Waitress Notices the Bride is Acting Strangely at Own Wedding, Later Finds a Note in Her Pocket - Story of the Day

Lori works as a waitress at a wedding in one of the Middle Eastern countries. She notices the bride behaving strangely, shivering and twitching every time the groom touches her. While clearing the newlyweds' table, Lori feels something being slipped into her pocket and, upon retrieving it, realizes it's a plea for help from the bride.

Lori's first day as a waitress in a foreign country was filled with the kind of excitement and nervousness one might expect. She had arrived in this Middle Eastern country just a few weeks ago, eager for a change of scenery and new experiences.

Despite not knowing the local language, Lori's determination led her to secure a job at a high-end catering company. She was quick to learn the ropes, and her new job required her to be agile and attentive, qualities she naturally possessed.

Today, she found herself working at a large, extravagant wedding. The air was thick with the scent of exotic flowers, and traditional music filled the vast, ornately decorated hall. Guests wore their finest clothes, a vibrant tapestry of colors and patterns.

Lori moved among them, clearing tables and offering smiles that needed no translation. She couldn't help but feel a little out of place, yet fascinated by the cultural richness surrounding her.

As the evening progressed, Lori noticed something unusual. The bride, a vision in white, seemed oddly out of place amidst the celebration.

Her hands shook like leaves in a gentle breeze, her eyes darted around the room as if seeking an escape, and she flinched whenever the groom, a man with a stern expression, touched her.

Lori's heart twisted with concern. The bride's distress was a jarring note in a setting where joy should have been paramount.

While clearing the bride's table, Lori felt a discreet nudge against her pocket. It was a fleeting moment, barely noticeable amid the hustle and bustle of her duties. Yet, when she later reached into her pocket, she discovered a small, folded piece of paper.

Unfolding it revealed a plea written in a shaky hand: "Help me. I don't want to marry him." The message was like a cold splash of water, shocking Lori into stillness. She looked around, half-expecting to see someone watching her, but the guests were too engrossed in their revelry to notice.

Lori's mind raced as she considered her next steps. She knew she had to act, but caution was key. She sought out the bride, her heart pounding against her ribs. Their eyes met across the room, a silent exchange that conveyed volumes.

The bride's look was desperate, a silent plea that Lori felt compelled to answer. However, as Lori made to approach her, the bride subtly gestured for her not to come closer and then subtly nodded towards the restroom.

Lori's heart raced as she waited in the dimly lit restroom, the aroma of perfumed soaps and the distant sound of music seeping through the walls. Time ticked away slowly, each minute stretching longer than the last.

Just as she was about to abandon hope and leave, the door creaked open, and a figure slipped inside. It was the bride, her beautiful gown whispering against the floor as she moved quickly to lock the door behind her. She looked around nervously, her eyes wide with fear, scanning for any sign they were followed.

"You are American, right?" the bride's voice was a soft whisper, tinged with a hopeful urgency. Lori could only nod, taken aback by the directness of the question.

The bride's face relaxed slightly, a weary smile forming as she sighed in relief. "Thank God, finally someone I can talk to who will understand." Her English was perfect, unmarred by any accent, indicating years of use.

Lori's curiosity piqued. "How come you speak English so well?" she asked, stepping closer, her voice echoing slightly in the tiled room.

The bride leaned back against the sink, the weight of her situation seeming to press down on her. "My parents moved to America when I was three. I've grown up there, lived my whole life there, until... until recently." She paused, a sad smile touching her lips. "I only know a few words of the local language here." Extending her hand, she added, "I'm Annesa."

"Lori," Lori responded, shaking her hand. "What's going on? Why are you looking for help?"

Annesa took a deep breath, her eyes meeting Lori's with desperate clarity. "Lori, I'm in a situation I never imagined. Today is only the second time I've ever met the man I'm supposed to marry. And the wedding... it's supposed to happen in an hour."

Lori's eyes widened in shock. "How did you end up in this mess?" she asked, unable to mask the disbelief in her voice.

