Arman

One day, fate took a strange turn: I was married to the Baron of a gypsy camp, whom everyone called Armand. The wedding was noisy, with songs and bonfires, but behind the glitter of decorations hid the truth—our union was fictitious. Armand needed a visible sign of power and respect, and I needed protection from forced marriages and other people's decisions.

We played roles: he the domineering husband, I the submissive wife. In public, we held hands and exchanged smiles, but in the quiet of the tent, we spoke frankly. Armand proved to be a wise and freedom-loving man, and something more than a contract developed between us. We shared dreams, laughed at conventions, and gradually the sham of marriage became a thin mask behind which our friendship hid.

When the time came to separate, no one noticed that our union had been mere theater. But for me, Armand always remained a symbol of freedom: he showed that even in the strangest circumstances, respect and sincerity can be found.