Jonathan arrived at the café, eager to impress the woman he loved. He had a new suit and had practiced hard. But things went wrong. Instead of Phoebe, he faced Mark, who publicly humiliated him, hinting at his long-time flaw. Jonathan’s nerves took over, leading to an embarrassing scene.
Jonathan Green, an elderly man, lived alone in a small, neat house on the city’s outskirts. His life was strictly regimented.
Every morning, he woke up precisely at 8:00 a.m., his alarm clock ringing loudly, piercing the quiet dawn. Jonathan would take a deep breath, and then immediately start his daily rituals.
First, he disinfected all surfaces, spraying and wiping until every inch sparkled. Next, he checked the locks and switches multiple times, his fingers trembling slightly as he flipped the light switches on and off, on and off.
The door locks were tested three times each, ensuring they were secure.
Jonathan’s days were like clockwork, each minute planned and each task completed in a specific order.
His routines were his comfort, a way to manage the anxiety that constantly buzzed at the edges of his mind.
He often quarreled with his neighbor Bob because of Bob’s cat, Mr. Whiskers, constantly roamed Jonathan’s garden, digging up his carefully planted flowers.
That bright morning, Jonathan was outside, meticulously tending to his garden, when he spotted Mr. Whiskers pawing at his tulips.
“Bob!” Jonathan called out, his voice tight with frustration. “Your cat is at it again!”
Bob, a quirky man with a wide grin and a perpetually messy appearance, popped his head over the fence.
“Ah, sorry, Jonathan! Mr. Whiskers is just a free spirit, you know? He means no harm.”
Jonathan grumbled, shaking his head. “Keep him out of my garden, Bob. I can’t have him ruining my flowers.”
Jonathan ate his lunch at a local café every day, occupying the same table by the window. The thought of someone else sitting there made his palms sweat.
Phoebe, the kind-hearted waitress at the café, knew about this peculiarity and always tried to reserve the table for Jonathan.
She was a bright spot in his otherwise anxious world, with her warm smile and gentle demeanor.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Green,” Phoebe greeted him as he walked in, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Your usual table is ready for you.”
At the sight of Phoebe, Jonathan got nervous, and his hands started to shake. He quickly sat down and began arranging the sugar packets on the table, lining them up in perfect rows to calm himself.
Phoebe watched him with a soft smile, understanding his need for order.
“Thank you, Phoebe,” Jonathan said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Phoebe nodded and placed his usual lunch in front of him: a plate of vegetables arranged by color, with the potatoes perfectly aligned.
She arranged the vegetables this way just for him, knowing it helped to calm his nerves.
As he ate, Jonathan couldn’t help but glance at Phoebe from time to time. She moved gracefully between the tables. Each time she looked his way and smiled, he felt a flutter of warmth in his chest, a feeling he couldn’t quite name.
Despite the rigid structure of his days, there was a small part of Jonathan that longed for something more, something beyond his routines.
And though he would never admit it, Phoebe’s smile was a tiny spark of light in his meticulously ordered world.
On one of his regular visits to the café, Jonathan brought a single daisy, its white petals slightly wilted but still charming. He hid it in his pocket throughout lunch, occasionally patting it to make sure it was still there.
As he finished his meal and carefully arranged his utensils, he discreetly left the crumpled flower on the table for Phoebe.
As Jonathan made his way to the exit, Phoebe hurried after him. “Mr. Green, wait up!” she called, her voice bright and cheerful.
Jonathan paused, his heart racing. “Yes, Phoebe?”
Phoebe caught up to him, holding the daisy gently. “This is lovely, thank you,” she said warmly.
“You know, the café owner is planning a musical evening soon. We’re looking for someone who can play the piano well. I remember you mentioning you used to play quite well. Would you consider performing?”
Jonathan felt his chest tighten. He looked at his watch, his fingers tapping nervously on its face.
“I… I need to be home. It’s almost time for my afternoon routine,” he stammered.
Phoebe’s smile softened. “I understand, Mr. Green. Just think about it, okay? It would be wonderful to have you play.”
Jonathan nodded quickly, eager to escape the unexpected conversation. “I’ll think about it,” he mumbled before hurrying out the door.
