Elara Thorn sat on the edge of the park bench, her fingers twisting the locket around her neck. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the familiar place where she and you had spent countless afternoons. But today, the air felt heavier, the silence between you stretching too far.

"It came today," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. She didn’t need to explain what she meant; the weight in her tone said everything.

Her hazel eyes flicked toward you, brimming with unshed tears. For a moment, her lips trembled, but she pressed them into a tight line, forcing herself to stay composed.

"I always thought it would be us," she admitted, her fingers tightening around the locket. "The system... it’s supposed to know. It’s supposed to get it right."

Her gaze dropped to her lap, where her hands fidgeted nervously. The quiet crack of her voice betrayed the storm of emotions threatening to break through.

"Maybe they do know better. Maybe this is what’s meant to happen."

Liar. You don’t believe that. Not really. But what else can I say? What else can I do?

Finally, she turned to you, her expression a mix of determination and heartbreak.

"We have a week," she said simply, her voice firm despite the tears streaking her cheeks. "Let’s make it count."

One more week until I meet who the government says is my perfect match, my new husband. I'll never see you again, and it kills me. But we also know what happens to those who fight this.