The morning sunlight streamed through the wide windows of my family home, spilling over the polished floors and filling the room with warmth. I sat at the vanity, brushing my long chestnut hair, trying not to tremble too much. Today was the day. Our day. And yet, no amount of anticipation could quiet the storm of thoughts in my mind.
I smiled at my reflection. The reflection didn't capture the flutter in my chest or the way my hands shook slightly as I picked up a delicate hairpin. It was a small star-shaped charm, gold with a tiny emerald in the center, glinting like it had been made just for me. It was my favorite, and today, I thought, it would finally have a purpose beyond decorating my hair — it would symbolize the bond I had shared with him for over twenty years.
I remember the first time I met him, as clearly as if it were yesterday. He had been that quiet, observant boy in my class — the one who always noticed the little things, like a missing pencil or a stray page from a notebook. I was new, and I was nervous, but he had walked up to me with that slightly awkward smile and simply said, "Hi. Want to play?" And I had never said yes so fast.
From that day, our lives became intertwined in ways neither of us could have imagined. We shared everything — our secrets, our snacks, our dreams. We spent countless hours playing that silly otome game, debating over every choice, every route, every character. I used to think the game was just a game, a way to pass the time. But over the years, it became a bridge between us, especially during the moments we were apart. When he had to leave for a week to attend some family obligation, or when I had to spend long nights at piano practice, we would still meet in that little digital world, laughing, arguing, and creating memories that were ours alone.
It was strange, how a game could feel so real, so alive. But when I thought of him, when I remembered the way he had always listened to me, supported me, and gently pushed me to be better, I realized that the game was only a reflection of something far deeper. The game was us.
Now, sitting here in my room, surrounded by the chaos of wedding preparations — dresses laid out, accessories sparkling in the morning sun, my family bustling quietly in the background — I felt a sense of serenity. My parents had been supportive in every way. They had raised me in love and trust, giving me the confidence to make my own choices, and never once questioning my love for him. My siblings teased me playfully, making me laugh when the tension in my chest threatened to choke me, their hands brushing mine as if to remind me I wasn't alone.
Everything about this morning was ordinary, yet extraordinary. The ordinary warmth of my family, the morning light spilling across the room, the smell of fresh flowers on the table — it all felt like a dream, the kind of perfect day you think only exists in stories. And yet, it was real. I kept pinching myself, expecting it to vanish like smoke, but the moment held, persistent and unwavering.
"Are you ready?" my mother's voice called from the doorway, soft but filled with excitement.
I nodded, smiling. "Yes, I think so."
"You're radiant," she said, stepping closer to adjust the folds of my dress. "He's going to be stunned."
I laughed softly, shaking my head. "He's always stunned. He'll probably cry."
My mother chuckled. "Then you'll have to hold him together. Remember, this is the start of the rest of your lives."
I touched the little star-shaped charm in my hair again. My mind drifted, as it often did in quiet moments like these, back to the days when he and I were children. When the world felt limitless and every day was an adventure. I remembered sneaking out of my room once to join him at the small park near our houses. The sunlight had been just like this, filtering through the trees in warm golden streams. He had been waiting there, shy but determined, holding a small piece of paper with a crudely drawn map of a "treasure hunt" he had made for me. I had laughed so hard that day, my sides aching, my hands brushing against his as we chased clues he had scattered around the playground.
That was the thing about him. No matter how serious life became, how much responsibility weighed him down, he always found a way to make the moment magical. To make me feel magical. And I had loved him for it then, as I do now.
The sound of the door opening brought me back to the present. My sisters were helping me with the final touches, adjusting the folds of my dress, brushing stray hairs behind my ears, and giving approving nods. They chattered excitedly about the ceremony, the decorations, and how beautiful everything looked. But their eyes always flicked to me, gauging how I was feeling, making sure I was calm. I felt their warmth, their support, and it made my chest swell.
I thought of him again. I wondered if he was feeling as nervous as I was. Probably not — he had always been calm under pressure, or at least, he had learned to appear that way. But I knew him well enough to guess that beneath the composed exterior, his heart was beating just as wildly as mine.
The thought brought a small laugh to my lips. I imagined him fussing over a tie, muttering to himself about something he'd forgotten, looking as handsome as he always did but utterly unaware of how perfect he seemed in my eyes. I could almost hear his voice, calm but teasing, reminding me not to trip over my own feet, not to cry too much, and not to get lost in my own head.
And yet, I knew I would do all of those things anyway. Because today wasn't just a day for appearances. Today was for us. Today was the culmination of a friendship that had spanned decades, a bond that had survived every small separation, every tiny argument, and every moment of life that had tested us. Today was the day I would become his wife, and he, my husband.
I walked toward the window and looked out at the street below. The city was waking up, people moving about with their own lives, oblivious to the significance of this day for me, for us. It was strange to think that in a world full of chaos and unpredictability, we had found each other and built something so stable, so enduring. I felt a deep, grounding certainty — no matter what happened, we had already won.
A knock on the door startled me, and my mother's voice followed. "The car is here. Are you ready to go?"
I took a deep breath, smoothing the folds of my dress one last time. "Yes," I said, my voice steady, though my heart was racing.
As I stepped out of the room, I felt a strange stillness, a quiet that seemed to pause the world itself. The sun glinted off the star charm in my hair, catching my eye and reminding me of the boy I had known for so long — the boy who had been my constant, my companion, my heart. I smiled.
No matter what came next, no matter where life would take us, I knew that we would face it together. And for now, that was enough.
As we stepped into the car, I glanced at him. He was already seated, adjusting his tie, looking impossibly calm. But when he saw me, his eyes softened, and a small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.
The world outside the window seemed to blur for a moment, but in that instant, I didn't care. Because this — right here, right now — was perfect.
And I didn't know that in just a few moments, everything would change.