I couldn't breathe in there anymore.
The applause.
The music.
The smiles that felt too bright, too loud, too wrong.
My legs moved on their own
Until the doors of the hall closed behind me and the noise turned into a distant echo.
The corridor felt colder. Quieter. Mercifully empty.
I didn't stop walking until I reached our private room.
The moment the door clicked shut—
I broke.
The tears came fast, uncontrollable, silence pouring out at once. My chest heaved with the kind of pain you can't show in public. The kind that lives behind polite smiles and steady voices.
I pressed my hand to my mouth to muffle the sound, but the sobs still escaped — raw, shaking, helpless.
This was real.
He was married.
And I was alone.
Minutes passed.
Five.
Ten.
Maybe more.
Time didn't move normally when your heart was falling apart.
Then—
The door opened quietly.
I didn't need to look to know who it was.
His presence filled the room before his voice ever could.
Soft footsteps.
And then warm arms wrapped around me from behind, pulling me into a familiar chest.
The same embrace that once felt like home.
I turned in his arms.
Chak's face was close — too close — his expression stripped of the calm mask he wore for the world.
I looked at him through blurred vision.
My voice came out small. Fragile.
"So… you're really married now."
Not angry.
Not accusing.
Just broken.
Chak's arms tightened around me.
Not possessive.
Not desperate.
Just… afraid to let go.
His forehead rested lightly against mine, and for a moment neither of us spoke. The silence felt heavier than any argument.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Two words.
Barely a breath.
But they carried exhaustion, guilt, and something dangerously close to regret.
I let out a shaky laugh that didn't sound like mine.
"Sorry?" I repeated softly. "For which part?"
My hands pressed against his chest — not to push him away, not to pull him closer. I didn't even know what I wanted.
"For loving me?"
"For marrying her?"
"For making promises you couldn't keep?"
My throat tightened again.
"You told me last night…" My voice cracked. "You said you wouldn't kiss her."
Chak closed his eyes briefly, pain flashing across his face.
"I know."
"That wasn't just a kiss to me."
"I know."
"They all clapped," I whispered. "They celebrated."
My vision blurred again.
"And I stood there pretending my heart wasn't breaking."
Chak pulled me closer then, one hand cradling the back of my head like he could shield me from everything outside this room.
"I didn't move," he said quietly. "If I had… everything would've collapsed."
"Maybe it should have," I breathed.
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
His body went still.
Outside, faint music and distant laughter reminded us that the world was celebrating something beautiful.
Inside, we were mourning something we never got to have.
I looked up at him.
Red eyes. Trembling lips. No more masks.
"What are we now?" I asked.
Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Just honest.
Because love hidden in shadows still hurts in the light.
Chak didn't answer immediately.
His hand slid from my hair to my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear I hadn't even felt falling.
"We're still us," he said quietly.
The words sounded steady.
Certain.
But his eyes… his eyes were full of conflict.
"Us?" I whispered. "What does that even mean now?"
A distant cheer echoed from the hall. Applause. Glasses clinking.
A celebration of a marriage that felt like a performance.
Chak exhaled slowly.
"It means what we feel didn't disappear just because I said 'I do.'"
I shook my head.
"It feels like it did."
He stepped closer.
"I married her for reasons the world understands," he said. "But I love you for reasons my heart chose."
My chest tightened painfully.
"That doesn't make this easier."
"I know."
Silence fell again, softer this time. Tired. Fragile.
"I watched you walk toward her," I admitted. "And I wanted to run to you. Stop everything. Tell them the truth."
Chak's jaw tensed.
"I was afraid you would."
"I almost did."
That made him look at me sharply.
"But you didn't," he said.
"Because you looked at me."
His expression softened.
"And you nodded."
A broken sound escaped my throat.
"I gave you permission to break my heart."
"No," Chak said firmly. "You gave me strength to survive that moment."
He rested his forehead against mine again.
"If you had shaken your head… I would have stopped the wedding."
My breath caught.
The weight of that confession settled between us.
Heavy. Real.
