I sat on the viewing deck at Olivers Hill. I counted eight ferries doing the route from the city to Frankston Harbour. It was long after dinnertime, but there were still thousands of commuters returning home from the city.
When I was young, my father used to point at the city at night-time and tell me that I was looking at fairy lights. I used to believe him wholeheartedly, the same way that I used to watch romantic comedies from the last century and believe that one day I would fall in love on my own terms.
I hugged my knees up to my chest. It felt like the start of summer, but the wind was chilly. Behind me, headlights streamed slowly down the hill.
My dad just sat there over dinner, not saying anything. He was a quiet conspirator in all of this. It reeked of inequality - my sister got married two years later than they were forcing me to. The lack of discussion. The way that my mother booked me in to see the agency without telling me first.
I thought I had more time.
Millie asked me what I was expecting. Not this.
My mother takes such little interest in my life. So why this, why now?
What was I expecting?
Another two years. A lot can happen in two years.
I wanted to finish school and make decisions about my life independently. I wanted to travel for a year, before starting university. I could have met a Japanese architecture student outside a Gaudi building in Barcelona and fallen instantly and passionately in love.
There must be some countries that don't have arranged marriages. There must still be some decent guys left unattached? Why the panic?
I'm only sixteen.