Dara’s POV

Normal kids would run around the park until they fall on their knees where they would ran home crying. They would make paper airplanes and force it to fly and just throw it on the ground if it would no longer fly. They would play on the swing while having the bigger kids push them so high that they could have sworn that if they pushed harder, they would have touched the sky.

And what did I do?

I.GOT.MARRIED.

I never said that I’m normal right?

I was 7 years old, just like the most of them, and I held my lace dress, made from our curtains, as I walked towards the gigantic tree behind the playground. My groom said to meet me there and not wanting to make him wait any longer, but I forgot to bring my bookey of flowers so I stopped by to pick some from the park. Wait, was that bookey? Oh...it was bowkay. How stupid of me? But then, we never learned that from school yet. (A/N. It's bouquet!)

So anyway, after grabbing a few daisies, I ran towards the tree and saw my groom with a scowl on his face as his arms were crossed on his chest. He was kicking the ground as if there was a soccer ball on it.

Obviously, he grew tired of waiting for me.

I cleared my throat, hoping that I would catch his attention—and it did. When he saw me, the scowl on his face disappeared, only to be replaced with his smile.

To make the long story short, we got married. I heard from my mom that you need a marriage contract or something. So we made one. But, he insisted that the correct spelling of marriage was “maridge”. Of course, I asked my mom about it, so I KNOW what’s the correct spelling. So, I corrected him. He got mad and I got mad too. That was our first fight as a married couple. Sheesh. Who knew that being married was this stressful?

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