Annesa's gaze dropped to the floor, her voice barely above a whisper. "My father. He decided it was time for me to get married. He believes I'm old enough."

Lori's mind raced. "And how old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Eighteen," Annesa replied softly, her eyes not meeting Lori's.

The reality of Annesa's situation hit Lori like a wave. In front of her stood a young girl, barely an adult, being forced into a life-altering commitment with someone she barely knew. "I can't believe this... You're so young, and to someone you don't even know?" Lori's voice was a mix of shock and empathy.

Annesa nodded, a tear escaping down her cheek. "I don't want this wedding to happen, Lori. You have to help me."

"Why is this happening at all?" Lori was struggling to understand, her mind grappling with the gravity of Annesa's plea.

Annesa took a moment, gathering her thoughts before delving into her story.

Growing up in a household that clung to the traditions of our native country like a lifeline, I always felt like a bird trapped in a cage. My parents were the epitome of conservatism, living by the rules and customs that seemed ancient and out of place in the modern world we lived in.

But me? I was different. I yearned for freedom and the chance to live on my terms. I found my escape in the little rebellions that I kept hidden from my parents' eyes. I sneaked out to meet friends, bought clothes that reflected my style with the little pocket money I had and changed into them on my way to school.

Parties became my refuge, where I could be myself, away from the expectations that weighed heavily on my shoulders at home. These were my secrets, my silent acts of defiance.

One evening, everything changed. It was just after I had finished school, and my heart was full of dreams about university and the future I would build for myself. I had plans that evening to sneak out to a graduation party, a celebration of our freedom and the beginning of our adult lives.

But before I could escape into the night, my father, Khan, gathered me and my mother in the living room for what he described as a 'serious conversation.'

The gravity in his voice and the stern look in his eyes were all too familiar, yet this time, it carried a weight that I couldn't quite place. Neither my mother nor I had any idea what was about to unfold.

Sitting in the dim light of our living room, the tension was palpable. My father, a stern and traditionally-minded man, had just dropped a bombshell that threatened to shatter my world completely.

"My company is on the verge of bankruptcy," he declared, his voice heavy with defeat. "I've tried everything to save it, but nothing's worked."

My mother, always the caring and supportive spouse, immediately questioned, "Khan, why didn't you say anything?" Her concern was genuine, a stark contrast to the usual composed facade my father maintained.

"Because I am a man, and these are my problems," he retorted, his pride evident even in the face of adversity. "But I've made a serious decision—and I think it's the right course of action."

Curiosity and dread mixed within me, prompting me to ask, "What decision, Dad?" My voice was barely above a whisper, fearing the answer even before it was given.

Without missing a beat, he continued, "I've been in touch with your aunt back in our native country. I asked her to find a good man from a wealthy family with traditional values."

Confused, I prodded further, "Do you want to sell him the company?"

"No, Annesa," he said, looking me straight in the eyes, "I want you to marry him. Everything is arranged, and the wedding will be in five months. You'll live with your aunt until then; she'll teach you how to be a good wife, and you'll learn more about our culture."

My mother, ever supportive of my father's decisions, exclaimed, "What a joy! My daughter is getting married!" Her excitement stung, a sharp contrast to the dread pooling in my stomach.

"Joy? Mom, are you kidding?!" Anger surged within me, overwhelming and fierce. "I will not get married at 18 to a stranger!" The thought was unfathomable, a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.

But my father, unwavering, shot back, "Oh yes, you will!" His voice thundered, a declaration of his unyielding will.

Trying to find solace, or perhaps understanding, I turned to my mother, "Annesa, dear, I was scared too when I married your father, but look, everything worked out. We love each other, and we have you." Her attempt at comfort fell on deaf ears. How could she not see the prison bars closing in on me?

"No, I refuse to get married! I want to study, to live my life!" I protested, desperation coloring my words.

"Your husband will pay for your education. I can't afford it," my father coldly stated, as if the decision was as simple as choosing what to have for dinner.

"And how old is he, anyway?!" I demanded a last-ditch effort to find some semblance of reason in this madness.

