Again.  You were going to go crazy.  Crazy, crazy, crazy.  He calls it an obligation but you would rather label it as a punishment.

                Over dinner, grandfather had told you that he had put together another meeting.  Your protests were lifeless when he told you that this would most likely be the last blind date.  Meaning—marriage would follow soon after.

You felt like a speeding train running on fury rather than fuel.  You were so cross, you didn’t bother to finish your meal. 

                Why won’t he understand?  You haven’t even completed school, how can he be thinking about marriage?  Look where marriage got him—he’s nothing but a petulant gnome with an overflowing bank account. 

                You grunt and push the window open furiously, hoping the night air will help to calm you.  You trundle into the bed and tug the comforter over your head as you heave a heavy sigh.  As much as you want to, you find it hard to admit to your grandfather that you were looking for real love.  True love, sincere love, pure love—whatever it was called.  Not the kind that your old man initiated. 

Maybe if you stayed in bed and never got up, Grandfather would think you were sick and cancel the date.  As childish as that sounds.

                You groan again and turn to lie on your stomach, burying your face into the pillow.  What is love.

                A few minutes pass and it seems being alone really does give you time to reflect, as you soon begin to return to your composed self.  A few deep breaths douse your mind with calmness.

                Tomorrow.  Tomorrow, you will tell Grandfather everything.  How you don’t like the blind dates, how you want the freedom to love on your own, how you want to find someone for yourself. 

                “Please don’t disturb me,” you gripe when you hear a knocking noise.  It’s a racket that resembles metal against metal, and you assume it’s the housekeeper or Grandfather coming to find you. 

                You close your eyes, attempting to invite sleep.  But the knocking is still audible.

                “Please go away,” you grumble again. 

                You’re about to get up when the banging halts.  It’s only silent for a second until you hear a shuffling noise, and then a thump, like a large pillow was hit against the ground.  You sit up and bite your lip.  It’s not coming from the door, but the window.

                Dread knots in your stomach. 

Now, it’s eerily noiseless.  There is no light in the room other than the feeble moon so you can’t see much off the perimeter of your bed.  Your instinct tells you something right outside your room, and you regret opening the window so extensively.

“Who’s there?”