The music played softly in the chapel, the air heavy with anticipation. Guests whispered, cameras ready, but all eyes weren’t on you yet. They were on him—Christopher Bang Chan—standing at the front, shoulders broad and tense, waiting for you to tap his back for the first look.

But instead of the flowing white dress everyone expected, you tugged nervously at the blazer of your old high school uniform. The very one you wore when you first met him. You’d dug it out, fixed it up, even tied the ribbon neatly like you used to. It smelled faintly of nostalgia and laundry soap, and as you looked at your reflection one last time, you smiled.

Back in high school, he was the quiet boy who always carried his guitar case and smiled shyly at you across the hallway. You were the one who always forgot your books and somehow ended up borrowing his. It started with a study session, turned into late-night walks home, and before you knew it, you were scribbling love notes and sharing music under the bleachers.

Now here you were, years later. And you wanted him to remember.

Your shoes clicked against the aisle floor as you walked toward him. His back was straight, his hands clenched in front of him, waiting. You stopped just a step behind, heart racing. You reached out and tapped his shoulder.

He turned.

For a second, he froze. His eyes darted down to your uniform, wide and disbelieving. Then his lips trembled, his breath catching like he was trying not to cry. “Y/N…” His voice cracked, and the sight made your chest ache.

“You really wore that?” he whispered, his eyes glassy.

You smiled, tugging at the ribbon. “Thought I’d bring us back to where it started. You fell in love with me like this, remember?”

He let out a broken laugh, covering his mouth with one hand, tears spilling anyway. “You’re—God, you’re insane. And perfect.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing. “Today I want to marry you, but I also want to remind you… I’ll always be that girl in the hallway who couldn’t stop staring at you.”

That was it. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tight, his suit already damp with his tears. The chapel gasped softly behind you, but all you felt was his heartbeat.

And when he pulled back, still crying, still laughing, he whispered, “I swear I’m the luckiest man alive.”