"Twenty-nine," came the reply, setting in stone the reality of my situation.

"Twenty-nine?! I will not marry him. I should decide for myself who I marry!" The room spun as I stood my ground, the weight of the situation pressing down on me.

In a display of anger I had rarely seen from him, my father slammed his fist on the table. "You are my daughter! And as long as you live under my roof, I will decide for you."

The air was thick with tension, and my heart was pounding in my chest. "I hate you!" The words exploded out of me, fueled by betrayal and hurt. I turned on my heel and ran to my room, the sound of my feet pounding against the floor, a desperate attempt to escape the reality my parents had chosen for me.

The moment I realized what my father intended for me, a sense of urgency took over. My mind raced with thoughts of escape, of running away from a future I hadn't chosen.

So, I began to pack whatever essentials I could think of—clothes, a little bit of money I had saved up, anything that felt like a piece of the life I was trying to hold onto.

But before I could even finish, my father burst into the room. His presence filled the space, towering and imposing, a stark reminder of his control over my life.

Without a word, he snatched my passport from my hands, the very symbol of the freedom I was seeking. He rummaged through my things, taking them away as if he were stripping me of my identity piece by piece.

Then, to my horror, he started boarding up the windows. Each nail hammered into the wood felt like it was being driven into my dreams, sealing them away in the room's darkness.

I pleaded with him, begged him to understand, to see the fear and desperation in my eyes. But it was as if he couldn't hear me, or perhaps he chose not to. The finality of his actions left me feeling trapped, both physically and emotionally.

He left the room, locking the door behind him. The sound of the key turning in the lock echoed in the silence, a chilling reminder of my new reality. I was a prisoner in my own home, locked away from the world, from the future I desired. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cell.

I was lucky, in a sense, that there was a toilet in the room. It was a small comfort in the midst of my despair.

They—my parents or perhaps just servants acting on their orders—would bring food to the room, sliding it through a small opening they had made in the door. Each time the door locked again, I felt a wave of hopelessness wash over me.

Days passed in a blur of tears and silent pleas to a future that seemed increasingly out of reach. And then, after two days that felt more like an eternity, we flew to the homeland.

The journey was a haze, my thoughts a tumultuous sea of fear, anger, and sorrow. As the plane soared through the skies, I couldn't help but feel like I was moving further away from everything I knew and loved, being carried deeper into a life I didn't want.

When we landed, the heat of our homeland enveloped me like a heavy cloak, unfamiliar yet somehow intrinsic to my being. My father and I were promptly met by my aunt's husband, Hanif, a man of stern appearance and few words.

My father shared their history briefly, noting that Hanif and my aunt had been married for a decade following the death of her first husband.

The drive to their house was quiet, filled with the unspoken tension of my impending future. Upon arrival, I was introduced to Aunt Paola and her stepson, Amir.

Aunt Paola's reception was cold, marked by a critical eye and a sharp comment about my character being too strong for a woman, a judgment made before I could even speak.

Her words stung, echoing the sentiments my parents harbored yet amplifying them in this new setting. It was clear that my spirit, something I cherished, was seen here as a flaw to be corrected.

My father's departure later that evening left a hollow echo in my heart. Despite everything, watching him leave for America, back to the life I knew and longed for, felt like the final thread of my old self being severed.

In his absence, I was truly alone, surrounded by strangers who were now my guardians, tasked with molding me into their version of an acceptable woman.

Amir, who was about my age, seemed like my only hope for an ally in this unfamiliar environment. However, my hopes quickly dissipated as he kept his distance, offering me nothing more than indifferent glances throughout the day.

It was clear that any support I had hoped to find in him would not be forthcoming. This realization only deepened my resolve to escape, a plan that had been simmering in my mind since the plane journey here.

As night fell and the house quieted down, I felt a surge of adrenaline at the thought of reclaiming my freedom. I carefully packed a backpack with essentials—clothing and a few personal items that tethered me to my identity.

Moving quietly, I approached the window, my heart pounding with fear and determination. The cool night air brushed against my face as I opened the window, a symbolic gesture toward the freedom that lay just beyond my grasp.

