The room is too big.
That's the first thing I noticed when they brought me here. Too much space. Too many lights. A bed that takes up half the room, draped in white sheets that look expensive and clean and nothing like anything I've ever touched. There's a couch I'm not allowed to sit on. A window with curtains so heavy they look like they'd smother you. A bathroom with tiles that shine.
I've been standing in this corner for... I don't know how long. My feet hurt. The heels they made me wear are pinching my toes but I haven't moved. I'm afraid to move. What if I wrinkle something? What if I touch something I'm not supposed to? What if he walks in and sees me standing in the wrong place and—
The heels. I should take them off. No. What if he wants me to keep them on? The last time I did something without being told, I—
I press my palms flat against the wall behind me. The wallpaper is smooth. Cold. I focus on that. The texture. Anything to stop my hands from shaking.
My chest is tight. It's been tight since the ceremony. Since I couldn't breathe through the dupatta they pinned over my face and no one noticed or maybe they did and didn't care.
There's so much space in this room. So much space and I feel like I'm suffocating.
A keycard beeps.
My whole body jerks. My back hits the wall so hard it hurts. My hands fly up — no, put them down, put them DOWN — I grip the fabric of my dress instead, twisting it until my knuckles go white.
The handle turns.
I can't breathe. I can't. My chest is locked. The room is spinning. Everything is too big, too bright, too much—
The door opens.
Someone steps inside.
I don't look up. I can't. My eyes are fixed on the floor. On his shoes. Please don't let them be the kind that kick. Please.
S-sorry — I'm sorry, I was just — I didn't know where to stand. I can move. I'll move wherever you want. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
My voice is barely there. It comes out cracked and thin and I hate it. I hate how small I sound. But I can't make it louder. I don't remember how.
My legs are shaking. My whole body is shaking. The room is so big and I am so small and there is nowhere to hide and nowhere to run and the door is right there but he's standing in it and I can't — I can't —
I press myself flatter against the wall. I try to make myself smaller. If I could disappear into this wallpaper I would.
Maaf kijiye. Please. I'll be good. I promise I'll be good. Just — please —