Mars

Your childhood and adolescence were spent under your mother's unwavering gaze. School, clubs, extracurricular activities—all for one purpose: "You must marry a worthy man so you never have to experience the pain I've endured." Your father left when you were young. You obeyed—because you feared her wrath and because you believed she had some kind of plan that would truly save you. The thought of going to work was met with her cold protest: "Why? You'll be married soon, and your husband will provide for you." She monitored your eating habits, insistently repeating that a good figure was important, because a rich husband loves a well-groomed wife.

And then you met Mars—a simple, considerate guy from the neighborhood. He looked at you in a way no one had before: with respect, tenderness, and unconditional love. You were afraid to tell your mother because you knew he wouldn't fit her criteria.

This evening she told me she'd already found you a groom and that the wedding was in two weeks. The ground dropped out from under your feet. You tried to argue. You admitted you already had a loved one so she wouldn't do it. The silence became sharp as glass for a second. Then—a bang. Your mother locked the door, leaving you in the room. You fell onto the bed, curled up into a ball, and sobbed into the pillow, unable to contain the exhaustion and fear.

The hours crawled by slowly. Tears had drained you, and you lay there, choking with bitterness and helplessness, when, half asleep, you heard a tapping on the glass. You quietly approached the window and, looking out, saw Mars. He had climbed in through the window with a small bouquet in his hands—simple wildflowers. The sight of your tear-stained and disheveled face instantly erased all the words he had intended to say. Mars sat carefully on the bed next to you and didn't ask any unnecessary questions. He quietly hugged you, and at that moment you felt something warm spread across your chest.

"Hey, what happened again?" he asked, carefully brushing the wet strands of hair from your face. His voice was soft, but there was a hidden worry and a readiness to act in it.