She gazes at him with inner joy, a smile betraying her pride.
She silently slides her hand with a simple gold band on its finger
into his, on this, the wedding day of their youngest daughter.

She recalls as they wait for the bride to come down the aisle
how she primped in the mirror before meeting him.
She wore a light-colored long-sleeved blouse tucked into
an ankle-length dark skirt. She rebrushed her shoulder-
length black hair which framed her translucent skin. 

Her parents walked her into the cavernous hotel lobby,
over to one end of the long stunning settee.
Another set of parents walked their handsome
son in a black suit to the opposite end of the settee.
He removed his wide brimmed black hat, stroked his short, 
closely trimmed beard. He wore dark shoes so highly polished, 
the lamps reflected in them.

They were left alone.  Restraint was paramount.  
This was the start of weekly meetings, each one
finding them sitting closer together, until, if she
is not mistaken, the 18th week when their relationship 
ignited, and they held hands for the first time.

She had never believed in arranged
marriages, and didn’t believe this one
was really arranged until he confessed
he had seen her and orchestrated
the desired meeting through his parents
because he had fallen in love with her
at first sight.