At home, Jonathan tried to follow his usual routine but found himself distracted by Phoebe’s words. Finally, he deviated from his schedule and sat down at the old upright piano in his living room.
His fingers trembled as they hovered over the keys. He began to play, but not all the notes came out right. His anxiety grew with each mistake.
Hearing the hesitant notes, Bob peeked through the window, his curiosity piqued. He knocked gently on the glass.
“Hey, Jonathan, need some help?” he called out.
Jonathan frowned but opened the window a crack. “I’m fine, Bob. Just… just trying something.”
Bob grinned, undeterred. “That’s awesome! Need an audience to practice on?”
Jonathan sighed. “It’s a foolish idea. I haven’t played in years.”
Bob stepped back and smiled. “Nonsense. Let’s work on it together. I can listen, and we can get you ready.”
Jonathan often struggled to play because of his obsessive thoughts, but Bob found a way to calm him.
He created little funny rhyming phrases.
“Tickle the ivories, just like pies,” and “Play the keys, no fleas, just ease.”
They first repeated them aloud, then to themselves. This helped Jonathan gather himself and play more steadily.
For the first time in a long while, Jonathan felt a flicker of happiness, a sense of accomplishment warming his heart. He smiled, thinking that perhaps this could be his moment to shine.
However, deep down, he couldn’t shake off the nagging worry that his joy might be premature.
The next day, Jonathan walked into the café with a slight spring in his step. However, instead of Phoebe, he saw Mark behind the counter.
Mark was a young waiter, known for his sharp tongue and competitive nature. He always seemed to be trying too hard to impress, especially when Phoebe was around.
Jonathan’s heart sank a little, but he approached Mark.
“Hello, Mark,” Jonathan said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Could you tell Phoebe that I agreed to perform at the musical evening?”
Mark raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Sure, I’ll let her know,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Good luck with that, old man.”
Ignoring the snide remark, Jonathan turned and left the café. He met up with Bob, who was waiting for him outside.
“How’d it go?” Bob asked, noticing Jonathan’s slightly flustered appearance.
“Phoebe wasn’t there, but I left the message with Mark,” Jonathan replied, trying to shake off the unease. “Let’s go get that suit.”
Bob nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely! Let’s get you looking sharp.”
They went to the local department store, where Bob helped Jonathan pick out a suit. Bob was like a whirlwind of energy, holding up jackets and ties, and offering opinions on colors and styles.
“Try this one,” Bob said, handing Jonathan a navy blue suit. “It’ll bring out your eyes.”
Jonathan hesitated but took the suit into the dressing room. When he emerged, he felt a bit self-conscious but also a little proud.
“Well, what do you think?” he asked, turning around slowly.
Bob gave a thumbs up. “You look fantastic! Phoebe will be impressed for sure.”
After purchasing the suit, Jonathan had one more request.
“Bob, can we stop by the jewelry shop? There’s something I need to get.”
Bob’s eyes widened in surprise but nodded. “Of course, let’s go.”
At the jewelry shop, Jonathan carefully examined the pieces on display. His hands were a bit shaky as he finally selected a delicate silver bracelet with a small charm.
“This one,” Jonathan said, his voice soft. “For a special woman.”
Bob smiled broadly. “That’s a beautiful choice, Jonathan. She’ll love it.”
Bob patted him on the back as they walked out of the shop.
“Everything’s going to be great, Jonathan,” Bob said confidently. “I’ll be there to support you at the performance. You’ve got this.”
Jonathan nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Thanks, Bob. I appreciate your help.”
As they headed home, Jonathan felt a flicker of hope. Yet, the biggest test for poor Jonathan was to come, and he had no inkling of what lay in wait.
On the day of the performance, Jonathan arrived at the café, feeling a bit nervous. As he entered, he looked around for Phoebe but saw Mark behind the counter instead.
“Good afternoon, Mark. Is Phoebe here?” Jonathan asked, his voice slightly trembling.
Mark smirked. “Oh, she’s in the back. Why do you need her?”
Jonathan took a deep breath.
“I’m here for the performance. I told you to let her know.”
Mark’s smirk widened. “Oh, right. I must have forgotten. Besides, we decided against live music tonight. It’s not really your scene, old man.”
