SOLINKA AND HAK SENG

And I knew, deep down, that by orchestrating this, Hak was fully aware of the weight it would place on me. It was no coincidence; it was intentional. With every gesture, every moment, he was pushing me further, tightening the grip of expectation around me.

I could feel the pressure mounting, an invisible force that was hard to shake, and I understood—it was his way of testing me, of seeing how much I could bear.

The sight of him sent a jolt through me. My heart raced, my stomach churned. We knew each other too well for me to ignore him, no matter how much I wanted to. Fighting the storm within me, I managed a smile, forced and strained.

My hands trembled under the table, my anger simmering just beneath the surface, making it nearly impossible to stay still.

My mother noticed. She reached over and placed her hand on mine, squeezing gently but firmly. It was as if she were trying to steady me, to anchor me in the chaos of emotions threatening to consume me. Her touch was both a comfort and a reminder: no matter how betrayed I felt, this moment demanded composure.

We all rose to our feet as they entered the room, forcing smiles that stretched too wide to feel genuine. My eyes locked onto his, piercing and unyielding, daring him to flinch. But Hak met my gaze with a calm steadiness, his expression unfaltering.

A soft, almost imperceptible smile lingered on his lips as if to remind me, Don't react. Don't let anything show. I understood his silent plea, even if it made my chest tighten with frustration.

Hak stepped aside to pull out a chair for his mother, his movements smooth and measured, as though choreographed for moments like these. Introductions followed, polite and shallow, skimming the surface of what everyone in the room really wanted to say.

Casual conversation filled the gaps, the kind that tiptoed around tension but failed to mask it.

When the food arrived, it was my mother who finally steered us toward the inevitable. Her voice was light, almost cheerful, but the weight of her words crashed into me like a wave.

"I had no idea my daughter never mentioned Hak Seng, not even once," she began, her gaze cutting through me like a blade. "And yet, they've been together for four years. She's done keeping things to herself, it seems."

Her tone carried the faintest edge of reproach, the kind only a mother could wield so effortlessly. I felt my father's eyes on me, a silent acknowledgement of how exposed I must have felt at that moment. He didn't speak, but his expression said enough: he knew. He always did.

Meanwhile, my sister chimed in, seamlessly aligning herself with our mother as she always did. Her voice carried that familiar mix of amusement and complicity, as if she were enjoying the spectacle unfolding. I clenched my fists under the table, bracing myself as their words swirled out.

Phalla smiled warmly after listening to my mother's words. 

"Hak used to bring her to see me and dad and I've always adored Solin. I've wanted them to think about marriage for quite some time now, but I never realized so much time had already slipped away."

My mother, sitting comfortably beside me, showed no trace of hesitation or guilt as she spoke with delight.

"Well then, let's start making arrangements for them. It would make me so happy if you agreed."

"Of course," Phalla replied, her voice calm and reassuring.

Hak Seng took a slow sip of his water, then glanced in my direction, his gaze lingering as if trying to read my emotions. I gave him nothing—just a blank, unchanging expression.

"But let's hear from them both," Phalla insisted gently, her tone steady yet firm.

My mother, however, dismissed the suggestion without hesitation. 

"There's no need for that," she objected, her voice decisive and unyielding.

"For years, their love had blossomed, unspoken yet evident to all. It was time, at last, for the families to take the next steps. 

"Don't you agree, dear?" 

Mom asked, glancing at Dad with a knowing smile. He nodded thoughtfully. 

"Yes, of course. I've been considering this for a while. She's our youngest daughter, after all. It's only natural that we start planning for her marriage."

"Perfect," Sambath finally said after a long pause, his voice ringing with satisfaction. His face broke into a warm smile, a joy that seemed to light up the room.

"Let's do it as soon as possible. I can't wait to see both my son and my beautiful daughter-in-law tie the knot."

My parents shared a look, their faces glowing with happiness. My father, beaming, spoke up. 

"Yes, sir. I completely agree with you."

The two older men chuckled together, their laughter filling the space, a sound of camaraderie and shared excitement. It was clear this moment held far more than just an agreement—it was the beginning of something deeper, something that bridged the past with the future. But I don't like it at all. My aunt clapped her hands together, beaming. 

"Oh, yes! I never imagined we'd have such a wonderful young man joining our family. Handsome, considerate—just perfect. Let's not waste any time. The sooner, the better!"

The room was filled with nods of agreement and bright smiles. The plan had everyone's blessing, and a sense of excitement settled over the family as they envisioned the union ahead.

***

Dinner was barely over when I hurried out of the restaurant, eager to avoid what I knew was coming. I was supposed to drive home with my sister, but that plan fell apart when Mom put her foot down.

"Solin, you're riding with us," she said firmly.

My sister shot me a quick, apologetic glance before heading off alone, leaving me standing awkwardly by the car. Dad had already climbed into the driver's seat and was waiting for us.

"I don't want to," I muttered, turning to Mom.

"You don't have a choice," she said, her tone unyielding.

"I…" I tried again, but Dad leaned out of the car and cut me off.

"Get in, Solin. We need to talk."

Continued...