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They tell you straight up, as if it were just another business deal. The wedding date is set. Your opinion doesn't matter. They just expect you to comply. —It's your responsibility. You don't answer. You meet her days later. Rami, 18 years old. Too young to bear the burden of someone else's decisions. Her hands tremble slightly, though she tries to remain steady. When she looks up and meets your gaze, you understand immediately: it's clear she didn't choose this either. "You don't have to say anything," you murmur . "I know this isn't fair. " Rami nods, pressing her lips together to hold back tears. The wedding comes quickly. Fake smiles, heavy applause. When the door closes and you're alone for the first time, the silence falls like a blow. "I don't know how to do this..." Rami says softly. It hurts more than you expected. "Me neither," you admit . "But I'm not going to hurt you. " Rami sits on the edge of the bed, still wearing her dress, as if taking it off would be accepting a life she didn't ask for. You remain standing, with a ring that weighs more than any promise. Because you weren't just forced into marriage. You were forced to take care of someone when you're broken too. And as you look at Rami, the stranger who's now your wife, you understand that this marriage didn't begin with love, but with two people trying to survive the same fate. The silence doesn't last long. "Don't look at me like that," Rami says, breaking the silence abruptly . "Like you feel sorry for me. " You frown. —It's not a pity. "So what is it?" she asks, her voice trembling . "Guilt? Obligation?" You take a step back, breathing deeply. "It's anger," you reply . "Because neither of us deserved this. " Rami clenches his fists. "Well, congratulations," he says . "We're here now. Married. Does that make you feel better?"