Jonathan’s heart sank. Just then, Phoebe came out from the back and saw Jonathan. She greeted him with a warm smile.
“Mr. Green! What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t know you came tonight! You look sharp today,” she said, noticing his new suit.
“You didn’t respond to my message, but I went ahead and tuned the piano just in case.”
Jonathan managed a small smile, feeling a bit more at ease. “Thank you, Phoebe. I’m ready to play.”
Jonathan looked at Mark, who shrugged nonchalantly. Phoebe frowned but turned to Jonathan with a reassuring smile.
“It’s not a big deal. The piano is tuned, and you can play. Let me just inform the café owner.”
As Phoebe walked away, Mark seized the moment to mock Jonathan.
“Look at you with your useless rituals. Your obsessive thoughts have no place here. You’re just going to embarrass Phoebe and yourself.”
Jonathan’s hands began to shake uncontrollably. In his panic, he knocked over a stack of dishes on a nearby table. The crash echoed through the café, and juice spilled onto the patrons at the neighboring table.
Faces turned towards him, some with shock, others with annoyance.
Feeling utterly humiliated, Jonathan ran out of the café, his vision blurred with tears.
Bob was just entering the café, having arrived a bit late. As he stepped through the door, he and Jonathan collided, nearly knocking each other over.
“Whoa, Jonathan! What happened?” Bob asked, seeing the distress on Jonathan’s face.
Jonathan, struggling to catch his breath, tried to explain.
“Mark… he didn’t tell Phoebe. They weren’t expecting me to play, and he… he mocked me. I knocked everything over.”
“Jonathan, calm down,” Bob said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Remember our rhymes from the rehearsals. Repeat them with me.”
Together, they closed their eyes and chanted the calming phrases:
“Tickle the ivories, just like pies,” and “Play the keys, no fleas, just ease.”
Gradually, Jonathan’s breathing steadied, and the panic ebbed away.
Despite the anger and confusion inside the café, he felt a new resolve forming within him.
Bob gave him an OK sign. “You’ve got this, Jonathan. Don’t let Mark or anyone else stop you.”
Jonathan, still murmuring the calming rhymes, walked back into the café, ignoring the stares and whispers.
He made his way to the piano, his focus entirely on the keys in front of him. The café owner moved to intervene, but Phoebe quickly stepped in.
“Please, let him play. I’ll take responsibility for whatever happens next,” she pleading the owner.
Summoning all his strength, Jonathan began to play. The first notes were shaky, but as he continued, his confidence grew.
The music flowed beautifully, filling the café with a serene melody. The chatter died down, and everyone listened, captivated by his performance.
As the last note faded, Jonathan faced the audience.
“I have OCD,” he began, his voice steady. “But today, I overcame my fears and my need for daily rituals to take a step forward. I want to thank Bob for helping me find a new way to calm myself, and I even thank Mark for the obstacles he put in my path because they made me stronger.”
He turned to the café owner and the patrons. “I apologize for the chaos earlier and promise to cover the costs.”
The café erupted in applause, and Jonathan felt a wave of relief wash over him. Mark slipped out quietly, his head down, while Jonathan approached Phoebe, who was beaming with pride.
He took out the small box and handed it to her.
“Phoebe, this is for you. And… would you go out with me on a real date?”
Phoebe’s eyes sparkled as she opened the box to reveal the bracelet.
“Yes, Jonathan. I’d love to.”
From a distance, Bob watched with a satisfied smile. Jonathan had not only faced his fears but had also found the courage to pursue his happiness.
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I Married the Woman My Father Chose for Me — On Our Wedding Night, She Shocked Me by Saying, ‘From Now On, You Must Do Everything I Tell You’
Forced into an arranged marriage to save my family’s business, I expected awkward small talk on my wedding night. But then Adriana gave me an order: “From now on, you must do everything I tell you.” Was this a joke? No. It was a power play — and if I refused, my family would lose everything.
“Son, I wouldn’t ask this of you if there was any other way,” my father said, his voice lacking its usual commanding tone.
A man seated at a desk in a corner office | Source: Midjourney
“You’re certain the only way to save the business is for me to marry some woman I’ve never met?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief from my voice.
