Amara stood before the mirror, clutching the lace of her wedding gown with shaking hands. The sounds of women echoed in the room her mother, sisters, friends laughed at each other, teased each other, and fixed their makeup, voices were excited with the excitement that a wedding brought. But as she looked at the reflection of the bride she was becoming, Amara felt more like a stranger in her own life, it was as if she were watching someone else's story unfold.

Her gaze drifted over the flawless makeup, lips kissed by a soft shade of pink, eyes lined with smoky grays. To everyone else, she looked like an enamored woman, departing for a life she'd dreamed of forever. But beneath all that makeup, lace, and jewels, Amara felt more and more empty as if each layer had pushed her true self further away.

She tried to ignore the uneasy feeling. This was her wedding day. A mother had told her that time brought happiness in marriage, that love was a thing growing from commitment, loyalty, and patience. This was the life she had chosen. But pressing a hand to her stomach brought on a wave of nausea relatively unconnected to nerves but wholly related to the queasy impression that she stood on the wrong side of an invisible line.

Behind her, her younger sister, Salma, touched Amara's head gently to adjust the veil. "You look beautiful," Salma whispered in a tone that was almost reverent, as if they were in a fairy tale. Amara smiled briefly and nodded but could not help peeking at her sister's innocent face, which was glowing with admiration and excitement. It was moments like this that made Amara feel guilty for not feeling the joy everyone else expected from her.

Her mother's voice cut through the noise " It is almost time Amara. Are you prepared, my darling?

Amara turned and swallowed hard as her mother came closer with a gentle, proud smile. "Yes," she said, her voice just above a whisper. "I'm ready."

However, the word seemed to echo a sense of betrayal, each syllable carrying within it the doubt of a thousand questions. She smiled again by force this time around glancing at the others who nodded their heads as if to say 'good girl', whispering that she looked radiant, that she was the picture of happiness. None of them knew about the secret she'd buried deep beneath her heart, the part of her that always yearned for something more, someone different.

As the wedding procession began, thoughts drifted in Amara's mind to the summer when she had just turned seventeen and had first realized how different she was. That summer had been an era of transformation, of repressed feelings, and unvoiced realities. There had been a girl, someone whose face Amara had tried to wipe out from her memory but failed.

They met at a church-organized youth retreat. Farida was her name, and she was unlike anyone Amara had ever known. Farida was confident, and her laughter was exuberant. Amara had been captivated by her confidence, but somehow drawn to her in a way she couldn't explain.

On the last night of the retreat, they had stayed up late talking about dreams, fears, and everything in between while lying on a blanket under the stars. Amara had felt something that night, a warmth that had begun in her chest and spread like wildfire. It wasn't admiration alone, it was something deeper, and it frightened her.

The following morning, after the pastor had led the congregation in prayer, Amara felt the pressure of her emotions pushing down on her again, a secret that no one could ever know. She had spent the next few years convincing herself that it was a transient experience, a mishap, something out of which she would eventually grow. And for quite some time she had believed that.

But as she walked down the aisle toward her groom, Daniel, that feeling clawed its way back to the surface. She walked slowly and deliberately, keeping her expression calm while her heart raced with panic. Daniel waited at the altar for her, and his face expressed warmth and admiration. He was the man she had chosen, a good, trustworthy person who would love her and be a great husband. Everyone said she was lucky, that she had made the right choice.

As she crossed the altar and took Daniel's hand, she tried to silence the voice in her head telling her she was making a huge mistake. The vows started, and she followed them back instantaneously as if in a trance, her voice was stead but her mind wandered. She echoed each promise, feeling the weight of every word, every commitment she was making. Meanwhile, that voice inside her was becoming louder and more potent, filling her with a mixture of guilt and longing.

The ceremony passed in a blur, and each ritual felt like a step further away from herself. When it came to the first kiss, she turned to Daniel and pressed her lips against his, but no spark arose nor any joy or excitement. It was as if she were watching someone else, detached from her own life.

The reception hall was filled with laughter and music, while Amara's family and friends were congratulating her, they were toasting her happiness. She smiled, laughed, danced about the place as it was expected of her, but her heart was numb. Even dancing with Daniel and his hand being warm in hers, she felt like she was floating above it all, watching her own life from a distance.

On one occasion, she slipped out on her own for a short while. She ended up on the balcony, overlooking the city lights. The cool air in turn brushed against her skin, providing a sharp contrast to the warmth of the reception hall. She closed her eyes and gave herself permission to take the first breath all day. 

In that peaceful moment, the silence of the choice she had made filled her with a heavy burden. This life, this man, she had chosen because it was expected of her. She had believed that she would become this role and learn to love Daniel as she should. But now alone here, she realized how big a lie she had lived. She was hiding from herself, and one day, she feared that thing would explode like a bomb, annihilating everything she had built on that foundation.

A gentle voice interrupted her musings. She looked up to see her mother standing in the doorway, her face warm. "Are you okay, Amara?" my mother asked softly.

Amara smiled weakly and nodded. "Yes, Mama, I just needed some fresh air."

Her mother came up slowly to the balcony and put her arm around her daughter's shoulders. "I know it's a very big step," she said barely above a whisper. "But you have made us so proud. You chose a decent man, so you are going to be a great wife."

Amara swallowed, the weight of her mother's words settling over her like a shroud. She nodded again, voice barely audible. "I hope so."

Her mother hugged her briefly, then went back to the party inside, leaving Amara alone again. She stayed there for a little while longer, gazing out into the night, and allowed the reality of her choice to settle in.

She thought of that night with Farida once more, of the warmth it had given her and of the way her heart seemed to be in harmony with the stars above them. That night was just a brief stop-over on the way to something illicit. But it also was the only time in which she felt herself truly alive.

Now she was the wife of someone, she had married him by her own choice but still it felt like a dress that was too big for her. She had taken the decision and now was prepared to face its consequences. But as she came back to the receiving room, her face veiling all her thoughts calmly, she couldn't rid herself of the feeling that there was a something left behind in her, something hidden in the memories she dared not speak of.

At that very moment, Amara learned that she has been lied to all her life, the truth was hidden in the deepest deep of her heart and might never come out. However, even as she acknowledged that truth there was a small rebellious spark, a part of her who could not be tame, part of her who still yearned to be free.