No one really knew just how adorable his Oriel was.
That image of her—etched permanently into his mind—dated back to when they were just eight. Her short, tousled hair, her chubby cheeks streaked with tears, always crying because of the classroom bullies.
She was the cute little girl who got strawberry-flavored candies from him every lunch break. The one who gasped in wonder every time he brought a new toy, never jealous—always grateful.
As they moved up in school, her hair grew longer, and though they ended up in different classes, they still walked home together. Oriel started acting tougher, a little boyish, more confident and bold.
She had her own circle of friends now, laughed louder, stood taller.
But behind all that strength, there were still moments when she cried to him in secret—about her aching wrist after shoving someone off who wouldn't leave her alone. He always told her not to get involved, to just walk away, but she'd shake her head.
"I wasn't fighting," she'd say softly. "I just didn't want to stay quiet anymore."
A few confrontations later, by the time high school rolled around, she didn't need to speak up as much. People had learned—Oriel wasn't someone you pushed around.
She started stopping by dress shops to admire gowns behind the glass. Saved up her allowance just to buy one she loved. And she cut her hair again—a short bob that made her charm shine even more.
He was always there when she needed someone to check if the dress made her look bigger or too small. But honestly, how could he be credible? He already saw her as perfect—every time.
Then came the makeup phase. Of course, he was her first victim. None of her girlfriends trusted her with eyeliner yet, which, honestly, worked out in his favor. More time with her was always a win.
Even as they grew older and formed separate groups of friends, he was still there—in the background, in her orbit.
And when she started modeling… he kept watching. Always thinking: People should really notice. She's beautiful. Truly beautiful.
But he didn't just watch her grow in looks.
He watched every part of her evolution—her frustrations, her victories, her stubbornness, and how she silently struggled when no one else was looking. Dhylan stayed through it all. He helped where he could, offered comfort where she let him. Sometimes it wasn't much, but he was always there.
And now… from that crying little girl with scraped knees on the muddy trail…
To this stunning woman in a white gown, glowing under studio lights like a dream he never wanted to wake from.
Dhylan swallowed hard as he stared at her.
"Why can't this be real?"
He prayed, silently.
If only—just for once—the world could bend in his favor.
"Perfect!" the photographer called.
Dhylan couldn't take his eyes off her—not when she looked that happy. But he knew deep down, they weren't smiling for the same reason.
"Can you kiss?"
Oriel turned sharply to the photographer, her expression frozen in shock.
Dhylan blinked. There's no way she'll say yes.
Then the photographer leaned in, brows raised.
"Fire said you two are a couple, right?"
Oriel nodded far too quickly, not out of pride—but because Dhylan knew she didn't want Fire to look like she lied. That's just who she was—loyal, no matter how awkward it got.
Before Dhylan could react, the photographer fired off instructions like a drill sergeant.
"Good. Move closer"
They stepped in.
"Closer, please."
A shuffle. Awkward. Shoulder to shoulder, Oriel's perfume brushed past him like a memory he wasn't ready for.
"Hold her at the waist."
Dhylan froze. That felt... illegal.
But Oriel didn't wait—she grabbed his hand and placed it on her waist, shooting him a warning glare.
"Just do it. Fire got this for us," she whispered through clenched teeth.
That was Oriel—always thankful for the people who helped her. Even if it meant pushing through her own discomfort.
"Hand on his shoulder."
Oriel obeyed slowly, careful not to tremble.
It suddenly felt like he was carrying the weight of a dream.
"Use your other hand... caress her cheek. Now kiss."
His hand brushed her cheek. Too soft. Too perfect. Too much.
This is wrong, he thought. Not like this. Not when it's not real.
He shook his head, silently telling her no. Not if she didn't want this.
Jokes were one thing. Pretending was another. But forcing a moment like this—that crossed a line. He would never do that to her.
Her face was turning red, her eyes avoiding his. But then, she looked at him—really looked. There was hesitation, yes, but something steadier behind it too. A decision.
He shook his head again. Not like this. Not this way.
"Kiss!" the photographer barked, louder this time.
"Just do it," Oriel whispered again, voice low, eyes averted.
"No, let's just tell them—"
"Kiss!"
The flash exploded. White burst across their vision. Blinding. Endless.
A storm of light swallowed the moment—and with it, every unspoken feeling between them.