He sighed. “Adriana is Victor’s daughter. The merger with his company is the only thing that can save us now. And he’s… traditional. He wants to unite the families.”
“So I’m just a bargaining chip?” The words tasted bitter.
“James, please understand—”
“No, Dad. I understand perfectly.”
An unhappy man in an office | Source: Midjourney
“You built this company, made all the decisions that led to this point, and now I have to clean up your mess by selling myself like some medieval prince.”
His face fell. “Just meet Adriana before you decide.”
I wanted to refuse. But the desperation in my father’s eyes stopped me.
“Fine,” I conceded. “I’ll meet her. But I’m not promising anything.”
A serious-looking man | Source: Midjourney
We met in a restaurant a few days later. Adriana was breathtakingly beautiful with a voice like honey and eyes that assessed everything in seconds.
“I appreciate you agreeing to meet me,” she said as she took her seat. “This situation is… unconventional, but I think we can make it work.” She smiled faintly and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Let’s get better acquainted first. What would you like to know about me, James?”
A smiling woman in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
The conversation flowed freely after that. Adriana was intelligent, witty, and surprisingly easy to talk to. By the time we parted ways, I found myself rethinking my opposition.
“She’s incredible,” I told my father the next day.
Relief washed over his face. “So you’ll do it?”
I hesitated. Something still felt wrong, but seeing the hope in my father’s eyes…
“Yes,” I finally said. “I’ll marry Adriana.”
A man in an office smiling faintly | Source: Midjourney
Our wedding was a business transaction disguised as a celebration. Corporate partners filled the pews, the vows felt like contract terms, and even the kiss seemed negotiated — brief, proper, for show.
The reception dragged on until finally, we were alone in the presidential suite of a five-star hotel.
Adriana kicked off her heels and sat on the edge of the massive bed. I adjusted my tie, unsure of what came next in this strange arrangement.
A man adjusting his tie | Source: Pexels
Adriana locked eyes with me. “From now on, you must do everything I tell you.”
“Excuse me?” I laughed, certain she was joking. “Right. And what’s your first command, Your Highness?”
Her expression didn’t change. “I’m hungry. Go get me a burger from the McDonald’s on Grant Street. Walk there.”
“Adriana, it’s almost midnight. Grant Street is nearly two miles away.”
An incredulous man | Source: Midjourney
“I’m aware.” Her smile was cold. “Better get going.”
I stared at her, waiting for the punchline. It never came.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Dead serious, James. My father only agreed to this marriage because your father promised you’d do whatever I wanted. That was the deal. So, you can either be my servant… or watch your family go bankrupt.”
A smirking woman | Source: Midjourney
I was stunned. Within a few hours, Adriana had transformed from a witty, easygoing woman into an authoritative stranger. One I couldn’t refuse without risking it all.
“Fine. One burger coming up.”
In the elevator, I pulled out my phone and called a taxi. I might be trapped in this marriage, but I wouldn’t be completely powerless.
A man’s finger pressing an elevator button | Source: Pexels
The next morning set the tone for what would become my new normal. Adriana woke me at 6 a.m.
“Press my blue suit,” she instructed. “Then make coffee. Black, one sugar.”
“I’m not your butler,” I protested.
She looked at me with those cool eyes. “No, you’re my husband. Which means you’re whatever I need you to be.”
A woman smiling smugly | Source: Midjourney
Each day brought new demands. Wash her car by hand. Pick up her dry cleaning. Massage her feet after work. Each task was more demeaning than the last.
“Why are you doing this?” I finally asked one evening as I polished her collection of designer shoes.
“Because I can,” she replied simply. “What could be better than having a man who caters to my every need?”
I continued the task in silence, but my mind was racing.
A foot in a high-heeled boot | Source: Pexels
She thought she was breaking me, but she was teaching me instead. Every demand revealed something about her routines and her weaknesses.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I went to my father.
“She’s turned me into her personal servant,” I confessed.
His face fell. “I had no idea, son. But the contract with Victor…”
“Can’t be broken without bankrupting us,” I finished for him. “I know.”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
“Don’t be,” I replied, a plan already forming. “I’ll handle Adriana.”
