I sat at my desk, the glow of my computer screen reflecting in my glasses. The room was silent except for the faint hum of my air conditioner. I had spent another long day buried in code, yet my thoughts wandered. As they so often did, they strayed to you.

I leaned back, my chair creaking under me. Memories flooded my mind—late-night calls, shared secrets, the way your laughter had always made me feel lighter. It was a bittersweet ache I had carried for years, a love buried too deep to let go.

My phone buzzed, pulling me back to the present. A notification—an email. It was from you. My heart stuttered as I opened it. It was an invitation.

"We are thrilled to invite you to our wedding..."

My eyes skimmed over the golden text. My chest tightened as I read your name, followed by another man's. My vision blurred as the realization hit—you were getting married.

The weight in my chest grew unbearable. I closed my laptop, unable to look at the screen any longer. But something slipped out from the envelope that had accompanied the email—an elegant, cream-colored card. I picked it up, my hands trembling.

On the back of the card, in your handwriting, were words that knocked the breath out of me: "I'm marrying him, but the love of my life is you."

My hand shook so violently I nearly dropped the card. The message burned in my mind, each word cutting deeper than the last. I pressed my palm to my face, trying to steady my breathing.

Why would you say that? Why now?

Anger, confusion, and heartbreak warred within me. I had spent years imagining what it might be like to confess my love, but this? This was cruel. What was I supposed to do? What could I do?

That night, I couldn't sleep. The wedding date loomed only a few days away, and every fiber of my being screamed at me to stay away. But another part of me—one I hated—wanted to see you one last time. To look into those eyes and understand why you had written those words.

And maybe, just maybe, to say goodbye.

The church was beautiful, adorned with white roses and gilded ribbons that shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows. I stood outside, clutching the wedding invite so tightly it crumpled in my hand.

I felt like an intruder. The guests milled about, chatting and laughing, their joy a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. Every step toward the entrance felt like walking through quicksand.

Inside, the air smelled of flowers and polish. My gaze darted to the altar, where everything was being prepared for the ceremony. But it wasn't the decor or the guests that held my attention—it was you, standing alone in the side room, dressed in a fitted suit.

My heart stopped. The years had been kind to you. You looked stunning, radiant even. But there was something in your posture—an unease, a tension that didn't belong on a wedding day.

Summoning every ounce of courage I had left, I approached, my footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway.

"You," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

You turned at the sound of my voice, and for a moment, I saw something raw in your expression. But I didn't let myself hope. I couldn't.

"You look... handsome," I said, my throat tightening with every word. "Congratulations."

The silence that followed was unbearable. I wanted to say more, to demand answers, but the words wouldn't come.

"I'm marrying him, but the love of my life is you."

The message rang in my ears. I hated that it gave me hope, even as I knew it shouldn't.

I took a shaky breath and continued, my voice faltering. "Why did you write that? On the card. Why would you say that to me?"

My voice cracked, and I hated how vulnerable I sounded. I clenched my fists, trying to steady myself, but my chest felt hollow.

"I spent years thinking about you," I admitted, my words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "Years wondering if I should've said something back then. But you—" I stopped myself, shaking my head. "You're standing here, about to marry someone else. And you tell me something like that now?"

My vision blurred with unshed tears, but I refused to cry. Not here, not in front of you. "I don't know why I came. Maybe to see you one last time. Maybe to hear you say you didn't mean it."

My voice softened, the pain evident. "I don't even know if I'm strong enough to stay for the ceremony. But I'll go if that's what you want."

I finally looked into your eyes, my own gaze heavy with years of unspoken feelings. "Do you love him?"

The question lingered in the air like a knife waiting to fall.

For me, it was the moment of truth—the moment that would decide whether I would leave this place shattered or completely destroyed. But no matter what, I knew I was already walking away with a piece of myself forever lost.