Anyone in the room would have thought I was the happiest woman alive, but they would have been wrong. My fingers tightened around the wedding dress until the expensive satin wrinkled beneath my grip. I noticed the crease and quickly smoothed it away, glancing at the bridal consultant to make sure she hadn't seen. "Breathe, Clara," I reminded myself silently. "It's only a dress." But it didn't feel like only a dress. It felt like a promise. A decision. A doorway I was about to walk through without knowing what waited on the other side. I lifted my eyes toward the mirror again and tried to smile. The reflection smiled back. I didn't. A sharp gasp shattered the quiet. "Oh... my God." The bridal consultant had frozen behind me. One hand flew to her mouth while the measuring tape slipped from her fingers and swung against her hip. She blinked twice before slowly walking around me, as though she was afraid the slightest movement might ruin what she was seeing. "Clara..." Her voice softened with admiration. "This is the one." Joyce looked up from the magazine on her lap. The instant she saw me, it slipped from her knees and landed on the carpet. "No way." She hurried toward me, her face lighting up as she examined the gown from every angle. "You don't even look like yourself." She laughed, shaking her head. "You look like royalty." I tried to laugh with her, but the sound barely escaped my throat. I turned toward the mirror. For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe. The woman staring back at me looked like every little girl's dream of what a bride should be. The gown embraced my figure before falling gracefully toward the floor. Delicate lace rested across my shoulders, while tiny crystals caught the light whenever I moved. The long satin train swept behind me, and the veil softened my reflection until I barely recognized myself. Beautiful. Elegant. Perfect. The words should have made me happy. Instead, something inside me tightened. My smile disappeared. The mirror changed. The bride vanished. In her place stood a woman sitting across from Ryan at our tiny kitchen table, staring at unpaid bills spread between us. Rent. Electricity. Groceries. Another conversation about money. Another promise. "We'll get through this." "Soon." "I just need a little more time." Soon. The word echoed through my mind like a clock that refused to stop ticking. How many years could two people keep living on soon? I lowered my eyes. "Clara?" Joyce's voice pulled me back. I looked at her through the mirror. Her smile had faded. She stepped closer and rested a gentle hand on my arm. "Hey. What's wrong?" "Nothing." The answer came too quickly. Joyce narrowed her eyes. "You've been saying nothing for ten minutes." I forced a small smile. "I'm just overwhelmed." It wasn't a complete lie. I was overwhelmed. Just not by the dress. Everyone else saw a beautiful bride standing in front of a mirror. I saw a frightened woman hiding behind expensive lace because, for the first time, I wasn't afraid of getting married. I was afraid of the life waiting after the wedding. My phone vibrated inside my handbag. I already knew who it was. Ryan. The man who remembered every anniversary. Every favorite flower. Every little detail I had mentioned in passing and forgotten myself. The man who would skip lunch just to surprise me with my favorite coffee after work. The man who had spent three years loving me with a patience I sometimes wondered if I deserved. I loved him. That was the cruelest part. If I didn't love Ryan, everything would have been simple. But Ryan wasn't cruel. He wasn't lazy. He wasn't careless. He wasn't a failure. He was one of the hardest-working men I had ever known. He stayed late at the office. He accepted extra projects when everyone else had gone home. He came back exhausted and still found the energy to ask how my day had been. He believed every sacrifice we made today would become a better tomorrow. But tomorrow never seemed to arrive. Every plan depended on the next promotion. The next opportunity. The next raise. The next miracle. And lately, I had started wondering whether I was waiting for a future that might never come. The thought filled me with shame. 'What kind of woman measured love against financial security?' Certainly not the woman I wanted to be. My phone vibrated again. That time, I reached into my handbag. It was a message from Ryan. 'I need to tell you something when you get home.' My stomach dropped. I read it twice. Ryan never sent messages like that. Not without an explanation. A dozen terrible possibilities rushed through my mind. 'Had he lost his job Had something happened at work?Was someone hurt Had something happened to the wedding? Or was he finally going to tell me that the future I had been afraid of had become even harder?' "What is it?" Joyce asked. I looked up. "What?" "The message." I locked the screen. "Nothing." "Clara." "I said it's nothing." She studied my face for a moment but didn't push. I slipped the phone back into my handbag. My hands were cold.
By the time I changed out of the gown and left the bridal boutique, the sky had turned the color of old steel. Thick gray clouds swallowed the afternoon sun. Cars rushed along the wet streets, their tires sending sheets of water toward the pavements. People hurried beneath umbrellas, heads lowered against the wind. Nobody noticed me. Nobody knew that the woman walking through the rain was carrying a wedding dress that suddenly felt heavier than anything I had ever held. I clutched the garment bag against my side. Inside was the dress everyone believed would begin the happiest chapter of my life. I wasn't so sure anymore.A cold wind swept down the street. Moments later, rain began falling harder. I pulled my coat closer and looked toward the road. I should have gone home. I should have called Ryan. Instead, my eyes landed on an old bookstore across the street. I had passed it countless times but never gone inside. Maybe I needed somewhere quiet. Maybe I needed a few minutes before facing whatever waited for me at home. I crossed the street and pushed open the bookstore door. A small bell chimed overhead. Warm air greeted me, carrying the familiar scent of old paper and dust. Something inside me loosened. For the first time all afternoon, my breathing slowed. I left the garment bag near the entrance and wandered between the shelves. Books had always been my escape. When real life became too complicated, stories gave me somewhere else to go. They made impossible choices seem simple. They gave people second chances. They allowed broken hearts to heal. Real life was never that generous. I ran my fingers across the faded spines, moving slowly without really looking at the titles. My thoughts kept returning to Ryan's message. 'I need to tell you something when you get home.' What could possibly be so important that he couldn't tell me over the phone?I stopped beside an old shelf. One particular novel caught my attention. I reached for it. My fingers had barely touched the cover when a voice came from behind me. "You still choose books the same way." My entire body went still. The book remained beneath my fingertips. For a second, I convinced myself I had imagined it. Then I heard the voice again. My heart lurched. Slowly, I turned. It was Andrian. He stood a few feet away.