Here's two sections of something I've been working on.
All the most famous love stories are about two people who aren't supposed to fall in love, but somehow come together and make it work, no matter what gets thrown at them. That, or they kill themselves. But either way, love that isn't supposed to happen is the most sought after. So what about two people that are supposed to fall in love? Does that make their love any less?
My parents signed the agreement when I was only three days old. His parents came over, took one look at me, then nodded. He was there as well, two years old. Two years old. After the paperwork was signed, the hands were shook, and the celebrations were started, they let him hold me. My parents took a picture of it. He's smiling wide at the camera, somehow adequately supporting my fragile neck. My parent's reassure me that that is quite a feat for a two year old. That picture is sitting in our living room. It stares back at me every time I walk into the house, when I leave. Walk down the stairs to get a drink. That picture of him. Him. The man that is going to be my husband. The man that I'm going to spend the rest of my life with, and was determined for me when I was three days old. Because my parents signed me up for an arranged marriage.
Only one problem. They won't tell me who with. They want me to find him on my own.
“This is the coolest smoothie shop ever,” Rob said, breaking the silence.
“Oh cool,” I replied lamely. I'd been too lost in my thoughts and the crickets melody to come up with anything better. Plus, how cool could this place actually be? I'd been to a whole lot of smoothie shops in my life and they were all basically the same. AC up way too high. A billon different combinations of fruits that would all end up with the same result. A brain freeze and a very upset stomach later from the blitzkrieg of fibrous fruit.
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