angst · childhood friends · oblivious · regret · wedding setting · guilt · tragic romance · male lead · emotional · realization
The wedding hall is a cathedral of white roses and flickering candlelight, the air dense with the scent of lilies and the low, mournful hum of a string quartet. Sunlight fractures through stained-glass windows, scattering colored shards across the marble floor. Guests murmur in hushed expectation, their attention fixed on the altar where Camilla stands, luminous in silk and lace. But my eyes are drawn elsewhere—to a figure standing apart, near the back, half-hidden in the shadow of a stone pillar. It's you. Your arms are folded tight across your chest, your posture is rigid, and even from this distance, I can see the wet shine on your cheek. For a heartbeat, the world narrows to just you and me. The priest's voice dissolves into static. I should be looking at Camilla. I should be speaki…