"You still can't choose me," I said quietly.
It wasn't an accusation.
Just truth.
Chak didn't deny it.
Instead, he wrapped both arms around me and held me tighter than before.
"I choose you every day," he murmured. "Just not in ways the world can see."
And somehow… that hurt the most.
Outside that door, he was a husband.
Inside this room, he was mine.
And I didn't know which reality would destroy us first.
Chak leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.
Soft. Lingering. Careful.
"I have to go," he whispered.
I swallowed the weight in my throat and simply nodded.
No words felt right.
No promises felt safe.
He gave my hand one last squeeze… then stepped away.
The door closed quietly behind him.
And just like that—
I was alone.
The silence in the room felt colder without his presence. I stood there for a few seconds, staring at nothing, trying to steady my breathing.
I stayed in the room long after the noise outside had settled.
Long after Chak left.
My chest still felt hollow, like something had been carefully removed and nothing placed back in its place.
I dragged a shaky breath in… then another.
It didn't help.
Tears kept falling quietly, one after another, no matter how many times I wiped them away with the back of my hand.
I hated this.
Hated feeling this small.
This helpless.
This replaceable.
So I just stood there for a while longer, letting the silence hold me together.
When I finally moved, my steps felt heavy.
Automatic.
Like my body knew the way back even if my mind didn't.
I walked the corridor slowly, eyes unfocused, thoughts tangled so tightly I couldn't separate them anymore.
His voice.
Her kiss.
The applause.
Over and over.
By the time I reached the hall, the atmosphere had completely changed.
The ceremony was over.
The neat rows of chairs were gone.
In their place stood round tables covered in soft pastel tablecloths, elegant centerpieces glowing under warm lights.
A reception.
A celebration.
I felt completely out of place in it.
I scanned the room and found my friends' table.
They were already seated.
Waiting.
I slipped into my chair quietly.
No one joked.
No one smiled.
The air around our table felt heavier than the rest of the hall — like we were sitting inside a different reality.
Anamarija looked at me first.
Her eyes softened instantly.
"Are you okay?" she asked gently.
I forced a small nod.
"I just needed a moment for myself."
She held my gaze for a second longer, like she knew there was more I wasn't saying — but she didn't push.
Pim exhaled slowly, staring down at the table.
"I can't believe the boss is actually married."
Her voice carried disbelief… and something close to disappointment.
Non suddenly sniffed.
"I'm heartbroken," he declared dramatically —
And then actually started crying, burying his face into Amara's arm.
Amara froze, then awkwardly patted his head.
"There, there…"
But even she didn't sound convinced.
No one laughed.
Because deep down…
We all felt it.
This wasn't the kind of ending we were ready to celebrate.
Soft music drifted through the hall.
Glasses clinked.
Polite laughter rose and fell like background noise in someone else's life.
At our table, everything felt muted.
Like we were watching the celebration through glass.
Taeng leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
"I thought today would feel different," he said quietly. "Happier."
No one answered.
Because we all knew what he meant.
Across the room, guests smiled for photos, waiters moved gracefully between tables, pastel decorations glowing under golden lights.
Perfect.
Beautiful.
Empty.
Non finally lifted his head from Amara's arm, eyes red.
"I practiced a congratulation speech," he mumbled. "Now I don't even want to stand up."
Pim reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
"You don't have to."
Anamarija glanced at me again.
I could feel it — that careful way she watched, like she was measuring how close I was to breaking.
"I'm really glad you came back," she said softly.
I tried to smile.
"I didn't want to ruin anything."
Her expression shifted.
"You being hurt isn't ruining anything."
That almost undid me.
I looked down quickly.
On the stage, movement caught everyone's attention.
The newlyweds.
Chak and Phalin greeting guests.
Perfect posture.
Perfect smiles.
Perfect image.
Applause rippled gently through the hall.
My chest tightened again.
I reached for my glass just to have something to hold.
Cold. Solid. Real.
Unlike everything else today.
Taeng noticed where I was looking and subtly shifted his chair, blocking part of my view.
