not wearing this dress for love.
I'm wearing it for loyalty.
And yet…
I'm here.
Standing.
Breathing slowly.
My heart far too restless for a day meant to be happy.
I don't know whether to cry or smile.
I don't know whether to hope or simply accept.
All I know is that this day so many women dream of…
I'm facing it.
And whatever happens after today,
nothing will ever be the same again.
I look at myself in the mirror.
The woman staring back at me feels both familiar and foreign.
My features are tense, but my eyes…
My eyes are determined.
Tired, yes.
But lucid.
My gaze drifts to the dress.
It's there.
Hanging.
Immaculate.
Magnificent.
A dress many would envy.
Chosen carefully.
Designed down to the smallest detail.
A dress worth more than some entire lives.
I look at it without moving.
It doesn't make me dream.
It intimidates me.
Because once I put it on, there will be no going back.
No longer an idea.
No longer a discussion.
No more "maybe."
It will be real.
I step closer and brush the fabric with my fingertips.
It's soft.
Almost reassuring.
But nothing truly calms the storm inside me.
I think of my mother.
Her proud, emotional gaze.
Her hands trembling slightly as she helps fasten the dress.
I think of my father.
His unshakable conviction that all of this is for my own good.
I think of Mina, with her warm, reassuring smile,
the one who always tells me:
"Everything will be fine, Esther. Be strong. And stay happy."
I close my eyes for a moment.
I breathe deeply.
Am I ready?
No.
Do I have a choice?Not really.
A soft knock on the door.
It opens to my mother and my aunt Aïcha, my mother's older sister.
They're already ready.
My mother is wearing an ivory caftan embroidered with golden threads, elegant and discreet.
Aunt Aïcha wears a deep green caftan adorned with traditional embroidery, majestic in her presence.
— My darling, are you awake? my mother asks, approaching and placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
— Yes… I just woke up.
Aunt Aïcha speaks.
Her voice is gentle, but firm.
— Esther, listen to me carefully. Today, you become a woman, a wife, a daughter-in-law. You must behave well and honor our family, honor your parents. You are their only daughter, their only child. It is your duty to make them happy.
She pauses.
My throat tightens.
I feel tears rising.
— You must take care of your home. Your in-laws may not pay attention to traditions, but you know them. Apply them wisely. And above all… if you want your marriage to last, if there is to be peace in your home, there is only one essential thing: trust. Trust Tony. Follow our advice. And you will be happy.
When she finishes, tears are already running down my cheeks without me really understanding why.
My mother pulls me into her arms.
— Stop crying or you'll wet my clothes, she says with a slight smile. And besides… you're not a child anymore. Avoid behaving like one, alright?
I nod without speaking.
— Alright, we have to go.
I straighten up and look at her directly, my voice broken, trembling.
— You're not staying with me?
— No. Your father and your aunts need me. We have to help them.
She kisses my cheek.
Then they both leave.
The door closes.
I'm alone.
Sitting on the edge of the bed.
My gaze lost in emptiness.
My phone vibrates.
A message from Leila.
She's with my parents. Helping. Joking. As always.
My father didn't want a big ceremony.
Just close family, a few friends, and investors.
The merger is to be signed the same day.
No journalists.
No public announcement.
Nothing for now.
And honestly… it's better that way.
On Tony's side, there will be his father and a close friend.
His mother had to leave on the day of our engagement due to an emergency.
The rest of his family will come later.
I put my phone down.
Silence returns.
And with it, that strange and terrifying certainty:
in a few hours, I won't be just Esther anymore.
I'll be a wife.
And that thought terrifies me more than I imagined.
I suddenly lie back down and pull the blanket over my head, as if the fabric could protect me from reality. My heart is racing. My hands are clammy. I feel like I can't breathe.
A few minutes pass.
A soft knock at the door.
— Esther?
It's Mina.
She enters without waiting for my answer and sits beside me on the bed. Her presence is soft, reassuring. She places a light hand on the blanket.
— Hey, sweetheart… don't you want to get up? Don't forget it's your wedding today.
