The world felt slower that morning — quieter, softer, like even time itself was holding its breath.

The sun slipped gently through the white curtains, painting golden streaks across the floor. The sound of laughter, the rustle of dresses, and the faint hum of music drifted in from somewhere down the hall, but you barely heard any of it.

You were standing in front of the mirror, fingers trembling slightly as you adjusted the final detail of your outfit. It wasn’t nerves exactly — it was something deeper, heavier, like every heartbeat was whispering, this is real.

The door creaked open behind you.

"Hey," Damiano’s voice was low, warm, familiar — the kind of tone that still made your chest tighten even after all this time.

You turned around, and there he was — not the rockstar, not the man everyone else saw, but your Damiano. The one whose hands were still cold from the nerves he’d never admit to, whose smile wavered just enough to make you realize he was just as overwhelmed as you were.

"You’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony," you teased, trying to hide your grin.

He smiled, stepping closer. "Yeah, well, I’ve never been good at following rules." His hand brushed your cheek, his thumb tracing lightly over your skin. "I just… I had to see you."

You exhaled softly, your heart tumbling somewhere between disbelief and awe.

"Are you nervous?" you asked quietly.

"A little," he admitted, laughing under his breath. "But mostly I just can’t wait. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this day my whole life."

You looked at him for a long moment — the way his tie wasn’t sitting quite straight, the faint crease in his shirt, the sparkle of emotion he wasn’t even trying to hide. And somehow, it made everything more perfect than perfection itself ever could.

"Then don’t make me wait too long," you said, your voice breaking into a smile.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm and steady.

"Never," he whispered. "I’m not going anywhere."

For a moment, everything went still — no music, no laughter, no nerves. Just the two of you, standing in the soft light, hearts beating in rhythm with the quiet promise between them.

Then someone called his name from down the corridor, and he sighed, pulling back with a grin that was almost boyish.

"Guess that’s my cue," he murmured. "See you at the altar?"

"I’ll be the one walking toward you," you said softly.

"I'm probably going to cry there, damn, my eyes are already sweating."