A small gesture.
But it meant everything.
"You don't have to watch," he said quietly.
I nodded.
Grateful.
Across the table, Vikran sat unusually still, his jaw tight, eyes distant. Anamarija's hand rested near his, close but not touching.
Silent comfort.
Silent understanding.
We were all pretending to sit at a wedding.
But it felt more like we were attending the funeral of something we never got to protect.
And the night was only just beginning.
Time passed slowly.
Too slowly.
Conversations around us blended into soft noise, plates changed, glasses refilled, polite smiles exchanged like part of a script no one questioned.
At our table, we barely spoke
We just… existed.
Then a shadow fell across us.
A man in a dark suit stood beside the table — posture straight, expression professional.
Security.
"Miss Anamarija?" he said respectfully.
She looked up.
"Yes?"
He lowered his voice slightly. "Your stepmother would like to speak with you. In private."
The word stepmother made several of us glance at each other.
Anamarija stilled.
For a brief moment, something unreadable crossed her face — tension, maybe uncomfortable.
She slowly looked around the table.
At me.
At Vikran
At all of us.
Like she was silently asking if she should go.
Before anyone could answer, the guard added,
"Your friends may come with you."
That changed the air instantly.
Vikran straightened in his seat.
Anamarija nodded once.
"Alright."
Her voice was calm, but her fingers curled slightly against the tablecloth.
I noticed.
Vikran noticed too.
He stood first.
"We'll go together."
Chairs slid back quietly as we all rose.
Guests nearby tried not to stare — and failed.
Whispers followed us again as we walked away from the table.
Past pastel decorations.
Past golden lights.
Past the smiling version of the night.
Toward something quieter.
Something waiting.
We followed the security guard through a quieter wing of the venue, away from the music and polished smiles.
The corridor lights were softer here. Warmer. Private.
He stopped in front of a tall wooden door and opened it for us.
Inside—
A private lounge.
And they were all there.
Chak's mother.
Chak.
Malai.
Chai.
They were gathered around a low table, studying something carefully, speaking in hushed voices.
The moment we stepped in, they looked up.
Their eyes landed on Anamarija.
Relief flickered across Chak's mother's face.
"Ah," she said gently. "You'll definitely know how to explain this."
She motioned Anamarija closer and held out a middle ornate object.
It was a decorative heart.
Dark red.
Trimmed with soft light-brown ruffles.
A small rectangular mirror set delicately into it.
And beneath it — an inscription I didn't recognize.
Anamarija went very still.
She took a small step closer.
Looked.
And for a brief second, something deeply personal crossed her face.
"Lectovo srce," she said quietly in her own language.
Then she caught herself.
"Lect heart."
She stepped nearer to Chak's mother.
"Where did you get this?" she asked softly.
Chak's mother's fingers tightened slightly around the ornament.
"My husband gave it to me. 25 years ago."
The room fell completely silent.
Anamarija's expression gentled.
"What does it say?" Chak's mother asked.
Anamarija looked at the inscription again.
"It says Ljubim te ," she said softly. "That means I love you."
A fragile breath left Chak's mother's lips.
Anamarija continued gently,
"A man gives this kind of heart to the woman he truly loves — his girlfriend or his wife."
She lightly touched the small mirror.
"And this mirror… it carries a poetic meaning."
Her voice softened further.
"When a man gives a heart with a mirror, it means that when she looks into it, she sees her own reflection."
She lifted her gaze.
"It's a way of saying — You are the only one in my heart."
Chak's mother's eyes filled with tears.
She pressed her lips together, overwhelmed by something that clearly reached far beyond the object itself.
After a moment, she carefully picked up another heart.
Similar.
But different.
"There's writing on this one too," she said quietly. I got this two years ago."
Anamarija leaned closer.
A faint smile touched her lips.
"This says Za vedno," she translated. "It means Forever."
The word lingered in the air.
Soft.
Endless.
And Chak's mother held both hearts close to her chest like memories she wasn't ready to let go.