The wedding was beautiful, the kind that seemed plucked straight from the pages of a magazine. The soft hum of music, the clinking of glasses, and the laughter of guests filled the air as you adjusted your dress and tried to blend into the sea of strangers. You didn’t know many people here—just a mutual friend of the bride—and you were content to keep to yourself.

The night passed in a blur of speeches, dinner, and dancing until the moment everyone had been waiting for: the bride’s bouquet toss. A crowd of women gathered eagerly, buzzing with anticipation as the bride turned her back to the group, bouquet poised in the air.

You weren’t particularly interested in catching it—marriage wasn’t on your immediate radar—but social pressure led you to join the group anyway. You stood at the edge, out of the way, hoping for a quick and uneventful toss.

The bride counted down, and as the bouquet soared through the air, time seemed to slow. That’s when it happened.

The crowd of women surged forward, a chaotic flurry of elbows, heels, and determination. Before you could even react, someone collided with your side, and then another. The next thing you knew, you were sprawled on the floor, the world spinning as the bouquet landed somewhere far from your reach.

Your head throbbed, and you blinked up at the blurry ceiling lights, trying to make sense of what just happened. The muffled laughter of the crowd buzzed around you, but one voice cut through the noise.

“Are you alright?”

You turned your head—or tried to—but a shadow loomed over you, blocking the harsh lights. A man crouched beside you, his brow furrowed with concern. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a sharp suit that didn’t quite hide his muscular frame.

“Don’t move,” he said, his voice calm but firm. His hands hovered over you, unsure of where to help without causing more harm.