"What's up, brooooiiii?!"

A drunk Laiq screams through the screen, making me squint my eyes and decrease the volume, a reflex I did to stop his shrilling voice from reaching my ears. I don't have any intentions to go to my wedding, which is to take place tomorrow, as a deaf. A bottle of Tui in his hands and his legs that cannot seem to get a grip on the floor tells me that he is as drunk as a skunk. Good thing Zachariah is holding the phone or else I would have to see a broken phone in Laiq's hand when I go back.

For a few days, I have been busy with my own wedding. Since I'm a single child and my dad has arthritis, it was my job to go behind the invitation printouts, organize the travel and living expenditure of my relatives who are living far away and to collect my wedding dress. Mom looked after the list of guests to be called, taking a huge burden off my shoulders. We need not sweat about food and catering services as in my culture, it is the duty of the bride's family to look after everything that is related to food and decoration.

Sadly, all of my cousins and friends are abroad. They can't make it to my wedding due to their disapproval of leave from work and also due to the brief time everything was set. My friends know how much I was looking forward to stay as a bachelor as long as my heart desires but then one fine morning, they were hit with a news that shook the rock bottom of their heart, creating a tsunami that drenched them. With that, when they saw Parisa's photo, they had enough. While Zachariah said she's pretty, maybe because he's from Kerala, Laiq said that I deserve much better and not an average, or below average, making me let out a string of sighs. I agree with him without any hesitation. I do deserve better. But since I just need a pawn to get away from my parents pressure, I'm fine with marrying a below average girl.

There aren't many people at my home even though it's the day before my wedding. My family has always been like this, celebrating in silence. A roisterer and a hedonist like me would have sulked over it but any other time. Right now, I was pleasingly relaxed that no one is celebrating my de trop wedding.

"Yo, isn't there any bachelor party?!" Laiq screams again, making Zachariah tsk at him.

"Be quiet, Laiq!" Zachariah says.

I chuckle to myself thinking about the ruckus my friends, who are absolute opposites, are going to create whilst they will be keeping each other company without the arbiter, that is, me.

Laiq is one hell of a crackhead that can either make you groan with annoyance or laugh till your tummy hurts, way worse than period cramps. He possesses a slap-happy attitude and that's what makes him stand out from our trio. He is a light-hearted, devil-may-care, bawdy, hot Moroccan guy that can sweep anyone's feet but hasn't tried a shot yet. He is that one person who rectifies the proverb 'An apple a day keeps a doctor away' into 'A Laiq a day keeps everyone away' smoothly.

Talking about Zachariah, a simple and humble guy who's sharing my nativity. He is silent almost round the clock. He's calm, contented, placid and sometimes stoic. The patience he has when me and Laiq reverse the world must be awarded nevertheless. Whenever me and Laiq pull his leg, he just brushes it off with a smile that passes zest to soulless creatures around him. He's the angel of our famed trio, an angel with a halo above his head that is only visible to us.

"Bro, you having fun there?" Laiq shouts again, making Zachariah rub his temple.

"Not really." I shrug.

"Not really? Dude, you have to enjoy this day! It is your last day as a bachelor. Get your ass up and hit a bonk, Sex God!" Laiq screams again, his pitches higher than before.

I chuckle hearing my goofy buddy all excited and hyped up about my marriage, which I'm not.

"Stop screaming, Laiq!" says Zachariah who has his eyebrows knitted. "You'll wake your neighbors up!"

"Ugh! Cy, come back fast. I'm done with this boring pops here. Zach has got no jams, he's no fun!" Laiq complains, punching Zachariah lightly on his arm which he misses because of the tipsiness.

"Yeah, I am boring. If your idea of fun is screaming and shouting on top of your lungs that will make other's ears bleed, then I'm happy you don't count me in your team, Laiq," Zachariah says sarcastically.

"You two, shut up now." I chuckle. "Did you call me to show you guys fight like a shitty K-drama couple?" I ask, absolutely annoyed at those two who bicker for nothing.

