The Day Before the Wedding
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky,"s" its golden rays spilling into the small café where I sat, absently stirring my coffee. It was the kind of day that promised a soft evening, the kind that makes you want to linger, but I hadn’t come for the weather. I was waiting for Rachel. The place was buzzing with the usual crowd—muffled conversations, clinking mugs, and the faint aroma of pastries wafting through the air. Outside, a couple strolled by, laughing, oblivious to the storm brewing in my mind.
Rachel, my older sister by three years, had always been the one who drew attention. It was her infectious laughter, the flick of her hair, the way she could turn mundane moments into something magical. As a child, I admired her almost worshipfully. She had dreams that sparkled like diamonds, while I was content standing in her shadow, quietly crafting my own path.
Today, though, her light felt distant, like it had dimmed under the weight of her upcoming royal wedding. I frowned at my phone, the screen still blank from her unreturned messages. We were supposed to meet hours ago, but I’d been left waiting, and with every minute that ticked by, my heart felt heavier.
“Why can't she just pick up the phone?”
I snapped my head up as the bell above the door jingled, and Rachel stepped inside, her silhouette framed by the sunlight behind her. She was radiant, dressed in a fitted white blazer that seemed to glow against her sun-kissed skin, hair cascading in perfect waves over her shoulders. Every eye in the room turned, and I immediately felt the familiar pang of envy mixed with love.
“Sorry! Traffic was hell,” she said, breezing over to my table, her smile in full bloom. “You know how it is.” She slid into the seat across from me.
“Traffic? You mean your driver couldn’t get through?” I teased, trying to mask my annoyance.
“Okay, okay, maybe I took a detour for a last-minute dress fitting,” she admitted, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “But I’m here now!”
“Right,” I said, my voice tighter than I intended. “So...the big day is tomorrow. You’re excited?”
Rachel's smile faltered for just a moment—enough for me to notice. She glanced down at her hands, fiddling with a silver ring on her finger. “Of course. It’s going to be... a fairy tale.”
Her response felt rehearsed, the kind of line you recite so often it loses its meaning. I was about to press her when she straightened in her seat, a determined look crossing her features. “I want to talk about the wedding...and you.”
That caught me off guard. “What do you mean? I’m so proud of you, Rachel.”
