The lights in the apartment glowed a soft, golden yellow, and the world outside seemed to hold its breath. Everything was silent.


    The man in front of her froze, staring nkly for a long moment, as if he hadn''t quite registered what she''d just said. When he finally spoke, his voice was distant, almost dazed.


    "What did you say?"


    M repeated herself. Her cheeks were flushed, burning with a mix of shame and guilt as sheid out the situation at home-every awkward, painful detail. She kept her head down, unable to meet his eyes.


    If she''d had a choice, she would have buried those memories forever. But now, if she wanted his help, she had to be honest. She had to exin everything.


    "I know," she whispered. "My family''s a mess. There''s always some drama, always trouble. I honestly don''t know what else to do. If we get married, I promise I''ll keep you out of it as much as I can. I''ll be good to you. I just... I really need this marriage certificate..."


    The words tumbled out, rushed and clumsy.


    The more she spoke, the more hopeless she felt. The gap between them was painfully clear-when she really thought about it, she realized she brought nothing but trouble. Why would Forrest ever agree to this? Why would he marry her?


    A vague promise to be good to him-why should he believe her?


    M lowered her head even further, her voice dying in her throat. She felt numb, bracing herself for rejection.


    Would they even be able to stay friends after this?


    Suddenly, she wanted to cry.


    But instead of the rejection she expected, she heard his voice-gentle, slightly husky.


    "Could you give me some time?"


    "What?" she blurted, startled. Her mind went nk. She lifted her head and saw


    him smiling at her through the haze of steam rising from their soup.


    He repeated himself, quietly: "Christmas is almost here. Can I give you my answer at the party?"


    He hadn''t said no.


    He was going to think about it.


    ...


    But waiting was its own kind of torture.


    There were still two weeks until Christmas, and every day brought a new onught of calls and texts from her parents, each more insistent than thest.


    Walking through campus, M felt everyone''s eyes on her, as if they all knew her secrets.


    Her dreams were filled with harsh usations, voices echoing above her. Every night, she woke in a cold sweat, unable to rest.


    In those long, sleepless hours, she began searching the inte for anything she could find about families, marriage-she even posted in forums, asking how to convince a man to marry you. The things she read were wild, desperate, sometimes even shocking.


    But some of it stayed with her.


    For the first time in her life, she was greedy-she wanted to cling to this slim chance with everything she had.


    Christmas Eve arrived faster than she expected.


    Because of a sudden issue at her family''s business, Miranda-who''d been away


    from school for ages-finally returned, flinging her arms around M andunching into a string ofints. But her mood brightened quickly.


    "We made it! Tonight, I''m cutting loose!” Miranda announced.


    That evening, the university was hosting a Christmas ball at the cultural center, co-organized with several well-known international schools-a night of cultural exchange, dancing, and celebration.


    M wasn''t really in the mood, but the thought of finally getting Forrest''s answer gave her a burst of energy.


    She forced herself to rally, dressing up more carefully than usual. She and Miranda headed to the party together, but Forrest was nowhere to be found. Act after act went by.


    Eventually, it was time for the dance. Just then, Forrest messaged her: Meet me by the dance floor. M''s heart leapt.


    She hesitated, then grabbed two drinks and started towards the crowd-only to bump into someone.


    Looking up, she was startled to see Lysander, dressed in an immacte suit, blocking her way. His sharp, fox-like eyes were fixed on her, appraising.


    "Where are you going?"


    M had no patience for him tonight. She tried to step around, but he grabbed her arm, making her nearly spill her drinks.


    She stiffened, clutching the sses tighter. "What are you doing?"


    His gaze flicked to the drinks in her hand. Maybe he guessed whom she was meeting. With a snort, he said, "M, are you really sure about this?"


    "What?" M stared at him, confused. She tried to pull away, but suddenly both sses were snatched from her hands.


    Before she could react, they were gone.


    Her eyes stung with angry tears as she red at Lysander, who wiped his mouth with a napkin, his gaze sharp and challenging.


    "M, you''d better think this through."


    "You''re insane!” she snapped, shoving past him towards the dance floor, her hands trembling. Would everything be okay?


    She didn''t have time to think about it.


    Suddenly, the ballroom lights dimmed. A soft glow lit up the stage, and there was Forrest, striking in a white tuxedo, seated at the grand piano.


    His long, graceful fingers touched the keys, and a brilliant melody spilled out, filling the room. Couples moved together, spinning and swaying to the music. M was entranced, lost in the moment.


    Miranda''s voice broke the spell. "M, are you all right? I saw Lysander take your drinks. What was that about?"


    Lysander had a reputation for being difficult, and Miranda hade to check on her friend. Seeing M shake her head, Miranda rxed, then nced at the stage.


    "Wait-what''s that piece? It sounds so familiar."


    M didn''t answer. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, but she smiled-a real, relieved smile. She''d gotten her answer.


    Thank god.


    Thank god the drinks were gone thank god she hadn''t gone through with her reckless n.


    She''d been under so much pressure, so afraid of being rejected, her mind had spun out of control and she''d nearly made a terrible mistake.


    She knew Forrest would have taken responsibility if she''d forced his hand.


    But thank god she hadn''t. If she''d gone through with it, even if she''d gotten her answer, it would have all been wrong.