But just as I was about to climb out, the unexpected sound of my door opening caused me to freeze. It was Amir, and his presence in my room was both startling and confusing.

Our eyes met in the dim moonlight, a silent standoff between two strangers bound by familial ties yet divided by our circumstances. The tension in the room was palpable. Amir's gaze held a complexity I hadn't noticed before, suggesting layers of thought and emotion that he had kept hidden.

Caught in the act of my desperate escape attempt, I froze as Amir's voice cut through the silence of the night. "What are you doing?" he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and surprise. My heart raced; I hadn't planned for this interruption.

"None of your business. Why are you in my room?" My response was sharp, a defense mechanism against the vulnerability I felt at being discovered.

"I was going to the bathroom and heard some noise. Decided to check if everything was okay," he explained, his presence in my room now making me acutely aware of how trapped I felt in this place.

"Everything's fine, now leave and pretend you saw nothing." I tried to sound confident, but my voice betrayed my desperation. I just wanted him to go, to leave me to my fleeting chance at freedom.

"I could leave and tell Paola everything," Amir threatened or perhaps stated. It was hard to tell with the emotionless way he spoke. His words felt like a noose tightening around my neck. The last thing I needed was for Aunt Paola to know of my escape plans.

"Please, don't do that. Just let me go," I begged, the reality of my situation crashing down on me.

"And where will you go?" Amir's question was valid. "You have no money, no passport, you don't know the language. The police will catch you as soon as you leave the house."

"I have no other choice," I said, my voice barely a whisper. The truth in his words stung, but the thought of staying, of marrying a man I didn't know, was unbearable. I swung my leg over the window, ready to jump, to take my chances.

But then, Amir's hand stopped me. His touch was gentle, hesitant. He peeked out the window, looking down at the drop below, then back at me. "Wait. I understand why you want to run away. I would do the same, but you won't make it without a plan."

His words gave me pause. "I don't have time to wait," I argued, even as part of me wanted to believe there might be another way, a better plan.

"The wedding is in 5 months," he reminded me as if the time frame provided any comfort.

"And what do you propose?" I asked, my curiosity piqued despite my skepticism.

"I will help you, and you will be able to escape." The sincerity in Amir's voice was surprising. It was the first time I felt like someone understood, someone cared about what I wanted.

I was shocked. Help from Amir was the last thing I expected, but it was a glimmer of hope in an otherwise dark situation. Without words, I nodded, accepting his offer. He helped me climb back into the room, and a silent agreement formed between us.

"Now, I'll finally go to the bathroom, afraid my bladder won't last much longer," Amir joked a small attempt to lighten the mood. Despite everything, I laughed—a short, genuine burst of amusement that felt out of place in the seriousness of our situation.

After he left, I sat on the bed, the discarded backpack on the floor a testament to my failed attempt at escape. But now, there was a possibility of a new plan, a chance at freedom with Amir's help. The room felt a little less like a prison, a little more like a temporary obstacle to overcome.

Just a few seconds later, Amir peeked back into the room, checking on me. "Checking if you're still here," he said, a slight tease in his tone.

"Still here, unfortunately." My reply was tinged with the heaviness of my reality yet lightened by the hope Amir had given me.

Amir smiled sadly and left the room, closing the door behind him. His smile, sad yet understanding, stayed with me. It was a small comfort, a silent promise of support in a world where I felt overwhelmingly alone.

Four long months have crept by since the day my father left me in the care of Aunt Paola, a time that has felt both like a lifetime and a fleeting moment. With her unwavering commitment to tradition, my aunt made it her mission to mold me into what she deemed a proper wife.

Yet, every effort she made, every lesson she attempted to teach, ended in what she saw as failure. She would pace around the house, muttering under her breath in our native language, a phrase that took me weeks to understand.

"Poor her husband," she would say, a statement laden with disappointment and pity. But the thought of marrying, of surrendering my future to a stranger, was something I couldn't accept. I had no intention of being anyone's wife, not if it meant giving up on my dreams, on my freedom.