"Pfff! We called you to say all the best, bro!" Laiq says. "God, can't believe you're getting married. Out of everyone, you're getting married, fucker! Can you believe that?" Laiq takes a long sip from the beer bottle after throwing a question I have been asking myself for days, which is by the way, too late to even search for an answer.

Zachariah tsks again to Laiq's irritating voice while I shake my head to his irritating question.

"I don't know, dude. I don't know where my life went wrong!"

Hearing me, Zachariah furrow his brows. "See, Cy. We know that you don't want to get married and you're not happy with this whole thing. Then, why are you doing this? No one is forcing you, neither your parents nor us, then why doing something you have hated the most for your entire life? I don't know if you actually realize and if you don't, let me just remind you, you are not only ruining your life but also Parisa's. Have you ever thought about that, Cyrus?"

What Zachariah is saying and trying to knock into my long lost senses is on the mark. His veracious account has started to drown me in guilt, which I shouldn't be feeling at the moment. I didn't tell my entire ruse to them. Seeing the absence of excitement and happiness of a groom-to-be on my face, they understood that I said yes to this marriage unwillingly. Zachariah is already torturing me with his candour and if they get to know my plan, I'm doomed.

"I know, Zach. But I really like her." I lie. "She's pretty, she's funny, she's cute, I like her. It's not that I'm uninterested, it's just that I feel everything is happening quickly. That's it." I lie again, easily.

Zachariah sighs hearing me. "If that's the case, it's fine, Cy. I may not know what you are feeling but when you start living with her, you'll get used to it. It will take time, especially when a party animal like you decides to settle down in such a short time. It's understandable. And if you really like her, then what's there to worry about?" He smiles at me through the screen that shifts into a sharp dagger that pierce into my heart harshly, thinking about lying to my best friends through my teeth.

"Yeah... where's Laiq?" I ask, a tad disturbed by not seeing the chaotic presence. Two years with him has got me to be used to that nut case.

Zachariah turns around hearing me and chuckles to himself, making me wonder what nuisance my intoxicated friend has created. Zachariah turns the mobile to his left side and my eyes widens as I see a naked Laiq grinding on a pillar in his living room with his head thrown back and letting out lewd sounds.

"What the fuck? What is this new fetish, dude?" I ask, my face twisting in disgust.

"I don't know. This obnoxious obsession started a month ago, two days after your departure, I guess. And I'm pretty habituated to it now, Cy." Zachariah says, shutting his eyes and making a whimper face while clutching his chest.

I laugh over Zachariah who is waiting keenly for me to land in New Zealand so that he can keep half of Laiq's lunacy on my shoulders.

"Ok, then. I bet you have got things to look after. Will call you tomorrow. All the best, Cy!" Zachariah says, giving me a fist pump.

"Happy married life, Cyrus Hamid, the one and only son of Hamid Haleel and Nabeesa Hamid, who is also a sinful sexy demigod..."

I hear Laiq's voice, dumping his drunken blessings on me.

"Thanks, Laiq. I really appreciate it, you perv!"

Zachariah lets out a belly laugh hearing me. He wishes me good luck again before hanging up the video call.

I take the airpods off and keep it beside me along with my phone. With my legs dangling in the swimming pool underwater, the coldness of it slithering from my big toe and finding its way out through my entire body, I lean back on my hands and look at the dusky sky above me. Pink and purple hues have been dusted in the sky, calling out the departure of the sun and the arrival of the moon and stars. I close my eyes slowly as the wind blows from the west, peppering my face with cool kisses. As I close my eyes, a face that I hate with every fibre of my being barges into my mind.

Parisa. The name I despise the most. Tomorrow, I'll be tying the knot with her. I'll be her husband in front of thousands tomorrow. I'll be calling her my wife from tomorrow onwards. I don't know if those mean anything to her but for me, it's definitely zilch. I just want my parents to lay off the coercion, minus threats, of "settling down."