I answer from under the blanket, my voice broken, a little tearful:
— I don't want to… I don't want this anymore.
I hear her smile. She tries to lift the blanket, but I resist.
— Come on, Esther, get up. Stop acting like a child.
— No… I don't want to. And besides, I'm sleeping.
— Oh my God… why does she have to act like a child when she's getting married? I pity poor Tony.
Despite myself, a smile tugs at my lips. Slowly, I remove the blanket. Mina looks at me with such tenderness it tightens my chest.
— I know you're scared, she says softly. But don't let fear ruin what you have… what you're becoming.
— I know… but—
— There is no "but," she interrupts. Get up. Be the brave girl you've always been. Stop underestimating yourself.
I sit up on the bed.
— You're right. I'm worth more than this. And I'm ready to face whatever comes.
She looks at me, then a mischievous smile appears.
— Even the wedding night?
My heart jumps violently in my chest.
The… wedding night?
I've never really thought about it.
And I don't want to.
— Mina, stop, I say, embarrassed.
— What? I didn't say anything bad. And besides… it'll probably be very quick for you.
— Mina!
She bursts out laughing while I look away, red to the ears.
She finally stands up.
— Alright, I'll stop. I'm going to get ready, and you need to do the same. The wedding is at two p.m. It's already eleven and you're still not ready. Get up and get ready, okay?
— Okay.
She leaves the room.
I stay seated on the bed for a few minutes, lost in thought.
The wedding night…
My stomach knots.
My heart races.
I push the thought away with a sigh.
I finally get up and head to the shower.
The hot water runs over my body, easing some of the tension, slowing the storm of thoughts spinning in my head. I close my eyes and let the water slide over my skin. It feels incredibly good.
I stay in the shower for at least an hour and fifteen minutes.
When I get out, it's already noon.
I put on the dress my mother-in-law sent from France.
I have to admit… it fits me perfectly.
She really has taste.
At that moment, Mina enters the room.
— Wow… you're beautiful. Simply beautiful.
I smile at her, a soft, almost fragile smile.
— Tony won't look at anyone but you. No one else will exist.
I don't answer. I sit down at the vanity.
Mina applies my makeup lightly, with great delicacy.
My hairstyle is half-up: two braided strands on the sides meet at the back to form a small, discreet knot, while the rest of my hair flows freely down my back.
Elegant. Natural. Effortless.
I put on nude-colored heeled sandals—simple, discreet.
— You're even more beautiful. Your parents will be proud of you.
— I hope so…
— Don't hope. Believe it.
A short silence settles.
— Mina… can I ask you something?
— Yes, go ahead.
I hesitate. I know she won't like it.
— Can I have some chocolate?
She looks at me, incredulous.
— You know very well your mother forbade you from eating any today.
I sigh.
— I know, but I'm stressed… and it's the only thing that calms me down. Please.
— We're going to be late. Your father wants to walk you himself to Tony's arm and—
— Please, I interrupt. Just a little. Just to calm my nerves.
I clasp my hands together, puppy eyes activated.
— Please… please… please…
She sighs… then gives in.
— Fine. But you don't move from here. And if I'm late, you leave with the guard.
I smile broadly.
— Okay.
She looks at me seriously.
— Esther, promise me. I'm not comfortable leaving you alone.
— I promise. I won't move.
She watches me for another moment, then leaves.
I really need that chocolate.
It's childish, I know.
But when I'm stressed, it's the only thing that helps.
Ten minutes pass.
I'm still there, putting on my bracelets, head lowered, when I hear the door open. I assume it's Mina.
— You took a long time—
Silence.
— Why aren't you talking? You—
I stop cold.
Slowly, I lift my head.
He's there.
In front of me.
Malik.
His wavy hair frames his face carelessly.
His dark eyes lock onto mine—burning, dangerous.
His body is tense, imposing, too close.
My throat tightens.
My heart pounds violently.
My hands grow cold.
He smiles.
A smug smile.Arrogant.
Terrifyingly familiar.
— So, my love… did you miss me?