The day I got married to him was a blur of memory.
It was just like any other day. Sitting quietly on the last chair. While the "real family" interacted with each other. Or at least I thought.
I knew something was wrong when my aunt looked at me twice that day. She never looks my way. My grandpa spoke in a matter of fact way. At first I didn't even realise he was talking to me.
"Your marriage has been arranged. Sign the papers today. The ceremony is next week."
I nodded in response. That's all they wanted anyways. I wasn't surprised at the contents of his words. Rather that he actually bothered to tell me that himself. The last time I remember him talking to me was during my college years. "Don't be your mother." It was the same dinner table. Same tone. Same person. And nothing had changed. I was still a burden.
I was the result of an affair my father had. It wasn't an affair. They were dating in secret. But they like to call it that.
My parents were classmates during college years. I don't know much about them. But my cousin once told me that my father took his own life after my mom died from childbirth. That is why I am not allowed to exist. Because my existence only brought misery and tragedy. That day at the hospital, I was named by my grandfather. "Mazlum"
I was raised in this house. Surely. But it wasn't my home. Never had been. Never will be.
Every word I spoke only got glares as a response. It was no secret that they hated me.
I signed the papers on that same table. Married to someone I didn't know.
After that everything passed in a flash. The white wedding gown. The camera lights. The hollow vows. I don't even remember what flowers I was holding. Or was I even holding one at all. But I remember one thing: the same unbothered gaze of my family. At least I knew his name by then. Azkail Rowmoth. CFO of SAHARA corporation. That's all I knew. From the internet.
We greeted the guests together. He didn't talk to me. Nor did I. The marriage didn't change who I was. It just changed from one's burden to another's. Our arms were linked, That was the only thing linked. Through the smile on his face, I could sense the coldness.
The only thing he said to me was "play your part." At least I had a part to play.
The party ended.
The background changed to a colourless bedroom, and locked doors. He signed the last piece there. Me. Even his words were as good as none at all. Like it was a formality.
His touch held no meaning. I wasn't looking for it.
But my heart was aching. Physically and emotionally.
After he was done, he didn't waste an extra second on me. He adjusted his cuffs and walked out. Leaving only the trace of his Cologne behind.
I didn't know if I should be relieved he bothered in the first place, or acknowledge the ache in my heart. I knew better than to expect sweet nothings. I didn't have the luxury to expect in the first place. But we could have shared the bed. Even if not life. Who was I to question anything? I just had to live like I've always been. Quietly in a corner.
The next few days went by, I didn't see him. He was busy with work. I had to attend several gatherings in the meantime. With my family. Where I continued to be silent.
I stopped going after a few weeks. He also started coming back to the house. But that changed nothing.
He had a piano in the living room. I just used to sit there. I didn't want to disturb him with the noise.
We occasionally ate together. Sometimes dinner, sometimes breakfast. l would just sit quietly and leave after eating.
Then I stopped eating at the table. Better for everyone. That's what I thought.
But he called for me on the 3rd day.
"Are you unsatisfied with anything?" His eyes were on me like fingers coated with honey. Firm, and lingering.
"No. Everything is good." I said. His intentions were unclear to me. But I wasn't curious enough to pry.
"We will be eating dinner together." He was informing me. And I just nodded. Somehow he looked annoyed at that.
It started with dinner. Then with scheduled nights. Then I was sleeping in his arms everyday.
I didn't know what to make of it.
But I have had enough. I lived more at the library cafes than at his house. I couldn't live being a ghost.
I remember the first time his hand gripped my throat.
"Where do you think this is?"
"Do I have to make an appointment to meet you?" His words were harsh. Just as his actions. Did he think I would do something behind his back? Whatever it was. I wasn't desperate enough to argue with him. After that day he didn't touch me for a whole month. He would leave things in my room. Clothes, jewelry.