A determined man | Source: Midjourney
The tiny wireless cameras were easy to install. I put them everywhere: the living room, the kitchen, her study, our bedroom.
For two weeks, I collected evidence of Adriana ordering me around like a dog, threatening to destroy my family if I disobeyed, and laughing on the phone with her friends about how she had me “completely under control.”
All while her Instagram portrayed us as the perfect couple. “Power duo,” she called us in her captions. If only her followers knew.
A woman taking a selfie | Source: Midjourney
The breaking point came on a rainy Tuesday night.
“I want sushi,” she announced from the couch. “From Akira. You’ll walk there.”
“That’s three miles away,” I pointed out.
“So? Take an umbrella.” She didn’t even look up from her phone.
“No,” I said simply.
The word hung in the air between us. She slowly raised her head, eyes narrowing.
A woman on a sofa | Source: Midjourney
“What did you say?”
“I said no, Adriana. I’m not going.”
She stood, her face flushing with anger. “You don’t say no to me. Ever. Or have you forgotten what happens if you don’t play along?”
“Go ahead,” I challenged. “Call your father. Tell him how disappointed you are.”
“You know I will.” She reached for her phone. “And your family will be finished.”
A glaring woman | Source: Midjourney
I smiled. “I don’t think so.”
Her fingers paused over the screen. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Call him,” I urged. “Please. I insist.”
Confusion flickered across her face, but she made the call, putting it on speaker.
“Daddy? We have a problem. James is being difficult. I think we need to reconsider—”
“Adriana.” Her father’s voice was ice cold. “What the hell have you been doing?”
A cell phone | Source: Pexels
She froze. “What do you mean?”
“James sent me videos. Dozens of them. I had no idea this was what you had in mind when you said you wanted him to do everything you said! Is this how I raised you to behave? Like a tyrant?”
The color drained from her face as she looked at me, finally understanding.
“You recorded me?” she whispered.
I nodded. “Every moment. Every demand.”
A man with crossed arms | Source: Midjourney
“Adriana,” her father continued, “you’ve handed your husband enough blackmail material to destroy our family’s reputation, and he made it clear he’ll use it, too. You’re getting divorced. Those were his conditions: a divorce from you that leaves the business arrangement with his father intact. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she managed, her voice small.
When the call ended, she turned to me, eyes pleading. “Please, you can’t do this to me! It will ruin my image if we divorce.”
A teary-eyed woman | Source: Pexels
I smiled. This was an opportunity to teach her a valuable lesson.
“I’ll consider staying,” I replied. “But only if you obey my demands.”
Outrage and fury flickered in her eyes, but she nodded.
For the next two weeks, Adriana got a taste of her own medicine. I didn’t go nearly as far as she had, but I made sure she understood what it felt like to be controlled.
A downtrodden woman | Source: Midjourney
“Fetch my coffee,” I would say. “And remember, two sugars.”
She would comply, her jaw tight, her eyes burning with hatred.
Meanwhile, I had my lawyers working on divorce papers. When they were ready, I left them on the kitchen counter for her to find.
“What’s this?” she asked, picking them up.
A woman holding an envelope | Source: Midjourney
“Divorce papers,” I replied calmly. “Our marriage is over.”
“But, you said you’d stay if I obeyed you!” Her voice shook. “You lied to me!”
“Yes,” I agreed, “and I hope you learned something from it. We might’ve actually been able to make this work, Adriana, if you hadn’t used that business deal as a way to enslave me. Pack your things and get out of my apartment.”
A satisfied man | Source: Midjourney
“And before you go,” I added, “post on your Instagram that we’re separating amicably, by mutual agreement.”
“And if I don’t?” she challenged.
I held up my phone. “Then these videos go public.”
An hour later, her perfectly crafted post appeared. “After much reflection, James and I have decided to part ways. We remain committed to our families’ shared business interests and wish each other well.”
Social media icons on a phone screen | Source: Pexels
The door closed behind her, and for the first time since our wedding day, I could breathe freely again.
This arranged marriage had cost me months of dignity, but it had taught me something valuable: no contract, family obligation, or financial concern was worth surrendering control of my life.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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