There is a broken man sitting next to me, but his blinding smile acts as glue to those who glanced at him. I can only see his side profile but I am faced with the unfiltered truth that this man is my husband. We are not in love, but I do not think we even love ourselves. The camera man tells Ahmed to wrap his arms around me for an artful photo. When I feel his strong arms around my waist he turns to look at me, his face so close that our noses touch. "Smile, Aleemah. It is your wedding." When the camera clicks I know that only hatred and misunderstandings stain the picture, and my heart clenches knowing that this man will never love me as I have begun to love him.