I woke up feeling like a literal croissant—folded, flaky, and slightly toasted from all the stress. I mean, not to be dramatic or anything (which is a lie, because i was born for drama), but… I'm getting married.
Let that sink in.
I. Am. Getting. Married.
Like, for real.
To a man.
Who drives fast cars.
And wears cologne that smells like expensive decisions.
And has abs that probably have their own zip code.
Anyway.
I rolled over in bed, my pink satin eye mask hanging off one ear, and dramatically clutched the pillow beside me where Cairo should have been, but apparently he had "errands" which, in my language, means "he better be buying me a croissant."
I sat up like a Disney princess post-trauma, hair all tousled but somehow still bouncy (thank you silk pillowcase), and stared at my vision board taped onto the wall like it was the Mona Lisa.
Only instead of subtle smiles, it had photoshopped images of me in designer wedding gowns, Cairo in a tux, and Harry Styles in the background as the potential wedding singer—just in case.
"Okay," I muttered to myself, pulling on my matching robe and fluffing my hair. "Day 1 of wedding prep. We got this."
I marched to the kitchen with all the purpose of a CEO entering a hostile boardroom, only to trip on my fuzzy slippers and nearly decapitate myself on the fridge door. But no matter. I survived. Because i am Elara. And Elara always rises.
9:17 AM – Bridal War Room (a.k.a. my living room with mood lighting and champagne)
"Hi, babe," I said sweetly on speakerphone while pouring almond milk into my cereal like a domestic goddess. "Quick question. When were you planning to tell me that i'm expected to make 764 decisions before our wedding day? Like, did you think i would just show up in a gown and vibes would do the rest?"
On the other end, Cairo just laughed. LAUGHED. "You said you hired a planner."
"Yes, but i still have to choose between off-white, ivory, and eggshell, okay? It's a crime against colorblindness."
"Love you," he said.
"You better," I replied, stabbing my cereal like it owed me money.
11:02 AM – Wedding Gown Fitting Disaster #1
I arrived at the boutique thirty minutes late because i had a wardrobe meltdown over which pair of white heels screamed "bridal energy" without being basic.
I settled on sparkly stilettos that i immediately regretted because they made me walk like a baby deer on an ice rink.
"Hi, Miss Elara," the assistant greeted, trying not to judge me as i clung to the wall for balance. "We have ten gowns ready for fitting today."
Ten.
"Do any of them involve tulle?" I asked, eyes narrowing.
"...Most of them."
Jesus, take the wheel.
The first gown made me look like a meringue that got into a fight with a swan.
The second one made my arms look like breadsticks.
The third… oh, the third was okay, until i turned sideways and realized it had pockets. Like, are we baking cookies at the altar?
At gown #7, I was in tears.
"I look like my own auntie," I said, staring at the mirror.
My mom, who was pretending to be on her phone but was totally judging everything, looked up and casually said, "You know, when Cairo asked for our blessing, I told him you'd be this dramatic."
My brain did a record scratch.
"Wait. Back up. REWIND. What do you mean he asked for your blessing?"
My mom blinked. "Yeah, he came over weeks ago. Had coffee with your dad. Very polite. You didn't know?"
I was silent.
My mouth opened, then closed.
Then opened again.
Like a confused guppy in a gown that was slowly strangling me.
"I—he—WHAT?!"
And just like that, I yeeted the veil off my head and stormed into the boutique lobby like i was in a soap opera finale. Except i slipped again in my heels and almost knocked over a mannequin. Again. But we don't talk about that.
So there i was, in the middle of a high-end bridal boutique, dramatically hyperventilating beside a display of Swarovski tiaras like i was some sort of modern Marie Antoinette—except instead of losing my head, I was losing my sanity.
"He asked my parents," I muttered under my breath, pacing the boutique in a half-buttoned wedding gown like an unhinged beauty queen. "Without telling me. Without even dropping a hint. As in nada. Zero. Zilch. That's giving sneaky fiancé energy."
The boutique staff looked like they were regretting their life choices. One intern offered me lemon water. I declined because i wanted to stay bitter.
I called Cairo. Again. Because i was this close to popping an imaginary engagement balloon in his face.
He picked up after two rings. "Hey, love. How's the gown fitting?"
"Question," I snapped, balancing a tiara on my head like a crown of betrayal. "Was your plan really to just… spring the whole I-already-asked-your-parents thing on me like a plot twist in a Netflix K-drama? You know I need build-up! Suspense! Foreshadowing!"
