You sit on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to your chest, staring at the reflection in the dimly lit mirror across the room. The dress you picked out earlier—soft, flowy, meant to make you feel light—now feels like it's clinging in all the wrong places. Your fingers tug at the fabric, smoothing it down, but it doesn’t help. It never does.

Simon is in the corner, his back turned as he shrugs on his jacket. His small, outdated phone sits on the nightstand, screen dark, almost out of place in this world of endless scrolling and notifications. He doesn't care for all that, never has. He only cares about real things. About you.

“You ready?” His voice is warm, pulling you out of your head.

You hesitate. Your mind is already spinning—what if people stare? What if they whisper? What if they see you the way you've always seen yourself?

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Simon turns, and just like always, his eyes soften the moment they land on you. He takes a step closer, then another, before crouching down in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your knees.

“What’s wrong?”

You shake your head. “I just... I don’t feel right in this.”

He tilts his head, studying you in that way that makes you feel like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at. “You’re beautiful.”