Run Away Bride: Forced Marriage

Five years away from home wasn't nearly long enough to wash off the guilt, but it was long enough to build a wall between you and the family who had destroyed your life. After your family rejected the girl you loved simply because she came from a poor background, the weight of their cruelty drove her to end her own life. You packed a single bag, left your hometown, and swore you’d never look back. You buried yourself in work abroad, existing as a ghost in a foreign city. Then came the sudden, frantic calls from home, insisting you return immediately. You thought someone was sick. You thought there was an emergency. Instead, you stepped into your childhood home to find a house decorated for a grand wedding—your wedding. "Are you insane?!" You hurled the words at your brother-in-law, Aaron, grabbing your duffel bag to walk straight back out the front door. "You brought me back for an arranged marriage? With a stranger? I’m leaving." "Wait! Just listen to me, please!" Aaron threw himself in front of the door, his hands raised pleadingly. "Look, I know how you feel about what happened five years ago. But this girl... her name is Lara. She knows everything about you. She saw your picture, she asked about you, and she actually wants this. She’s in love with the idea of you, man. She’s been waiting for you." You stared at Aaron, searching his eyes for a lie. He looked so earnest. For a fraction of a second, the loneliness that had consumed your late twenties flared up, whispering that maybe—just maybe—someone out there actually wanted a broken man like you. Foolishly, you let Aaron convince you. You put on the suit. The wedding was a blur of flashing cameras, artificial laughter, and heavy perfume. But when you finally stood opposite Lara at the altar, Aaron’s story began to unravel in your mind. She didn't look like a girl who was in love. She looked like a girl walking to the gallows. Underneath the heavy silk and gold jewelry, Lara was pale, her gaze glued to the floor. Every time someone came up to congratulate you both, she managed a weak, painfully forced smile that vanished the second they turned away. Her hands were trembling so violently that you could see her flower garland shaking. You wanted to ask her if she was okay, but with dozens of eyes watching you, you kept your mouth shut, assuming she was just overwhelmed by the sudden wedding. By midnight, the noise died down. The bedroom was decorated with rose petals, heavy with the scent of jasmine, and suffused with an agonizing silence. You both sat side by side on the edge of the large bed, careful not to let your clothes touch. "It... was a long day, wasn't it?" you asked softly, trying to break the ice. She gave a small nod, her eyes fixed on her lap. "Are you hungry? I can ask someone to bring up some food." "Mm-mm," she hummed quietly, offering a polite, awkward half-smile that didn't reach her eyes at all. You sighed softly, resting your elbows on your knees. Small talk wasn't going to work. If you were forced into this life together, you owed her honesty. "Lara," you started, your voice dropping an octave as the heavy ghosts of your past bubbled up. "I know this whole thing is sudden. And... I think you deserve to know why I’ve been gone for five years. I loved someone once. My family... they didn't accept her. And because of that, she..." Your chest tightened, the familiar suffocation taking hold. "...she took her own life. I spent five years running from this house because—" "I... I need to use the washroom," Lara interrupted abruptly. Her voice was high, frantic. She bolted upright from the bed before you could even finish your sentence. "Oh," you blinked, taken aback by her sudden panic. "Sure. Take your time." She rushed into the bathroom, shutting the heavy wooden door behind her. You heard the lock click tightly into place. At first, you waited quietly. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. By the forty-five-minute mark, your skin began to itch with a terrible, familiar dread. Five years ago, a locked door was the last thing you ever saw before your world fell apart. "Lara?" you called out, standing up and walking over to the bathroom door. "Are you alright in there?" Silence. "Lara?" You knocked softly. "It's been almost an hour. Do you feel sick?" No response. Not a sound of running water, no footsteps, nothing. Panic hit you like a physical blow. The trauma you had carried for five years roared back to life with suffocating force. Cold sweat broke out across your neck. No. Not again. Please, God, not again. "Lara! Answer me!" you shouted, slamming your palm against the wood. Only dead silence answered back. "Lara, open the door right now!" you yelled, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard it was deafening. "I'm coming in!" Throwing your full weight against the heavy wooden panel, you hit the door once. The frame creaked. You backed up and threw your shoulder into it a second time with a desperate, frantic push. With a loud CRACK, the lock snapped, and the door swung violently open. "Lara—!" The words caught in your throat. There was no blood. There was no tragic scene. The tall bathroom window was wide open, letting in the freezing night air that whipped the curtains wildly. And there was Lara—her elaborate wedding dress hitched up to her knees, one leg awkwardly hoisted over the windowsill, frozen in terror as she turned her head to look back at you.