There she was, her smile glorious like the sun.
And next to her, a man with his arms around her. She’s in a tight-fitting white dress, holding a bouquet of white roses, her favorite. He’s in a white tuxedo.
I scroll to another picture of her on Facebook, then another. My heart drops. Is she married — to a man?
Back when we were together almost a decade ago, she used to defy the institution of marriage — the institution her mom revered. There were many nights when I’d pick up my phone to hear her sobbing and cursing her mom for setting up another arranged marriage.