Alya was halfway through her lunch when her father called her over. The calmness in his voice made her pause mid-bite. That tone meant something important was coming, something she needed to hear with full attention.
"Alya, sit down," he said. "Listen carefully, and then respond."
She obeyed, her heart already beating faster than she wanted. Growing up as the eldest of two sisters and two brother, Alya had learned that life rarely gave second chances. Her parents had worked tirelessly to send her to college, often against relatives who believed that daughters should not be educated if money was tight. Their sacrifices were heavy on her shoulders, but they had also built the strength in her sensitive, deeply emotional heart.
Her father continued gently. "A proposal has come for your marriage."
Alya froze. Her stomach flipped.
"The boy is very good," he said. "He lives in Switzerland. His family is excellent. But there is one small issue."
Small issue. The words felt ominous.
"He was married before," her father explained carefully. "He has a daughter. She is very young, just a few months old. She does not live with him."
Alya's chest tightened. Her mind raced. Five years married. A child. Switzerland. How was she supposed to navigate all of that? And yet, she thought of her parents, of all they had sacrificed for her. If they believed this match was right, perhaps she could too. She could put aside her fear, at least for them.
"I think we can accept the proposal," she said quietly.
Her mother looked at her with a mixture of pride and worry. "Think carefully, beta. We are not forcing you."
Alya smiled nervously. Her heart ignored everything else and beat faster. The thought of marrying a man she barely knew was terrifying, complicated, maybe even heartbreaking. But beneath that fear was a flicker of something else. A spark she did not expect.
The video call with his family followed. His mother and sister were warm, kind, and surprisingly funny. They made her laugh in small ways, the kind of laughter that eases the chest and feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. For a moment, she forgot Switzerland, the child, and the previous marriage, and simply smiled.
Then came Arman.
His first messages were casual, mostly about her degree and daily life. Ordinary things that felt extraordinary just because they were from him. There was curiosity in his words, a lightness in his tone, and sometimes humor that caught her off guard.
"Do you always answer texts this slowly?" he teased once. Alya almost rolled her eyes. Who writes like this? she thought, smiling despite herself.
"I have a life, you know," she typed back. And yet, somehow, I am answering you faster than anyone else.
He laughed—well, in text form—and she felt it like a warmth spreading through her chest. She didn't even know him, and already he had a way of making her feel like he understood the parts of her she barely admitted to herself.
"I will call later. Bye," he wrote one day, ending the conversation abruptly, leaving a strange emptiness that had nothing to do with the words themselves
Alya stared at her phone, heart tight. How could something so simple make her feel so unsettled? Alone in her room, thoughts tumbled through her mind like restless birds. A man who had been married for five years, who had a child of his own… could he ever truly be happy with someone else? Could he love her? Respect her? Or was she just a formality, a name on a list?
Despite her doubts, her heart had already chosen. It had always chosen first, before her mind had the chance to catch up. Thrilling, terrifying, and reckless that was her heart's style.
And Alya, as usual, had forgotten to set boundaries.
That evening, Alya sat cross-legged on her bed, her phone buzzing again. It was Arman. Her heart skipped. She hadn't realized how much she was waiting for these small messages until now.
"Hey," he wrote simply.
"Hey," she replied, trying to sound casual, though her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a little too long.
"I was just thinking… you seem serious in your pictures. Always studying, always perfect. Is that really you?"
Alya laughed quietly. Perfect? Me? "Well, perfection is overrated," she typed. "Mostly I just survive and hope no one notices how messy my life is."
There was a pause. Then his reply: "Messy is human. Perfect is boring. I prefer human."
She blinked at the screen, a small smile tugging at her lips. That was… unexpectedly thoughtful. She could almost hear the warmth in the words, even though it was just a screen between them.
"You talk like you've got life all figured out," she teased. "Are you secretly a philosopher or something?"
"Maybe," he replied, "or maybe I just ask too many questions. Like now."
Alya rolled her eyes, though a laugh escaped her. Somehow, this banter felt easy, even though the idea of marrying him made her stomach twist into knots. She wasn't supposed to feel this… comfortable with a man she barely knew.
