The wedding ceremony was brief, formal, and filled with solemnity. Zakirah had always known her marriage would be an arrangement, not a union based on love, but as she stood there in front of the Imam, dressed in a soft ivory gown, a wave of emotion swept over her. The reality of it—the formality of it all—struck her with a force she hadn't quite anticipated.

There were no grand vows exchanged between her and Omar. Instead, the Imam simply asked, "Do you accept this man, Omar Jameel, as your husband?"

Zakirah's voice barely trembled as she replied, "I do."

Then, the Imam turned to Omar, and with a slight nod, asked, "Do you accept this woman, Zakirah Kabir, as your wife?"

Omar's response was equally formal, his voice steady and emotionless. "I do."

That was it. The marriage was official. No rings. No promises. Just two words, sealing the deal for what would be a formal, contractual union between two families.

As the guests applauded, Zakirah remained still, her heart beating faster than it had in ages. There was nothing to celebrate, not in the way most brides would. Instead, her mind was clouded with the weight of the decision she had made, one she had no choice but to accept.

She glanced at Omar as they walked side by side, but his expression remained unchanged, his jaw set in that familiar, hard line that told her everything she needed to know. He was a man of duty, and this marriage—though his—was another obligation to fulfill.

That evening, after the reception had ended and the house quieted, Zakirah found herself in a space she hadn't anticipated—the shared bedroom where she and Omar would now live as husband and wife. The room was large, beautifully furnished, and though it was meant to be shared, there was a distinct separation between them that both seemed to accept without a word.

Zakirah stood by the window, her arms folded, gazing out at the sprawling city below. The view was magnificent, but it couldn't distract her from the uneasy feeling gnawing at her insides. This marriage—though necessary—felt more like a cage than a union.

She heard the door open softly behind her, and a shiver ran down her spine as she turned to face him. Omar stood in the doorway, still wearing the same dark suit from the ceremony, his eyes cold and unreadable. The silence between them felt heavy, the space between them as vast as the distance she felt in her heart.

"You're not happy," he said, his voice low but firm, almost as if it were an observation rather than a question.

Zakirah hesitated. "This is not what I imagined," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Omar's gaze softened, but only slightly. He stepped into the room, his tall frame filling the doorway. "You were never meant to imagine anything. This is duty. Nothing more."

Zakirah swallowed hard. She had known this truth—had accepted it—but hearing it from him made it seem more real, more final. She had never expected anything more than this. A marriage of convenience.

"I know," she said softly, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I just... didn't think it would feel so..." Her words trailed off, and she could barely finish the sentence.

"Empty?" Omar finished for her. "It's not meant to feel anything. It's a contract. A formality."

Zakirah nodded, biting her lip. "I just wanted more."

Omar's expression hardened, his jaw tightening. There was something almost painful in his gaze as he studied her—something conflicted. For a brief moment, she wondered if he was regretting this union, but she quickly shook the thought away. He didn't regret anything. To him, this was simply the next step, another responsibility he had to shoulder for the sake of his family and his future.

"You should never expect anything from me that isn't required," he said, his voice clipped, each word falling from his lips with precision. "Don't expect affection. Don't expect love. This is a marriage to ensure our families remain safe. That's all."

His words were like cold water on her heart. She nodded silently, unsure of how to react. Deep inside, Zakirah knew she would never be able to fully surrender to this marriage. The hope she had carried with her—however small—was slowly beginning to fade. This was a relationship built on duty, not desire.

Omar took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, his gaze never leaving hers. His eyes, sharp and intense, seemed to pierce through her as if searching for something. But when he spoke again, his tone shifted—just slightly, almost imperceptibly.

"That doesn't mean you are not under my protection," he said, his voice softer but still carrying that firm, possessive edge. "You are my wife now, Zakirah. And I will not allow anyone to harm you. Not physically, not emotionally."

Zakirah blinked, surprised by the unexpected softness in his words. She had assumed he was incapable of offering anything resembling affection. "I don't need protecting," she replied, her voice tinged with a mixture of defiance and sadness.

"You may not think so," he said, stepping closer, his gaze hardening again, "but you are not alone anymore. And I will not let anyone take advantage of that."

Zakirah didn't know what to say. She had never been given a choice in this matter. But despite the coldness of their union, despite the fact that he was more a figure of duty than love, she couldn't help but feel a flicker of something stir inside her. There was something possessive in the way he spoke, something that made her heart beat just a little faster.

Omar turned away, walking to the far side of the room, and Zakirah, left standing there, couldn't shake the feeling that this marriage would be far more complicated than she had anticipated. He was emotionally distant, yet the protective glint in his eyes told her that she was not just another obligation to him.

At least, not entirely.