For as long as I could remember I was raised by muslims. I live in a maze-like surrounding on the urban fringe of Syria that I called home.Crumbling buildings hanging onto each other to stay upright, the floor always dry and dusty, and wires hanging above the streets in arms reach. It always felt like there was no air. To everybody else my family were royalty, we had a concrete roof over our heads but the kitchen was a bowl with the fire pit in one corner and the mattresses were head to toe touching. All my friends but one were muslims and I knew the language fluently. But I always had one doubt, I'm white. Rumor has it that I was sold to them, my blonde hair and brown eyes made my parents sell me to save themselves.I wonder what they are like sometimes. But I don't care anymore, I have mama and papa, even though we have little they make me feel like i'm the richest person in the world. We had to flee our original home 6 years ago, explosives were triggered in the place I called home. One killed my younger brother, it didn't hit him directly but the impact did. He was beautiful, he had curly brown locks that were always stuck to his face and astonishing hazel eyes. Gabreal was 3... I'm happy now... A few weeks ago I turned 18 and tomorrow is my wedding day.My parents are given money for me.I'm doing it because I will make my family happy and I know the guy I'm getting married to. His father paid for me to be educated knowing that one day his son will marry me. But tonight my life will change and my marriage will not go ahead.