DEAR STRANGER, MARRY ME AGAIN

SLOANE

Every girl dreams of this day.

Her own fairytale.

 A prince charming waiting at the end of the aisle. A beautiful gown, soft music, happy tears. And I’m no different.

I can’t stop smiling as I stare at my reflection. The gown hugs my body like it was made for me, elegant, timeless, and perfect. 

I'm marrying the love of my life. That is something I can’t stop talking about. 

I hold back from smiling ear to ear as the double doors open, and a warm golden light spills in, flooding the aisle like a dream.

Dad offers me his arm, and I take it, steadying myself even though I feel like floating.

The guests rise, gasps echo quietly, and somewhere to my left, I hear someone whisper, 

“She’s stunning.”

“Are you ready, princess?” He asks, and I nod. 

He leads me forward, and my heart beats faster with each step we take. 

I don’t hear the music anymore. All I hear is the blood rushing to my ears and the nerves wrecking my body as the violin plays. 

My eyes look up, and my breath is caught in my throat.

I'm finally going to be his wife.

My supposed soulmate. The man I fell head over heels for, the man who made me believe in love, even when I was too broken to want it. He made me love myself again. I hated being touched because of my past, and he healed me. 

Every broken version of me, he mended. 

Ian is standing at the altar, looking tall, composed, and handsome as ever. He's everything I’ve ever wanted, wrapped in a tailored black suit that makes him look like a hot prince with his glasses adding to the look.

His sharp cheekbones, perfectly styled black hair, and asian features make him even more surreal as he pushes his glasses back.

Dad releases me as Ian walks forward and takes me from him, and then we proceed to the front together. 

His eyes are brown and usually soft, glowing like honey under the sun.

But somehow, today, they look darker. Almost black and bottomless.

With each step we take, my smile falters just a little. My heart clenches in a way that has nothing to do with nerves.

Because Ian isn’t smiling.

Not even a little.

Which is shocking because when he’s happy, even slightly happy, his eyes shut from the force of it. His grin is contagious, too.

That’s who he is. That’s the man I know.

But this Ian?

His jaw is locked.

His posture is tense.

And his expression…

Is unreadable.

We take another step.

Then another.

I glance up at him, hoping to meet the warmth I’ve come to know so well the softness that always melts me in seconds. The way his eyes used to twinkle like I was his entire universe.

But there’s nothing.

It's just a cold, endless void.

And the closer we get to the altar, the tighter my chest feels. I can feel that strange shift, like the floor is moving an inch under my feet, just enough to remind me I’m not as steady as I thought.

I reach for his hand.

He gives it to me, but there's a second of hesitation. His fingers are warm but not wrapped around mine like they usually are.

These are just there.

Present.

The officiant begins to speak, but the words sound far away, like they’re floating underwater. I smile again for the guests, tilting my head to look up at him, trying to find any trace of the man I love.

I still find nothing.

“Congratulations, you two!”

“Such a beautiful ceremony.”

“You’re glowing, Sloane. Absolutely glowing.”

I smile as I mumble a “thank you” over and over again like it’s the only word I know.

The guests swarm us, champagne glasses clinking and laughter echoing through the beautifully decorated space as camera flashes go off like fireworks. 

I should be happy. 

I should be soaking it all in. But every smile feels stiff. Every voice sounds too loud or too far. And every time I look at Ian, I get nothing in return.

It's been hours since we said our vows and swore to be together till death do us part, and yet, he feels miles away.

His arm is around my waist, but it’s more of a formality than affection. There’s no squeeze. No gentle rub of his thumb against my side like he usually does when he’s trying to calm me down or remind me he’s there.

I wait until there’s a break between guests before I push him to a nearby secluded corner.  

“Are you okay?”

He doesn’t look at me, he just raises his glass and sips, then asks quietly, 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

His tone isn’t warm. It’s clipped and cold.

I blink. “I just… You haven’t smiled once today.”

That’s when he finally looks at me, but there’s no softness in his gaze. Only a quiet irritation.

 “Stop making a scene. Isn't a wedding what you wanted? Am I your clown to control however you like?”

I feel like I've just been slapped.

“A wedding I wanted? I didn’t marry you for a perfect day, Ian,” I say, my voice a hushed whisper. “I married you because I love you.” I rub my sweaty palms against a tissue.

“Do you even love me anymore? Something has surely changed in how you're behaving.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” He asks.

“Would you rather be elsewhere?”

He sweeps his cold gaze over me, “Don't ask questions you don't want answers to.”

My breath catches. Surely I can't recognize the man before me. It feels like I just married a stranger. 

I take a step back,

“Wow,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “So that’s where we are now?”

Ian exhales, like he’s tired of even standing here with me. Like I’m a burden and not his bride.

“I’m just trying to understand,” I try again. “You’ve been cold since the ceremony. You won’t even look at me properly. If something is wrong-”

His jaw clenches as he taps his forefinger on the wine glass with one hand in his pocket, which I'm pretty sure is being balled into a fist as we speak. 

“God, Sloane. Do you ever stop?”

My chest tightens. “What?”

“You always do this,” he mutters, glancing away as though he’s embarrassed to be near me. “Whining. Overthinking. Complaining over every little thing.”

“I’m not complaining-”

“Yes, you are.” He turns back to me, his eyes hard. “It’s exhausting. You can’t let anything go. Not even on your goddamn wedding night.”

The sharpness of his tone knocks the breath from my lungs.

“I just wanted to know if you’re okay,” 

“I’m fine. Maybe I’d actually enjoy the night if you didn’t keep trying to dig something out of nothing.”

“There’s nothing?” I blink at him, stunned. “You mean to tell me this-” I gesture between us, “This sudden change, it’s all in my head?”

“You’re impossible,” he snaps. “We just got married, and you’re already picking fights.”

“I’m trying to talk to my husband.”

“No, you’re trying to drag me into some emotional meltdown so you can play the victim,” he spits. “Can’t you just enjoy the moment like everyone else instead of always needing to be reassured?”