They marry men their families approve of, men who are adequate rather than wonderful. Men who provide but don't cherish. Men who are faithful in the technical sense but disconnected in every other way. And I see my friends settling into a kind of quiet resignation that terrifies me.

The worst part? I can't tell them what I'm seeing. To do so would be a betrayal of everything we were taught. So I sit with them at celebrations and listen to them speak about their lives with a smile that doesn't reach their eyes, and I ache for them in a way they'd resent if they knew.

I wonder if refusing to settle like they have means I'll end up alone. If holding out for something more means I'm rejecting the life I was born into. But when I look at their tired faces, I can't convince myself that security without passion is enough. 💔 Is it wrong to want both? To want the roots of tradition and the wings of genuine love?