Don'ts Of An Arranged Marriage

1. Don't Freak Out

I lay their in a fetus position, scrolling through Instagram for an hour. The rule states that you waste your spirit in social media until it's time you realize-

What am I doing?

Then finally you go back to scrolling a minute more- then I got off the bed, my blue silk pants and shirt making it easier for me to slip to the ground as I rolled. We all have different kinds of fears- but mine was mine to me. So I got washed, dressed up, and walked out. I jumped startled when a service boy wished me good morning, I managed one too. It wasn't good riddance I told- a perfect chirpy good morning. Nothing could go wrong in that- he can't judge me for what was to be expected. Then I tapped on the contact of Mister Fischer- he gave me his number, told me I could call him anytime I felt like I needed help. He was a learned scholar and I wrote sappy romance for quick cash.

No offense to Dan Brown. But my books can make one speechless, it's just so full of spineless characters- that one simply cannot understands what kind of audience it targets. Even though I don't know what prompted it to become a bestseller- so when I step out there was a line of three, two girls, and a boy in the lobby seated with a hardcopy of my previous release. I smile, hugged them, narrated some heartfelt thing about their country and signed their copy.

The boy blushed, he probably was some good year's younger than me, lanky, nerdy, and nervous. I pat his cheeks adoringly. In an alternate dimension, I was passing out because of the attention. My rings click against the metallic pen as I scribbled a note for him,

Thanks for spending your savings on buying a hard copy.

No one ever should be my fan!

As I left I exercised breathing, took a cab met Fischer at a local flower shop. He was there with his beautiful wife and two young daughters. They gawked at my clothing, I had a shirt with skull imprint on, black leather pants wrapped my legs, metallic chains fastened like a chocker across my neck and the dark lipstick I wore did the job of frightening the girls.

I wore every little thing that I wasn't able to wear when my family was around. An emo phase as they call it.

"What a gorgeous little doll" exclaimed Fischer's wife Martha.

Wait- so I don't get judged here?

"You are breathtaking" I breathed, suddenly waved of happiness at her appreciation towards me. She indeed was stunning. Tall, tanned, and typical upper state housewife- someone who belongs in a book where she kills her husband on their fifth anniversary to inherit his thirty-million dollar estate.

I don't tell her that.

But she will be an inspiration for such a book in the market one day.

"My husband here told me everything about you" she hugged me, her green drape dress flows with her shifts. I just crinkle with every step. "Such a bright young mind. I googled you last night"

What did she found?

I just realize my details were a mere click away.

"she has been so restless ever since" he adds

"I can see that" I smile.

"My girls wanted to meet you too" she ushered the children towards me while mister Fischer grinned, he was attractive for a man who has lived almost half of his life. Fit and happy- so when I smiled at the girls Mrs. Fischer began in a sickly sweet voice.

"Go girls, tell the lady how much your father loves their family and doesn't want a stranger to ruin our vacation but he is just too nice to decline any addition made"