The balmy Mediterranean breeze carried the scent of salt and blossoming bougainvillaea down Valletta's meandering alleyways. Amma held her sketchpad on her lap while she sat on the balcony of her family's old townhouse. As the sunset sunk into the Grand Harbour, she swiftly drew its golden hues on the page with her charcoal pencil. She had always used art as an escape and a means of understanding the world. Even Malta's vibrant hues, however, were unable to quell the storm that was building within her today.
"Amma!" Her mother's voice, sharp and commanding, echoed from the living room. "Come in now. We need to talk."
Reluctantly, Amma closed her sketchpad and moaned. She was aware of what was going to happen. Her parents had been hinting at her future for weeks, saying that she needed to "settle down" and "make a good match." In their traditional Maltese family, she was deemed to be past the optimal age for marriage at 28. However, Amma had always envisioned a love that was flamboyant, colourful, and full of life, much like her paintings. Not anything her parents planned.
Her bare feet brushed the soft tile floor as she entered. Her parents sat with solemn expressions on the elaborate sofa. Her father avoided looking at her; he was a stern man with silver-streaked hair. On the other hand, her mother gave her a determined yet worried expression.
Her mother patted the area next to her and said, "Amma, please sit down." "We need to talk about something important."
With a racing heart, Amma obeyed. Like a shield, she held her sketchpad close to her chest.
Her mother softly said, "We've found a wonderful man for you." Jones is his name. He comes from a nice family, is respected, and is successful. He has committed to seeing you tomorrow.
Amma felt a knot in her gut. "I'm not prepared for this, Mama. I have my dreams and my art. Marrying someone I don't love is not something I want to do.
Her mother's eyes became stony. "Love? Love takes time, Amma. Jones is a decent guy. He is able to support and stabilise you. What will you get from your art? A life of hardship?
"But—" Amma began, her voice faltering.
Her father cut her off with a final "no buts." It's for your own benefit. The engagement will go on if he accepts when you meet him tomorrow.
Amma's eyes pricked with tears. She wanted to protest, to shout that she was worthy of more than a life of obedience and concession. However, she was hushed by the pressure of her parents' expectations. With her dreams collapsing like sand between her fingers, she gave a timid nod.
—
Amma was standing in front of the mirror the following evening, fiddling with the hem of her emerald-green gown. Her mother had demanded that she dress elegantly so that Jones would be impressed. The colour of the fabric, which clung to her body, complemented her dark hair and olive skin. However, the image of herself in the mirror felt alien—a woman dressed for a part she didn't want to play.
The meeting took place at a classy Sliema restaurant with a view of the Mediterranean Sea. When Amma walked in, she looked around the room and saw a man seated by himself at a table in the corner. Jones. His brown hair was combed and his fitted suit was spotless, making him attractive in a refined, businesslike manner. But she shuddered at the cold, calculating look in his gaze.
He said, "Amma," getting up to shake her hand. His smile was courteous yet aloof, and his grip was forceful. "I'm glad to have met you."
"Similarly," she said, feigning a smile. The polite, stiff talk started when they sat down. Jones talked about his career, goals, and future plans. Amma nodded in agreement as her thoughts strayed to the sketchbook she had left at home and the picture she had been working on, a vivid, colourful representation of the Blue Lagoon.
Jones called her "Amma," bringing her back to the here and now. "I support pragmatism. I see marriage as a union. I can provide you with security and a cosy existence. I anticipate devotion and support in exchange.
Instead of seeming like a declaration of love, his comments sounded more like a business proposal. Amma's chest was constricted. She had no desire for this. However, her reluctance was overcome when she looked at her parents, who were sitting at a nearby table, and saw their optimistic faces.
Her voice was hardly heard as she muttered, "I understand."
Jones grinned contentedly. "All right. We will then move on with the engagement.
—-
Amma lay in bed that night and gazed up at the ceiling. Breathing became difficult as the weight of her choice weighed heavily on her chest. She remembered her boy friend from childhood, Alex, who had always been able to relate to her. Once, their bond was as natural as the waves lapping against Malta's coasts, and they had been inseparable. However, life had taken them apart; Alex had relocated overseas for employment, and their relationship had dissolved into a haze.
Her phone buzzed as if it were a cue. Her heart pounded as she looked at the screen. Alex had left a message.
Alex: Hello, Amma. I've returned to Malta. Is it possible for us to meet?
As she read the message, tears filled her eyes. Why now? Why, given that she had recently consented to marry someone else? Her fingers shaking, she composed a response.
Amma: Alex, I'm engaged.
It was a prompt reaction.
Alex: Are you engaged? To whom?
Amma: Someone my parents chose. It's complicated.
His next message came after a lengthy silence.
Alex: Come see me tomorrow. Please.
Heart broken, Amma gazed at the screen. She was aware that she shouldn't go. However, the idea of meeting Alex once more and experiencing the connection she had long missed was too alluring to pass up.
"All right," she typed at last. "Tomorrow."
A feeling of uneasiness descended upon her as she put down her phone. She had to make a decision, and whichever way she went, someone would suffer harm. However, she experienced a glimmer of hope for the first time in weeks. Perhaps, just possibly, she still had the opportunity to follow her heart.