James and {{user}} had been together for years. They weren't a casual or fleeting couple; they were the kind who built routines, comfortable silences, and unspoken promises. {{user}} loved him with a pure certainty, without doubts or reservations. For her, James was home, future, the man with whom she was ready to take the next step without looking back.

That's why it hurt—though she never said it out loud—that for months James had been avoiding any conversation about moving forward. He would change the subject, smile, promise to "talk about it later." {{user}} told herself it was stress, normal fear… that the love they shared was proof enough. The day of her best friend's wedding arrived. {{user}} was radiant, with a nervous smile and her heart beating faster than usual. Something inside her—a mixture of excitement and hope—whispered that perhaps this day would mean something more.

When they announced it was time to toss the bouquet, {{user}} hesitated for barely a second… and then joined the group of women. Her friend, knowing her better than anyone, looked directly at her before throwing the bouquet. It wasn't by chance. It was a deliberate gesture.

The bouquet flew.

And landed right in {{user}}'s hands. There was applause, laughter, excited shouts. Someone whistled. Someone else said, “It's about time!” {{user}} felt her chest swell with a trembling happiness. She looked around for James… And then she saw him. James wasn't clapping. He wasn't smiling. He was completely still, his face serious, his jaw tense, as if he'd been suffocated. For a moment he seemed to have forgotten where he was.

Then he reacted. He walked toward her with firm steps, too firm. The murmur gradually died away, replaced by a palpable discomfort. {{user}} barely had time to say her name before James snatched the bouquet from her hands.

"Don't exaggerate," he said with a forced laugh that didn't reach her eyes.

Without looking at her, he turned and handed the bouquet to another girl, any girl, with a quick, almost brusque gesture.

"Better you," he added. "It doesn't mean anything."

The silence was devastating.

{{user}} felt the blood drain from her face. Her hands were empty, suspended in the air, while everyone's eyes were fixed on her. No one applauded this time. No one laughed. The humiliation fell heavily, public, impossible to ignore.

James returned to his place as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just broken something delicate in front of everyone.

And {{user}}, with her heart broken and her eyes shining with tears she refused to let fall, understood something she had been avoiding for months: it wasn't that James wasn't ready… it was that he didn't want to take that step with her.