The Contractual Bride
"Whew..."
I let out a long, turbulent exhale that seemed to carry the entire weight of the workday. As I trudged down the dimly lit hallway toward my apartment, my mind was a flickering slideshow of the day's stress. My shoulders were tight, and all I could think about was the sweet sanctuary of my sofa.
I reached for the handle, my keys already clutched in my trembling hand. But as my fingers brushed the cold metal, the door gave way. It wasn't just unlocked; it was ajar.
"What? It's open!?"
A cold prickle of sweat trailed down my neck. Did I forget to lock it this morning? No, I was meticulous about that. My heart hammered against my ribs as I pushed the door wide and stepped inside. Then, I froze.
"Welcome home! I have turned eighteen today," a voice chirped—bright, melodic, and impossibly familiar. "Please let me make the promise I made at that time come true, Yuvraj."
Standing in the center of my living room was a girl who looked like she'd stepped straight out of a memory. Her eyes sparkled with a terrifying level of devotion.
"I have already gotten permission from both of our parents," she continued, her voice rising with an airy, breathless excitement. "There is no problem at all. So, please, take this!"
With a face flushed a deep, rosy pink and a smile that suggested she was floating on cloud nine, she thrust a document toward me. Her hands were trembling, not from fear, but from sheer, unadulterated anticipation.
I stared at the bold kanji at the top of the page. "What? A marriage form...?"
"Yes! This is proof that we will become married couples," she declared, her chest heaving as she stepped closer. "This is to prove that we will be husband and wife. I have already filled out the information that could be completed, so the rest should be filled in by you with your signature, Yuvraj—"
I didn't let her finish. I backed out of the room, grabbed the edge of the door, and slammed it shut.
Click.
I stood in the hallway, staring at the wood grain of my own front door. What was that? A dream? A collective hallucination brought on by overwork?
"Hahaha..." A dry, hysterical laugh escaped my throat. "Maybe I'm just tired. I was thinking about the past earlier, so I'm seeing delusions now. Yeah. That's it."
Just as I managed to convince myself I was losing my mind, my phone erupted into a frantic vibration in my pocket. I pulled it out. The caller ID made my stomach drop: Dad.
I slid the bar to answer. "Hello?"
"Do you remember Ananya?" My father's voice bypassed any greeting, sounding strained and uncharacteristically grave.
A heavy, sinking sensation settled in my gut. "Dad? What's going on?"
"Actually, a problem occurred. My finances have not been doing well these days," he confessed. The
"strange feeling" I'd had moments ago suddenly sharpened into a jagged edge of dread.
"It was when we were about to have a bounced check," he continued, his voice dropping to a weary whisper. "An old acquaintance of mine contacted me. He told me he would help me out, and even donate to our hospital charity fund... it's really a good thing for us. There is just one condition for that."
My gaze drifted back to the closed apartment door. "Is that... perhaps...?"
"Right. That his daughter and you get married to each other—"
Before the sentence could even land, the apartment door swung open again. Ananya stood there, framed by the light of my living room, tilting her head with an innocent, predatory curiosity.
"Did you finish the conversation?" she asked.
I gripped the phone so hard the plastic creaked. "Does this mean... the daughter of my dad's old acquaintance is you?"
"Yes, that's right! I'm glad you understood the situation," she said, her smile widening into something radiant and blinding. Once again, she held up the marriage application like a trophy.
"Yuvraj, this is a win-win for us both, don't you think?"
"No, no, no, no! It's not good at all!" I shouted, the reality of the trap closing in on me. "To begin with, I am a teacher and you are a student—"
"I don't care about such a thing," she interrupted, her tone shifting from bubbly to eerily pragmatic.
"Besides, it's a political marriage, in a way, for a business deal. So just give up and sign this form, please."
I looked into her eyes and felt my resolve crumbling. I remembered this feeling—the sheer weight of her personality. I had always had a hard time resisting her "requests" since we were children. She knew exactly how to corner me.
"So Yuvraj... so that everyone can be happy, alright? Hehehe."
She stepped forward, looming over me with a "demonic" smile—a look of absolute triumph that left no room for negotiation. I looked at the pen she offered, then at the desperate hope in her eyes, and realized I had no strength left to fight.
That is how—at least on paper—we became husband and wife.