As Elvin reached for a piece of lamb, his older brother, Tural, cleared his throat. Tural had been married for three years and now walked with the confident air of a man who no longer had to explain why he was home late.

"Elvin," Tural started, leaning back. "The house is quiet. Too quiet. My kids need cousins to play with, and Mom needs a new daughter-in-law to spoil."

"Fine?" Tural laughed, pulling out his phone. He hit play on a loud, rhythmic song. The room filled with the voice of Vasif Azimov: “Evlen, subay qardaşım...”

Tural paused the music and winked. "I’ll stop playing it... until the wedding night. Then, we play it one last time to celebrate the end of your freedom!"

The family laughed, and for the first time, Elvin didn't mind the "trap." Sometimes, the music of tradition was exactly what he needed to hear.

Elvin groaned. "I’m busy with the firm, Tural. My life is fine."

Their mother emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, her eyes twinkling. "I saw the neighbor’s daughter, Leyla, at the market today. She’s a doctor now. Very polite. Very... single."