He paused. "You're not mad… right?"
"Not mad?" I said in my most offended voice, which, let's be honest, is my regular voice but louder. "I am offended on behalf of myself! I could've worn a more dramatic outfit when they told me! You robbed me of a main character scene, Cairo!"
He was laughing. Actually laughing. "Babe. You're literally in a tiara right now."
That shut me up.
Touché.
1:47 PM – Bridal Planner Headquarters (aka Maricar's House)
My wedding planner Maricar greeted me like she hadn't just sent me 74 mood board options for 'modern pastel elegance' last night at 1 AM.
"Elara, darling!" she chirped. "You're glowing! Like—glow from rage, but still glowing!"
"I just found out my fiancé already asked my parents. Without a dramatic monologue. Or violin background music," I declared, collapsing on her pink velvet couch like a Regency-era heiress who just learned her fiancé eloped with her cousin.
"Well," she said, patting my hand. "At least that's one thing off the to-do list."
"No," I said, sitting up like I just heard the word discount. "We are creating a fake moment. A staged reenactment. I want Cairo to pretend to ask my parents again, in full production. I want slow-mo cameras. I want dramatic lighting. I want my mom to cry."
Maricar blinked. "You want… a proposal reenactment?"
"YES," I said. "So that i can emotionally process what was robbed from me."
She took a deep breath. "Elara, you are the only bride I know who wants a secondhand proposal with HD quality and optional fog machine."
"…Wait. That's a good idea. Can we add fog?"
"NO, ELARA."
3:23 PM – Wedding Registry Mayhem
I met Cairo at the home section of a luxury department store because apparently, as a couple, we now need a rice cooker that costs more than my skincare routine.
"Why are there so many plates?" I whispered, holding up a porcelain charger the size of my face. "Why do people need a salad plate and a dinner plate and a bread plate? Just give me one plate and I will make it work."
"You're literally choosing a cake stand shaped like a swan right now."
"That's different. That's art."
We were halfway through the kitchen aisle when i spotted a kid sitting in a shopping cart, eating cheese puffs with zero shame. He had curly hair, chubby cheeks, and sticky fingers.
My uterus jumped.
"Oh my gosh," I whispered. "I want one."
Cairo looked at me, confused. "A cheese puff?"
"No," I said, eyes widening. "A MINI YOU."
He blinked. "You mean like a—"
"YES," I said, grabbing his arm. "I want a baby version of you. Like… a Cairo 2.0 with my eyebrows."
People started turning. I didn't care. I was in a state of ovary-induced delusion.
"I want a mini Cairo that runs around in tiny sneakers and says things like, 'Daddy, can I have cake?' and then throws tantrums if the frosting isn't perfect."
"Elara…"
"I want to dress him in matching suits with you! And he'll have little baby curls and call me 'mommy' in a British accent even though we're not British."
"We are literally in a department store."
"And this is a department store of dreams, Cairo!"
4:12 PM – The Almost-Proposal Panic
As we were walking past the espresso machines, Cairo picked up a random velvet box from the gift aisle and turned to me, casually flipping it open.
"Elara," he began, in a tone that was too smooth for someone holding a box of cufflinks.
I FROZE.
My entire soul screamed: HE'S DOING IT.
He's proposing again. A bonus proposal. In the HOUSEWARES SECTION.
My knees locked. My lips twitched. My heart started singing Beyoncé.
But then…
He just took out a pair of cufflinks and said, "These would look great with my suit."
I blinked. My eye twitched. My soul left my body.
"YOU CAN'T DO THAT," I hissed, smacking him with a throw pillow. "I THOUGHT YOU WERE PROPOSING AGAIN. YOU KNOW I'M EMOTIONALLY FRAGILE."
He laughed so hard he had to lean against the toaster oven display.
5:45 PM – Dinner Debrief
We ended up at our favorite Korean barbecue place because nothing says "calm the psycho bride" like unlimited samgyupsal.
"You're gonna look so beautiful," Cairo said while grilling meat like the domestic king that he is.
I shoved lettuce in my mouth and fake-sobbed. "What if my heels break as i walk down the aisle? What if the veil is ugly? What if the fog machine malfunctions and i look like i'm emerging from a volcanic eruption instead of heaven?"
He chuckled. "Then it'll be a wedding no one ever forgets."
"And that's what i want," I declared proudly. "A wedding that slaps so hard it trends for three days."
"You're so extra."
"You love it."
"I really do."