Still, she typed, "Okay, philosopher. Here's one for you: do you really think someone who's been married before can… start fresh with someone else?"
His reply took longer. Alya's chest tightened with anticipation, worry creeping in. Finally, it came.
"Honestly? I think people can start fresh if they want to. But it takes honesty, patience… and a little courage. Are you asking for yourself, or just testing me?"
Alya hesitated. She wanted to laugh at the casual confidence in his words. She also wanted to hide under her blanket. Both at the same time.
"Maybe both," she typed finally. "I'm asking for myself. And… maybe a little testing you too."
He didn't reply immediately. Alya stared at the screen, her heart racing. Five years married, a child, Switzerland… And here she was, nervously giggling over messages with a man she barely knew. She hated how her heart leapt at every word. She hated how it already cared.
Finally, he wrote back: "Fair enough. I'll take that challenge. But I warn you, I'm better at words than actions. You might have to teach me a few things."
Alya laughed aloud, shaking her head. She felt
herself relax a little. Maybe he wasn't perfect. Maybe she wasn't ready. But right now, it felt nice just to be… understood, noticed, seen.
Her parents' words echoed in her mind: You will be happy, Inshallah. She hoped they were right. She hoped she was right too.
But even as a small spark of excitement flickered, a shadow of doubt lingered. Could a man who had already lived another life really fit into hers? Could she love him, trust him, without losing herself?
Alya had always loved too quickly, trusted too easily, and given too much. She hoped—quietly, fiercely—that this time, her heart might not betray her.
And yet… she couldn't help herself. She already cared.
That night, Alya's phone buzzed again. A call. From Arman.
Her chest tightened. She wasn't sure why a simple phone call made her stomach feel like a rollercoaster. She tapped the screen and answered, trying to sound calm.
"Hello?" she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
"Hey," came his smooth voice, casual, but with an energy that made her heart skip. "How's my favorite student?"
Alya blinked. Favorite student? She cleared her throat. "I… don't think I'm your favorite. I barely know you."
"Yet here you are, talking to me," he said, a laugh in his tone. "Sounds like favoritism to me."
Alya rolled her eyes, though he couldn't see it. "I think you're being dramatic," she replied, smiling despite herself.
"Maybe," he admitted. "But life's more fun with a little drama, don't you think?"
She laughed quietly, hiding the flutter in her chest. He had a way of making even ordinary conversation feel… warm. Like it belonged to her somehow.
They talked for hours—or at least it felt like hours. He asked about her degree, her plans, her small daily routines. He teased her gently when she complained about her younger siblings. He even made her laugh at herself without her realizing it.
And yet, beneath the laughter, doubt gnawed at her. Five years married. A child. Switzerland. Could this man, so charming, so kind, truly fit into her life? Could she love him without losing herself?
"Can I ask you something?" she said, her voice quieter.
"Anything," he replied immediately.
"Why did you… agree to this marriage? Knowing I'm a stranger. Knowing…" She trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.
He was silent for a moment, and she could feel it, even through the phone. "Because sometimes," he said slowly, "strangers can surprise us. Sometimes they can teach us how to start fresh. And I like surprises."
Alya felt her chest squeeze. His words were simple, but they carried a weight she hadn't expected. She wanted to trust him, wanted to believe him, but fear still lingered.
"I hope… we can get along," she said softly.
"We will," he replied, a quiet certainty in his tone. "We'll figure it out. One step at a time."
She smiled, a mix of relief and nervous excitement. One step at a time. That sounded simple. Safe. Manageable.
But her heart had already skipped ahead. Already imagined a thousand possibilities, both beautiful and terrifying.
When the call ended, Alya sat in silence, staring at her phone. She didn't want to admit it, not even to herself, but she had felt something tonight. A spark. A warmth she wasn't ready to name yet, but a spark all the same.
She knew the road ahead would be complicated. She knew she would question herself, doubt him, fear the future. But somewhere deep inside, she allowed herself a quiet, dangerous hope.
Maybe this time, her heart could take a risk.
Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't break.
And yet, she couldn't help but wonder how long that hope could survive.
Because Alya had a history of giving too much, trusting too fast, and falling too hard.
And this time, her heart had already chosen.