I open my eyes as Zachariah's words start to ring in my mind. The fact that he is more practical than I am in this sitch scares me for some reason. What if I am making a bad move? A bad move that can flip mine as well as that girl's life? What if everything doesn't go as I plan?

I sigh and run my fingers through my disheveled hair. With my legs still under the crystal clear wet blanket, I think about Parisa, again. As the days of my marriage are nearing, I can find myself thinking about her every now and then. Her sassiness, her attitude, her chubby cheeks and those curly knots, everything enters my mind savagely every now and then. And whenever her face pops up in my head, I can find myself cringing. Cringing with utter disdain.

━━━━━━━━»•»❀«•«━

I can't believe this. I can't believe I'm here. The one who hated the concept of marriage is reciting the verses from Holy Quran and exchanging vows with the bride's father. Vows that I would keep her safe and loved till my breath stops.

After the nikkah ceremony, Parisa's father and I stand up and hug each other. His pats my back and as we retreat from the hug, I see his eyes glistening through his specs.

"My daughter is a lovely girl. Please keep her happy and safe, Cyrus. I know you will," he says. Hearing him, I smile externally but internally, my heart drops.

The man standing in front of me have put all his faith in me to love and take care of his daughter and to make her happy. My heart twists in guilt as I smiled faintly at him. After all, the vows I exchanged a few minutes before were nothing but a sham troth.

Men leave the stage and women from my family climb up, preparing the thali for my wife. A few minutes later, a Hindi song starts to play out of nowhere, making mine and everyone's head turn to the aisle. I see four men holding up a flower canopy, walking towards the stage and below the canopy is my now wife, who's walking elegantly, her eyes on the floor.

Even though I hate to admit it, I can't slide away the truth that Parisa is looking beautiful. With the dashing bride dress perfectly embracing her 5ft petite figure and the minimal makeup, I'm looking at the most beautiful bride I have ever seen. I was a tad worried thinking about how she would do the makeup since I have seen my cousins brided up overly. But Parisa, she doesn't care about her skin that isn't glowing enough, or the fake eyelashes to bat which is mandatory for every Indian brides. All she cares is her comfortability and nothing more and that can be seen on her beauteous face.

Taking small, careful strolls towards the stage, she climbed up, holding her father's hand. As they reached near me, they both let go of their hands and my mother directs her to stand next to me. The awkward and tensed air lingering around us must be broken or else me or Parisa, either one of us is going to pass out in front of hundreds. And so I decide to compliment her, but surely not as a gentleman.

"Glad you didn't make yourself look like a cakey Annabelle."

She looks at me and squints her eyes. "Excuse me?"

I chuckle and say, "I was a tad worried that you would apply your warpaint to our wedding. Aren't brides over here usually primed up like a whitewashed Christmas tree? Or as I said before, like the horror doll, Annabelle?"

"I don't know about them but I certainly know one thing about you," she says, smiling at the camera.

I smile and pose like her as per the photographer's request. "What is it?"

"Don't move. One, two, three, smile!" The photographer counts and clicks the button, capturing the fake smiles of the bride and groom who have already started their war.

"If makeup makes them look like Annabelle, then you don't even need that to look like Chucky. Both inside and outside."

"Beautiful!" The photographer says once he checks the photo he just clicked. "Beautiful couple!"

Hearing her, I look at Parisa, my lips flat and eyes darker. Sensing my gaze on her, she looks at me and passes an eyebrow flash.

I smirk, seeing her imitating me. "Feisty!" I take a sharp breath and remark, "I'm impressed, habibi."

No, I'm not. Her high degree of barbed wit, sarcastic comments, venomous glance and sardonic smile ruffles my feathers. She is a savage. And I'm going to have one and a half miserable years of rancorous disputes with this savage. I have got to prepare for the worst!

━━━━━━━━»•»❀«•«━

"I hope you know what to do tonight!" One of Parisa's uncles says and laughs, making the rest join him while I smile bogusly and return back to texting Savannah.