In the midst of this turmoil, Amir became my unexpected haven. Contrary to my first impression of him, he revealed himself to be kind, understanding, and fiercely loyal. He would often sneak me out for walks under the cover of dusk, granting me brief escapes from the suffocating atmosphere of the house.

We shared secrets and dreams within the sanctuary of his room, losing hours to video games and whispered conversations. Amir even went as far as to save his pocket money, a fund he said was for me to escape.

He had meticulously planned a route, promising I would leave this place behind as soon as we had enough money. Our shared interests in movies, books, and games drew us closer, creating a bond that felt both exhilarating and terrifying in its intensity.

With each passing day, I found myself looking forward to the moments we shared. Amir's jokes, which I would have found corny under any other circumstances, became highlights of my day. His laughter, his presence, became my solace in a world that seemed determined to break my spirit.

And then, without realizing it, I fell in love. It wasn't a sudden revelation but a slow awakening to the depth of my feelings for him. Amir, who had started as a reluctant ally, had become the most important person in my life. I cherished every moment we spent together, shared glances and secret smiles.

The realization of my love for Amir was both exhilarating and frightening. Love was a luxury I couldn't afford, not when my future was being bartered away in a marriage I didn't want.

Yet, I couldn't deny the warmth that filled me whenever I thought of him, the way my heart seemed to beat in sync with his. It was a feeling I wanted to cling to, a beacon of hope in a hopeless situation.

One evening, under the canopy of stars, Amir invited me for a walk. Usually bustling with the sounds of life, our neighborhood felt eerily quiet, as if it was holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come.

Our walks were often filled with endless conversations, shared dreams, and laughter. But that night, a heavy silence hung between us, a tangible tension that neither of us seemed able to break.

Finally, Amir broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "I..." he started, his voice trailing off as if the words were too heavy to carry.

"What? Speak up," I urged him, sensing the importance of what he was about to say.

He sighed, a sound heavy with unspoken emotion. "I've gathered the necessary amount of money, so tonight you can escape," he revealed, his eyes brimming with tears, a mirror to the turmoil swirling within him.

Overwhelmed with joy and sudden relief, I reached out to him, my actions driven by the intensity of my emotions. I wrapped my arms around his neck, embracing him tightly, jumping slightly in my spot, buoyed by the prospect of freedom. But as I looked into his eyes, I saw a sadness that mirrored the depth of an ocean—vast and uncharted.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my voice soft, trying to bridge the distance that had suddenly sprung up between us.

"I'm sad you're leaving. At first, I even thought not to tell you that you could escape, but decided it would be wrong," he admitted, his honesty laying bare the depth of his feelings for me.

His confession struck a chord deep within my heart, and for a moment, the world around us seemed to pause. The realization that leaving meant leaving him, that my freedom came at the cost of our separation, was a bitter pill to swallow.

"I'm sad too," I confessed, my voice barely a whisper against the backdrop of our shared silence.

"Really?" His voice was tinged with hope, a fragile thing in the face of our reality.

"Yes, it will be very hard to live without your silly jokes," I teased, trying to lighten the mood, to find some semblance of normalcy in the chaos that had become our lives. Amir laughed, a sound that had always been my anchor in the stormiest of seas. He tried to push me away playfully, but I held on, unwilling to let go of the moment of him.

"The thing is, Amir, I lo…" My confession was cut short by his lips on mine, a kiss that sealed our fate together. I responded with all my love for him, and nothing else mattered in that moment.

"Does this mean you'll go with me?" I asked, hope blossoming in my chest at the thought of us together, of not having to say goodbye.

Amir's response was immediate, a nod filled with determination and then another kiss, sealing our promise to each other.

But our moment of happiness was shattered by a voice from the darkness. "What a disgrace!" The harsh words came from a neighbor who had been watching us. Panic set in as the reality of our situation came crashing back. We were not free yet.

Amir's plea to the neighbor fell on deaf ears as she turned and walked away, her intention to tell Aunt Paola clear. We were left standing in the shadow of our looming challenge, the threat of our plans being exposed before we could act.

