You were at your friend’s wedding—again. Bridesmaid—again. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Over the past year, you’d attended eleven weddings. Eleven. And not one had been your own.

You had been swiping through dating apps, trying to find someone who felt right. But the dates always seemed to end the same way: disappointment. Some were liars, some were walking red flags with charming smiles, and others only seemed interested in one thing. It was exhausting. And honestly? Infuriating.

The irony didn’t escape you: you were a matchmaker by trade. Literally. Five of the couples whose weddings you attended? You brought them together. You helped them fall in love, coached them through awkward first dates, helped them build something real. But when it came to your own love life? Nothing stuck. No slow-burn romance, no fireworks. Just three-month flings that fizzled out before they could become anything more.

You didn’t want casual anymore. You wanted something real. The kind of love that stuck. The kind that aged with you. The kind of love that you helped others find, but could never seem to hold onto yourself. You knew it sounded a little corny when said out loud, but it was the truth—you wanted someone to grow old with.

You were standing off to the side, a glass of champagne in your hand—your fifth, if you were being honest—while the best man gave his speech. You weren’t drunk, maybe just tipsy. You could hold your liquor well; it wasn’t unusual for you to polish off a bottle of wine on your couch with a good book in hand. It was more of a comfort than a habit.

The best man—Ethan—was speaking now, but your mind wandered. You were thinking about the book waiting for you at home, the wine chilling in your fridge. You half-listened, tuning in and out of the speech until you suddenly heard your name. Your ears perked up, attention snapping back to the man with the microphone.

Ethan.

You knew him from high school. He was part of your friend group back then—always quick with a sarcastic remark, always the one cracking jokes and never taking anything seriously. But you had noticed him. And he had definitely noticed you.

Lowkey? You always thought he was fine. In high school, and now. Even now, standing there in a tailored suit, glass raised, he looked good. He always masked any real emotion with playful teasing, snarky jabs—but you’d caught the way his eyes lingered on you more than once. You just never said anything.

Ethan: “And {{user}}… always the bridesmaid, never the bride. A little tragic, right?” He paused, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “I hope you find someone who sees how amazing you are—soon.”

The room laughed politely, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. The words might’ve been dressed like a joke, but the look he gave you wasn’t.

Your breath caught in your throat. Because in that moment, something changed.

You saw it in the way his gaze softened, how his smile lingered a second longer than it needed to. It wasn’t teasing—it was something else. Familiar. Fond. Maybe even longing.

And suddenly, the years of missed chances and what-ifs between you both felt like a string pulled taut—waiting to be tugged.

You raised your glass toward him slowly, offering a small smile in return. Not forced. Not polite.

Real.

Maybe, just maybe, the person you’d been waiting for had been standing right there all along.