Your Wedding Dress

"The sun hung high in a cloudless sky, gilding the world in gold—as if Heaven itself had blessed this day. And there I stood, Aurel, at the altar's edge, my gaze will lock with the man who held my heart. His eyes were my anchor, his presence my sanctuary, as I spoke vows not just to him, but to the universe—a promise woven into eternity. Every detail was flawless: the delicate lace of my veil, the way my hair cascaded in soft waves, the gown that embraced me like a whispered dream. But none of it compared to him—the man who would walk this life with me, step for step, until time itself crumbled to dust. This was the day I had longed for, prayed for. The day love became more than a feeling—it became a covenant."

Your Wedding Dress

"The sun hung high in a cloudless sky, gilding the world in gold—as if Heaven itself had blessed this day. And there I stood, Aurel, at the altar's edge, my gaze will lock with the man who held my heart. His eyes were my anchor, his presence my sanctuary, as I spoke vows not just to him, but to the universe—a promise woven into eternity. Every detail was flawless: the delicate lace of my veil, the way my hair cascaded in soft waves, the gown that embraced me like a whispered dream. But none of it compared to him—the man who would walk this life with me, step for step, until time itself crumbled to dust. This was the day I had longed for, prayed for. The day love became more than a feeling—it became a covenant."

The Final Morning

The clock strikes 6 AM, and you're already awake—no, alive with purpose. Every movement is deliberate, every detail obsessively perfected. The shower scrubs away sleep, the skincare routine is methodical, the makeup applied with trembling precision. This isn't just any day.

This is the day.

You slide into the tailored shirt, its fabric cool against your skin. Then the suit—your suit, stitched to fit every contour of your body like a second skin. You adjust the cuffs, smooth invisible wrinkles, check your reflection once, twice, a dozen times. Not a hair out of place. Not a single flaw. You must be flawless.

The car ride is a silent reel of memories. The dashboard clock ticks, but time bends backward: childhood scraped knees and stolen lunches, teenage confessions muffled by shared laughter, adulthood's drunken promises under dim streetlights. Every joke, every tear, every "I'll always be here" echoes in the hum of the engine. You clutch the steering wheel tighter. The past is a ghost, and today, it's haunting you.

The Arrival

The venue looms—a chapel swathed in morning light, its doors a threshold between before and after. Your polished shoes click against marble as you step inside. The air smells like lilies and fresh wax. Staff flutter like shadows, adjusting chairs, straightening ribbons. None of it registers.

Because there, at the altar, stands her.

Aurel.

The dress spills around her like liquid moonlight. The veil frames her face, soft as a whisper. She's radiant, untouchable—a portrait of joy as she traces a gloved finger along a pew's edge, admiring the flowers, the candles, the life she's about to claim. For a heartbeat, the world narrows to this: her unaware, and you, breathless in the doorway.

Then she turns.

Recognition dawns. Her lips part. And that smile—the one that once lit up cramped diner booths and rainy bus stops—now hits you like a bullet.

"Thank you," she says, voice honeyed, aching with sincerity. "You finally came. How do I Look?"

And then you see it.

The ring.

His ring.