"What are we going to do?" My voice was small, reflecting the fear and uncertainty gripping me.

"We'll run away, but for that, we need to sneak into the house unnoticed to grab the money," Amir said, his voice steady, a rock in the midst of the storm.

I nodded, my resolve hardening. Together, we turned back towards the house, our steps silent in the night.

As we moved stealthily towards the house, my heart was a tumult of emotions—fear, love, hope, and determination. Amir's hand in mine was a constant reminder of why we were doing this, of the love that had blossomed in the most unlikely circumstances. Whatever the future held, I knew that facing it with Amir was the only way I could ever truly be free.

Climbing the tree next to the house felt like a step into a world of unknowns, each branch a hurdle we overcame together. Amir led the way, his movements sure and practiced. I followed, my heart pounding not just from the climb but from the fear and excitement of what we were doing.

We reached Amir's window, and he helped me through. The room was cloaked in shadows, the only light seeping in from the street lamps outside.

Amir moved with a purpose, going straight to the table where he had stashed the money we needed for our escape. He also grabbed some clothes for both of us, a necessity for the journey ahead.

We were about to climb back out the window when the room suddenly flooded with light. My heart stopped. Aunt Paola stood at the door, a look of shock and disbelief on her face. "Going somewhere?" she asked, her voice a mix of anger, confusion, and hurt.

After Aunt Paola discovered our escape plan, she wasted no time in taking action. The sound of her voice, stern and unwavering, echoed through the house as she made the call that I dreaded the most.

She informed my father of everything, every detail of our failed attempt to flee. The disappointment in her tone was palpable, a clear sign of the trouble that awaited us.

Following the call, she separated Amir and me, locking us in different rooms. The isolation felt like a punishment worse than any scolding.

The walls of my temporary prison seemed to close in on me, each minute stretching into an eternity as I waited for what was to come. The absence of Amir's reassuring presence made the situation feel even more dire, his absence a gaping hole in my resolve.

My father's arrival the next day was heralded by tension in the air, a storm brewing on the horizon. When we were finally brought out to face him, seated at opposite ends of the long dining table, the distance between Amir and me felt insurmountable.

My father's face was a mask of barely contained rage, his disappointment in us radiating like heat from a fire.

The tension in the room was thick, like a fog that refused to lift. My father's anger, a storm brewing since he received the call, finally broke. "How could you let this happen?!" he roared at Aunt Paola, his voice echoing off the walls, filling the room with his outrage.

Caught off guard, Aunt Paola defended herself with a desperation I had never seen in her before. "I knew nothing about it!" she exclaimed, her usual stern composure crumbling under the weight of my father's accusations.

The blame was thrown back and forth like a hot potato. "Your stepson seduced my daughter!" my father bellowed, pointing an accusing finger at Amir.

Aunt Paola, not to be outdone, retorted sharply, "Knowing Annesa, she seduced him!" Her words stung, implying that the fault lay with me, that somehow my character was flawed.

Amir, who had been silent up until now, spoke up, his voice cautious but firm. "May I speak?" he asked, only to be met with a resounding "NO!" from both my father and Aunt Paola. Their unified shout silenced the room for a brief moment.

But Amir, undeterred, continued, "I'll say it anyway. I love Annesa, and if you allow, I would like to ask for her hand and heart." His bold and unexpected declaration seemed to catch everyone by surprise.

My father's response was a nervous laugh tinged with disbelief. "You really think I'll let you marry my daughter? She already has a husband! And she's marrying him in two days." His words hit me like a physical blow, the reality of my situation crashing down on me with renewed force.

"Two days?!" I couldn't help but shout, my shock palpable. The wedding, a looming event I had hoped to escape, was suddenly much closer than I had realized.

My father's threats continued, each word a hammer driving home the finality of my situation. "I won't let you run away. And if you," he pointed menacingly at Amir, "come a step closer to Annesa - I'll kill you." The violence in his voice chilled me to the bone.

Aunt Paola, surprisingly, came to Amir's defense. "Khan! Don't dare talk to him like that!" she interjected, a rare moment of solidarity with us against my father.

