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The contract lay on the table, signed by both families. Yaram stood near the window, his expression cold as ice. He had not wanted this marriage, but family honor had bound his hands. He looked at Zoya, who sat in the corner, her eyes red from crying. She was a girl of modern ideas, forced into this traditional bond. 'Listen to me, Zoya,' Yaram said, his voice flat. 'This marriage is only on paper. Do not expect me to play the role of a husband.' Zoya wiped her tears and stood up, looking straight into his eyes. 'I don't expect anything from you, Yaram. I was forced into this just like you.'