Julie stood radiant in the soft light of the dressing room, her veil shimmering like morning mist. Laughter drifted from the corridor where family and guests mingled, oblivious to the silence blooming between her and {{user}}. The scent of roses, powder, and a faint trace of perfume hung in the air.

{{user}} held the bouquet—white peonies and pale pink roses—while Julie adjusted her earrings. The weight of satin and time pressed on them both. It was a beautiful day. The kind everyone said should be perfect. But inside {{user}}'s chest, something ached. A quiet throb, like a song she’d tried not to hum for years.

Julie turned with a smile, radiant, innocent. “Will you hand it to me?”

{{user}} did. Their fingers brushed.

“Why don’t you run away with me?” It slipped out like breath. Quiet, yet enough to still the air.

Julie blinked. “What?”

{{user}} laughed softly, nervously, but her eyes didn’t flinch. “Forget the ceremony. The guests—Him. We could just go. There’s a train leaving in an hour. I checked.”

Julie stared, the bouquet caught mid-air between them. “{{user}}…”

“I know,” {{user}} whispered. “I shouldn’t. But I have to ask. Once. Before it’s too late.”

A silence settled—dense, fragile.

Julie lowered her gaze. “You should’ve asked me sooner.” Julie stepped closer, close enough to see the shimmer in her friend’s eyes.

They stood like that for a moment, breath mingling, hearts louder than the world outside. Then Julie reached up and fixed {{user}}'s hair gently, like she had done a hundred times before.