"He spoiled my daughter!" my father accused, his gaze burning into me.

"Nobody spoiled me!" I found my voice, my anger rising to meet his. "I love Amir and want to be with him!" I declared, the truth of my words ringing clear and strong.

"I've already said it's not for you to decide!" my father countered, his authority unyielding.

Unable to bear it any longer, I stood up from the table and ran to my room. "Come back immediately! I haven't finished!" my father called after me, but I was beyond listening. "How you treat your father!" he yelled after me, his words dripping with disappointment and anger.

"You're not my father! I hate you!" The words burst from me, a torrent of emotion I could no longer contain. With that, I slammed the door to my room shut, sealing myself away from the chaos and heartbreak of the scene I had left behind.

In the solitude of my room, the reality of my situation settled around me like a shroud. Once a beacon of hope, my escape plan now seemed more like a distant dream.

The day that followed was one of the longest and darkest of my life. My father, with a determination that felt cold and unyielding, took me to meet the man I was supposed to marry.

The moment I saw him, my heart sank. He appeared much older than his years, his eyes lacking the warmth I yearned for in someone I would call my partner. The way he looked at me made me feel like an object, a possession, rather than a person with dreams and aspirations.

The meeting was a blur of commands and dictates. He handed me a burqa, instructing me that this would be my only acceptable form of attire from now on. The weight of the fabric felt like chains, a physical manifestation of the restrictions being placed on my life.

His words were like daggers. "You are forbidden from driving a car," he declared, each word a nail in the coffin of my independence. "Forget about your studies," he continued, dismissing my dreams with a wave of his hand. "As a woman, your mission is to sit at home, give birth, and raise children."

I felt as if I were suffocating, trapped in a nightmare I couldn't wake from. Tears welled up in my eyes, a silent protest against the life being forced upon me. But when I could no longer hold them back, when my tears finally spilled over, his response was violence.

A sharp slap across my face, a command to not get on his nerves. The pain was shocking, but the betrayal I felt was worse. I looked to my father for support, for any sign that he would defend me, his daughter, from this cruelty.

But he remained silent, an observer of my despair. In that moment, I realized he was willing to hand me over to this man, this monster, without a second thought.

Lori listened intently, her heart heavy with empathy for Annesa. The story she had just heard was more than a tale of personal suffering; it was a reflection of a grim reality faced by many women around the world. Lori's mind raced, trying to devise a plan to offer Annesa a chance at freedom.

"So you'll help me?" Annesa's voice was tinged with hope, a fragile thread in the dark tapestry of her current life.

"Yes, of course, I will. But we need a solid plan. How exactly can we do this?" Lori's voice was firm, her resolve clear. She was committed to helping Annesa and offering her a lifeline out of her desperate situation.

Annesa explained her predicament further. "I've already talked to Amir about running away. We decided we'd meet at our special place, the one spot that's ours alone. But there are so many hurdles. I have no money for the journey, no means of transportation, and my future husband's guards are always watching. It's like I'm trapped in a cage with no way out," she said, her face twisting in frustration at her circumstances.

Lori nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Don't worry. I can provide the money for your escape, and I have a car. We can use it to get you out of here," she offered, her mind already racing through the logistics of the escape plan.

Annesa's eyes lit up with a mixture of hope and fear. "There's one more thing. I know the code to the safe where the man I'm being forced to marry keeps money and my passport. If we can get it, I'll truly be free to leave," she added, the significance of retrieving her passport not lost on her.

Lori took a deep breath, piecing together the fragments of the plan.

Annesa whispered the safe code to Lori with a tremble in her voice, also revealing the location of the man's room. The plan was simple yet fraught with risk. "Wait for me in your room," Lori instructed determination lacing her words. Annesa nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of their impending action.

Lori moved with a purpose she didn't know she had. Finding the man's room was easier than expected, thanks to Annesa's detailed description. The key, stolen from his jacket, felt cold in Lori's hand as she unlocked the door and slipped inside.

