I don't want to marry you

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Sit and chat

“I feel no strength,” Zea declares after walking for approximately two and half miles, and starting to lose the hope to find someone who can help them. Indeed, it might have been easy for them if Aurel hadn’t missed his mobile phone during the mission “stuffing Alban” in the city dustbin. At least, we might have counted them as lucky if Zea’s phone belonged to the 21st century. Unfortunately, it did not.

“I think we got lost,” said Aurel, scratching his head while looking around confusingly.

“Thank you so much, Mr.Regnarts. You had no idea about how much you enlightened me,” Zea said sarcastically as she fished out flight tickets from her pocket.

“I wonder how,” he sneered sarcastically while Zea tore her flight tickets.

“Shall we stop here.”

“Yeah!” he said.

Both of them stopped under a tree. Zea took off her oversized trench coat and spread it over the grass. She checked her belongings: money, passport and phone were tucked in inner pocket. It was more like a mini bed sheet. Both of them sat on it.

“Everything would have gone well,” he said, leaning his back on the trunk of the tree, “If my father hadn’t chased us”

“Was that your father?” she asked him shockingly.

He nodded.

Interesting, isn’t it?

Both of them hate this marriage. Both of them want to run away. But, something is missing. He was brawny, and not like Zea. He can confront his father, but he doesn’t, why?

“Why do you choose to run at the last minute, Mr. Regnarts? Does your father house-arrest you?”

“No,” he chuckled in disbelief for the imagination Zea had, “is that what your mother did?”

She didn’t answer. Actually, she chose not to answer.

“Why did you choose to run at the last minute, Ms.Allen?”

“Call me Zea, please,” she said.

Why did you choose to run at the last minute, Ms.Allen?

Who wouldn’t want to run? Helena wants to wash her hands off. If it wasn’t Luna who wanted to help her, she would be locked in that store room until Helena find someone else to marry her. If at least one of her biological parents had been alive, she would not have been forced into the mess.

“Zea?” he pulled her out of her thoughts.

“She is not my mother. My mother died when I was ten, My father remarried. And he too died” she confessed.


“What?” she snapped

“I am sorry,” he apologized, sensing her anger, “I said, ‘funny’ because of the coincidence. My father died, too,”

“So, the one who chased us is-”

“My step-father,”

Did he, too, fear for his step parent?

However Zea didn’t ask him. He was quite busy in thoughts. So she didn’t bother asking.

A yawn escaped from Zea’s mouth: A hint by her sleeping glands which is begging her to sleep. After a brakes-failed-but-still-we-can-travel journey and walking for two and half miles, who would bother to deny the sleeping glands.

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