5 Years Ago
I standat the altar next to Ollie, trying to focus on anything but the fact that she's here. Somewhere in this venue and it’s the closest I’ve been to her in two years.
Two years. That’s how long it’s been since I left for rehab. Two years since Jake died and I've seen her face, heard her voice, been in the same room as her.
My hands won't stop shaking, so I clasp them in front of me and hope it looks intentional. Ollie's fidgeting with his cufflinks—nervous energy he's been radiating all morning—and I clap him on the shoulder.
"You good?"
He nods, swallows hard. "Yeah. You?"
I lie. "Yeah."
The music starts and everyone stands.
The bridesmaids start their procession down the aisle—Mia’s cousins first, then Camilla, all of them beaming—and I keep my eyes fixed on a point just above the guests' heads.
Because I know she's next and I don't know if I'm ready. Idon't know if you can ever be ready to see someone who still owns parts of you that you haven't figured out how to take back.
My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. My palms are sweating. My chest feels tight, like someone's wrapped a band around my ribs and is slowly tightening it.
I tell myself to look to just get it over with.
The music swells, and I hear the collective intake of breath that means Mia's appeared. Everyone's looking back now, watching her walk down the aisle in that way people do at weddings—smiling, crying, witnessing.
But I still don't look up. Because if I look up, I'll see her. And if I see her, everything I've spent two years trying to rebuild might just collapse.
My fingers dig into my palms.
Just breathe. Just get through this.
Then that instinct that's always existed between us, the one that makes me aware of exactly where she is in any room, like some internal compass that only points to her, kicks in.
And I know—I know—she's looking at me.
I lift my head.
And there she is.
The world doesn't slow down. It doesn't blur at the edges or fade to black and white like in movies.
It just stops.
Completely stops.
She's already looking at me. Eyes locked on mine like she's been waiting for me to look up, like she knew the exact moment I would.
And fuck, she's stunning.
Not in the polished, untouchable way that makes someone beautiful from a distance. In the way that makes it hard to breathe. In the way that reminds me exactly why I've spent two years trying—and failing—to stop loving her.
Her dress is soft green and it moves around her like water.Her hair is swept back loosely, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
No heavy makeup, just her.
Just Leni.
Just the girl I've loved for as long as I can remember, looking at me like no time has passed at all.
