I had dared to reveal my love for him when my parents tried suggesting suitable men for my hand in marriage.
They were horrified at first; to think that their darling daughter had sealed another’s lips with hers and locked hands with someone while walking down the cobbled path to the city garden.
I am twenty six years old: what can I say?
The date and time were fixed so they could poke and prod him at length.
Even though my parents were the ones who would do most of the talking– I could tell– they were anxiously setting straight every piece of furniture at home, dusting the shelves endlessly and stocking the pantry with things I have never seen.
The last time I saw cookies in the left cupboard was on my eighteenth birthday. The time agreed upon came and flew away. An hour passed, then another.
He did not come.
My parents knew better than to tell me they told me so, but the finality in their voice was unmistakable. Once again, I had disappointed them.
That evening, I got a phone call informing about a man who miraculously survived and walked away.