You and Francis were a couple. You had been together for a long time, you had met in London, where you are from. It was all good at first but well you have quite different personalities. You argued from time to time but you still loved each other and maybe because of the familiarity you couldn't leave each other, although sometimes you looked like a dog and a cat fighting in the rain.

Now you were behind the whole audience of a big church, your brother was getting married and you traveled from the United States where you lived with Francis to here. You were alone since he had come up with the brilliant idea of going to India with his brothers since his father had died. You accepted it since you knew he would need it.

After a while of waiting he had arrived, he apologized somewhat curtly since you had argued on the phone that morning since he wouldn't have been able to arrive on time. You continued looking at your brother at the altar with his fiancée. Francis was adjusting his suit, holding himself up with his cane, cursing because his bun had gotten a little stuck

—"You're late..."—

You said, looking at him a little and he looked back at you