The room was dim, the air thick with a tension that mirrored Lori's racing heart. She found the safe hidden behind a painting, just as Annesa had said.

The code worked on the first try, revealing stacks of money and Annesa's passport. Lori took a deep breath, allowing herself a moment of relief before quickly gathering the items and leaving the room as silently as she had entered.

Next was the staff wardrobe. Lori found a waitress's uniform that would fit Annesa, her mind racing through the next steps of their plan. As she passed by Annesa's guards, she feigned a directive from the man, saying he ordered them to eat and that others would take their place. The unsuspecting guards complied, providing Lori with the opening she needed.

Entering Annesa's room felt like stepping into a sanctuary amidst a storm. Annesa's eyes widened with hope and fear as Lori handed her the uniform. "Quickly, change," Lori urged, checking the hallway for any signs of movement. Annesa complied, her hands shaking as she swapped her garments for the disguise.

Their plan was moments away from fruition when the unexpected happened. Annesa's father burst into the room, his face contorted with anger. "You're not going anywhere," he bellowed, blocking their only exit. Annesa's plea for freedom, her refusal to be bound to a life of misery, was met with his unwavering demand for obedience.

Lori's heart raced as she realized there was no way out but through. With a silent apology, she picked up a chair and, with all her might, swung it at Annesa's father.

The impact sent him crashing to the ground, unconscious. Lori's actions were driven by a desperate need to protect her friend and to ensure Annesa's escape from a life she did not choose.

The girls didn't pause to process what had happened; they knew they had to move fast. Slipping out of the room, they darted through the corridors, their steps echoing in the otherwise silent house. Reaching Lori's car felt like breaking through to the other side of a long, dark tunnel.

Lori drove through the quiet streets, the tension in the car palpable as Annesa sat beside her, both of them alert for any sign of pursuit.

As they neared the designated meeting spot, Annesa's eyes searched the area until they landed on Amir, who was standing there with suitcases, his eyes scanning every car that passed. Relief washed over Annesa's face at the sight of him, a beacon of hope in their uncertain journey.

Pulling over, Lori watched as Annesa and Amir reunited. The relief and love in their embrace spoke volumes of their shared ordeal and the strength of their bond.

But amidst the reunion, a shadow of worry lingered. The road ahead was fraught with unknowns, and the border seemed like a distant dream.

Lori, sensing their hesitation, made a decisive move. She handed the car keys to Amir. "Take my car," she said, her voice firm with resolve. "It'll get you to the border. Just drive and don't look back."

Annesa, overwhelmed by Lori's generosity, promised, "We will definitely repay you for everything." Her words were sincere, a vow made in the heat of the moment, born out of gratitude and the deep human connection forged in adversity.

Amir took the keys with gratitude and determination in his eyes. "Thank you," he said, his voice carrying the weight of their shared hope for a better future.

As Lori watched them drive away, she knew the challenges they faced were far from over. But in that moment, she had given them something invaluable: a chance at freedom, at a life chosen by themselves.

After helping Annesa and Amir escape, Lori felt a mix of pride and fear. The thought of staying in a place that enforced such archaic practices on women unnerved her, pushing her to return to America, a decision that brought both relief and a lingering worry for the friends she left behind.

Back in America, Lori resumed her normal life, but the memories of her time abroad, Annesa's plight, and their daring escape lingered in her mind. Each day brought a mix of routine and reflection, a constant reminder of the difference she had made in someone's life.

One evening, as a taxi pulled into Lori's, her eyes caught the unexpected sight of an expensive car parked in front of her house. Curiosity mixed with a hint of apprehension as she approached the vehicle, wondering who it could belong to and why it was there.

Tucked under the windshield wiper, she found a note. Her hands trembled slightly as she unfolded the paper, revealing Annesa's familiar handwriting.

The note was filled with words of deep gratitude, thanking Lori for the risks she took, for the hope she provided, and for the new life she helped them start. Reading Annesa's words, Lori felt a surge of emotion, a mix of happiness and relief, knowing that Annesa and Amir were safe and grateful.

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