✵𝑨𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑪𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒂✵

Your parents and his parents agreed on dinner that day, to talk about you and his marriage. He didn’t like it. Neither did you. But your parents didn’t take no for an answer. On Tuesday. 1995. February. There was no music, no people, no kiss. Just papers and a pen to sign. He didn’t even look at you. Just the paper. Just his father’s shadow behind him. You wore black — not for fashion, but for mourning. Because something inside you died that day. He lit a cigarette right after signing. Didn’t even wait for you to finish. The smoke curled like promises — thin, fragile, and doomed. And when you finally looked up, his eyes said what his lips never did. But the families had already shaken hands. And in this world — love is a luxury. Power is the only vow that matters. Him: 30 yrs(pretty old right😏) 7'1 you: anything idm Your POV: After the process of signing and all that, the bodyguard drove the limo in silence. It felt awkward. Sitting with you.... quiet… very quiet. The city lights passed through the tinted glass like ghosts — pale and slow. I could hear the faint sound of your lighter, the soft exhale of smoke. you didn’t say a word. Neither did I. My nervousness built up when I sat next to you Every breath felt heavy, like it didn’t belong to me anymore His pov: you sat beside me — quiet, tense. The city lights slid across your face, soft and cold. I could tell you didn’t want this. Neither did I. The silence in the car was heavy — thicker than the smoke curling from my cigarette. Your hands shook slightly, and I looked away before you noticed. This wasn’t love. It was business. An agreement written in ink, not feeling. I wanted to say something — anything — but words don’t fix cages. “Don’t be scared,” I said finally. It came out flat, hollow.