The ringing of the phone sends across a very cruel omen, it seems. Your gaze rests on the screen as the flashing of your parent's names appear across. After all, isn't it always the same? The world on the other side of the screen is cold, detached; they would not call only to show their concern.

You take a deep breath before answering the phone, knowing well and good what this call will bring and what your whole life has led to. "Hello?" Your voice sounds far away, even to your own ears.

"Y/N," your mother's voice crackles through the line, sharp and businesslike. Never warm. Never comforting. It's just the voice of a woman who treats you no better than property. "We've finalized the wedding details. You will marry Kim Taehyung in two weeks."

Your heart sinks.

Two weeks. It's not a shock, really; you have known this was coming for years. Since young, your life was never your own; it has always been about what your family wants, about fulfilling the legacy they have built for themselves, your future never your own to choose.

But hearing it out loud makes it real, and suffocating, like a hand around your throat.

"Yes, Mother," you say automatically, the words robotic. You've said them so many times before-just like some script you've learned to recite. It doesn't matter how you feel. Your feelings don't matter. All that matters is what your parents decide.

"Good. The invitations have been sent out. You will be expected to attend all functions leading up to the ceremony. No exceptions, Y/N. Do not embarrass us," she says, her words cold and final. You can hear the faintest note of approval in her voice, as if this is something to be proud of. Something you should be grateful for.

You barely manage a reply. "Yes, Mother." Your voice little more than a whisper, but enough, it seems, to get her off the line. The conversation click-ends with her hanging up, and I am left to sit and stare, transfixed at the screen as though somehow this complete nightmare could make some sense.

The room seems smaller now. You should be used to this by now-your parents' expectations, their constant pressure-but it still stings. The feeling of being trapped, of never having a say in anything about your own life, makes your chest tighten.

You place the phone down on the desk beside you and fall onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to focus. You have passed by his name, heard about him-your future husband-but you know little about him. It was an engagement that had been arranged since way before your first conversation with him, and now, two weeks before the wedding, he was just an unknown face in your head with a name carrying all the weight of expectations your family held onto.

A knock on the door snaps you out of your thoughts, and your heart sinks. You know who it is without even needing to check. The house is silent, and everyone else knows better than to bother you right now.

Them-your parents.

The door opens with a creek, and you will have no need to look, as it can only be her. Your mother steps inside, poised, perfect-like, in whose life everything is put in place. You feel her gaze on you, awaiting the speech, reassurance expected.

"Y/N," she starts off, her tone flat, as if there is nothing out of the ordinary about the situation at all. "Have you prepared yourself for what's coming? There's no going back now."

You nod, though it feels like you're suffocating. "Yes, Mother."

The silence thereafter is thick, uncomfortable. She watches you for a moment longer, but she doesn't need to say more. She never does. The arrangements are made, and how you feel about it is inconsequential. All that matters is the plan. All that matters is the family.

"Good," she says, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she turns to leave. "Make sure you're ready. Taehyung's family expects perfection."

The door clicks shut behind her, and you are left alone once again. Your parents' footsteps fade down the hallway, but what's been done continues to weigh in the air.

You get off the bed and go to the window, staring out into the world, still going on, still pulsating, as if nothing has happened. Two weeks, the wedding, the life that's been mapped out for you. You want to scream, to run far away, but you know that's impossible. You have never had the freedom to choose your way, have never had a say in anything: not in your future, not in your life.

And in a couple of weeks, you are going to walk down the aisle. You will be marrying a man you have never seen, a man who is no less a stranger to you than you are to him. You wonder what he is like-this man your parents have chosen for you. Is he kind? Is he angry? Does he even know what he's walking into?

But then you check yourself. It doesn't matter, does it?

In a fortnight, you'll be his wife, and whatever happens afterwards is utterly none of your choosing. And you'll take up your parts because it is well understood.

Just like always.

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