Mia’s hands trembled slightly as she fastened the final hair clip into Gina’s soft curls. The delicate strands shimmered under the warm light, framing a face that was almost too still, beautiful, yes, but carrying a quiet storm beneath the surface. The air in the room was hushed, thick with perfume, silk, and unspoken thoughts. Only the faint rustle of the gown and the soft clink of jewelry broke the silence. Mia stepped back, her throat tightening with emotion. “Just last year, I was the one in white, sweating bullets,” Mia said, her voice warm but laced with wistful nostalgia, like she was flipping through a mental scrapbook. “You were fussing over my veil, keeping me from bolting. Now look at us, time’s playing tricks, huh?” She flashed a grin, but her eyes softened, catching the shadow in Gina’s gaze. Gina smiled faintly, though it barely reached her eyes. Her gaze drifted toward the mirror, where her reflection looked back at her, radiant, composed, and yet… hollow. “It does,
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