"Hey, Cyrus. Don't worry, ok? You'll do a great job." Another one "encourages" me. "As soon as she comes in, get down to business and show you're a man. The captain of the ship!"

I squint my eyes hearing him.

Captain? Ship? Your ass, you dumbfuck!

"Shukoor uncle, heard about consent?" I ask him.

"Consent? For what?"

Great!

I let out a snort. "No, it's nothing. Even if I'm going to explain it to you, it's useless." I say and smile bitterly at him. "There are other ways to show that I'm a man and getting down to business with my wife on first night  without my wife's consent isn't counted. In fact, it just makes me a predator."

"A predator? How? You're doing that with your wife and it's normal. It's a wife's duty to do it with a husband if he wants." That schmuck opens his mouth and talks pig-ignorant drivel again.

I run my fingers through my hair, something I do when I'm exasperated. And to make me this exasperated, all it took for that man is to bring his pea-sized brain into action. After sending a bye text to Savannah, I switch off my phone and put it in my pocket.

"Uncle, what happens between me and my wife is not at all your business. So if you all may excuse us, Parisa will be here any minute." I try to kick their chauvinistic asses out as politely as I can.

Actually, they don't deserve my politeness in whatever way. The so-called male supremacy and toxic patriarchy have infected their mind and impaled their begrimed soul. Seeing their own wives as menials and daughters as sacrificial goats make them no human and much less a "man." I may hate my wife but I'm certainly not going to lay my finger on her without her permission.

My train of liberal thoughts are interrupted with voices of women, talking and laughing, coming near the room. The men get out as the women enter, Parisa in the middle of two aunties. She's wearing a simple lavender churidar without any jewelry except the thali I tied around her neck this morning.

"Ok, newly wed couple." One of the aunties says, trying her utmost to conceal her shy laugh. "Have fun!"

The rest laugh with their hands and shawls covering their mouths before exiting the room, giggling and closing the door behind them, leaving me and Parisa alone.

Even though the room is embellished with jasmine flowers and rose petals, I can't get the aromatic into my lungs. In fact, I feel like the oxygen has drained from my lungs. The suffocating air, the strained silence, the sweat beads forming on my forehead are all foreign to me.

I have been with women. Many. Alone in a room. But today, with my wife next to me, I feel like a high-school boy who got caught red-handed by his teacher for passing an adult movie's CD to the innocent prodigy of the class.

I walk towards the bed and sit down, fishing out my phone from my pocket. I try to look busy by surfing through already read mails and even spams. A minute after, I feel the other side of the bed sinking down, making me look behind hesitantly. I see Parisa lying on the bed with her back facing me. Her curly hair is put up in a messy bun, a few strands sprawled over the white pillow. My eyes heedlessly and shamelessly scan her figure, especially the curves that resemble a perfect hourglass. I swallow the lump formed in my throat before averting my gaze from her.

Cyrus, you look like a fucking pervert right now! I scolded myself.

I sigh and switch off my phone before placing it on the nightstand on my side. I lay down, my back facing her and keeping a decent distance between us. As I'm going to close my eyes, I hear the inconversant voice asking me, "When should we report at the airport tomorrow?"

"Uhmm...at 1:00 pm."

"Mm..."

Assuming the chat is over, I close my eyes only to be awake again.

"How many hours?"

"About 19."

"Oh, so it will take almost a day to reach there?"

"Yeah."

I pray her enquiries are over before closing my eyes. But God betrayed me as my prayers weren't heard. Instead, I heard her annoying voice again.

"I heard there isn't a direct flight to New Zealand from here. Is that true?"

I sigh. "Yeah but to Auckland, there is." I sigh again. Right now, I want nothing but to get some good sleep. After today's hecticity, all I'm asking is for a good sleep but the lady lying next to me is denying my mere wish. How evil of her!

"Now go to sleep or else, we will miss the flight," I say.

I don't get a clear response but my ears don't fail to catch some murmuring erupting from her mouth. Rolling my eyes, my hands go for the switchboard and cut the lights off.