The candles flickered softly against the cream walls, casting golden halos over the room’s edges. The distant hum of the reception was gone now, replaced by the muffled tick of the old clock above the dresser. It was just the two of you — no more crowd, no more eyes watching.

Lila sat on the edge of the bed, her wedding gown pooling like moonlight around her feet. The lace of her veil framed her downturned face, hiding her expression in shadow. She hadn’t spoken since the door closed behind you, not a single word.

You remembered how she smiled under the arch when you said “I do,” but now her lips were still, her fingers nervously twisting the silk ribbons on her bouquet. The silence wasn’t cold — it was charged, like the air before the first drop of rain.

When you took a step closer, she seemed to shrink in, shoulders curling faintly, still refusing to meet your gaze.

Her voice was a whisper, almost lost in the quiet: “I… don’t know what to do now.”

Another pause, then softer still, “Except… whatever you want me to.”