For the next week, Amara became an expert in pretending.
She smiled when her mother mentioned dresses. She smiled when her father joked about wedding speeches. She smiled when Daniel texted her photos of honeymoon resorts in Greece and asked which one looked better. She even smiled when her coworkers gathered around her desk to ask about her engagement ring and squealed over its shine.
Every day felt like a performance. Every smile felt borrowed.
She moved through her life like someone flipping through a script she had been handed too late. Every line came out clean and polite, but none of it belonged to her. The world around her spun on with wedding tasks, small celebrations, and endless reminders of the future she was supposed to embrace.
Inside, she was unraveling quietly.
Only Tessa could see the frayed edges.
On Wednesday evening, after a long day at work and an even longer call with Daniel's mother about color palettes, Amara sat on her living room couch staring at her phone. She had the image of a bouquet open on her screen, a perfect swirl of white roses and pale lilacs.
Daniel's mother had asked, Do these feel right for you?
Amara had typed, Yes, they're lovely, then deleted the message. Typed it again. Deleted it again. She stared until her phone dimmed.
A knock came at the door. She almost ignored it, but then a familiar voice called out.
"Amara, open up. I brought wine."
Tessa.
Amara unlocked the door, and Tessa stepped inside holding a bottle and two glasses. Her hair was still in her work bun, a few strands falling loose, and she wore the worn hoodie she always changed into when she was done pretending to be professional.
"I called you three times," Tessa said. "You didn't pick up, so I assumed something tragic happened, like wedding-planning exhaustion or emotional collapse."
Amara forced a laugh. "Both, maybe."
Tessa took one look at her face and sighed. "I'm opening this bottle immediately."
She moved to the kitchen, uncorked the wine, and poured two full glasses without asking. Amara followed and leaned against the counter.
"You look like you need to scream," Tessa said.
"I'm tired," Amara said softly.
"That is not the same thing."
Amara rubbed her forehead. "Everyone wants something from me. A decision. An answer. Approval. I feel like the entire wedding is being built around expectations instead of what I want."
"So what do you want?"
Amara opened her mouth, but the words tangled.
Tessa raised a brow. "That's the problem, isn't it? You don't know."
"I feel guilty even thinking about being unsure," Amara whispered. "Everyone is happy. Daniel is happy. Our parents are thrilled. I'm the only one who can't seem to keep up."
Tessa leaned on the counter beside her. "You know what I think?"
Amara gave a tired smile. "You are going to tell me anyway."
"You're carrying the weight of everyone's dreams except your own. That ring should feel like love, not pressure."
Amara stared at her wine glass. "What if I'm the problem? What if something is wrong with me for not feeling what I'm supposed to feel?"
Tessa set her glass down and looked right at her. "Feeling trapped is not a flaw. Please stop punishing yourself for having doubts. You are human."
Amara felt her eyes sting. She blinked hard and took another sip of wine.
Tessa was the only person she could breathe around. But even with her, Amara struggled to sort through the mess in her head.
The next morning brought little relief. Her mother insisted on going dress shopping again, convinced the perfect gown would "spark joy and settle nerves." Amara agreed even though she wished she could spend one day without thinking about the wedding.
The bridal boutique was bright and airy, filled with silky fabrics and mirrors that made the dresses look even more stunning than they already were. Her mother beamed the moment they stepped inside.
"Today is going to be special," her mother said. "I feel it."
Amara tried to return her enthusiasm but only managed a weak smile.
The consultant, a bubbly woman named Clara, listened as her mother described the style she imagined: elegant, refined, timeless. Clara nodded eagerly, as if Amara herself had spoken those words.
Amara tried on dress after dress. Lace sleeves. Satin skirts. Beaded bodices. Each one was beautiful. Each one made her look like a bride.
But none made her feel like one.
Her mother circled her with bright eyes. "This neckline is stunning on you."
Clara clasped her hands. "You look absolutely radiant."
Amara smiled at them both. She looked at her reflection. She looked like someone who had everything figured out. She looked like a woman stepping into a future she wanted.
But her chest felt tight. Air felt thin.
She stepped down from the platform. "Can we take a break?"
Her mother frowned but nodded. "Of course."
Amara slipped into the back hallway where the dressing rooms were quiet. She pressed her palms against the cool wall and swallowed the rising knot in her throat.
Get it together, she told herself. It's just a dress.
But it wasn't. It was everything the dress represented. Everything she was being pushed toward. Everything she had said yes to before her heart had truly spoken.
When she returned to the main room, her mother was scrolling through wedding inspiration on her phone. "Look at this bouquet. Isn't it perfect?"
Amara smiled again. "It's nice."
Her mother didn't notice her emptiness. She was too busy planning the ideal wedding.
Amara felt the ring slide slightly as she lifted her hand. The motion was small, but she felt it as if someone had tugged sharply on her finger. The diamond glinted. She stared at it too long.
Her mother noticed. "Pretty, isn't it?"
"It is," Amara said. "Very."
She added the smile that was expected. The one she now wore without thinking.
The bride who smiled for everyone else.
After dress shopping, they met Daniel for coffee. He looked polished as always. He pulled out her chair before sitting. He listened as her mother talked about gowns and flowers.
But when her mother left to take a call, Daniel leaned closer and spoke softly.
"You seem quiet."
"I'm just tired," she said.
"That's what you said last time."
She forced a smile. "It's true."
Daniel studied her for a moment. Concern flickered in his eyes. He reached across the table, brushing his fingers over hers.
"Amara, if something is wrong, you can tell me."
She held her breath. The truth rose to the surface, almost breaking through.
I don't know if I'm ready. I don't know if this is what I want. I don't know why the ring feels like pressure instead of love.
But she swallowed the words.
Instead, she gave the smile that had become her shield. "I promise. I'll be fine."
Daniel accepted it, but not fully. His gaze lingered on her with a quiet worry she did not know how to soothe.
Later that night, after her parents went to bed and the house fell silent, Amara sat in her room staring at a list of "Wedding Must-Dos" her mother had printed for her. Fifteen items. Deadlines. Tasks. Calls to make.
Her ring glowed under the soft lamp. She lifted her hand and held it close to her face.
She whispered, "Why don't I feel what I'm supposed to feel?"
Tessa's words echoed in her head. You're carrying everyone's dreams except your own.
A small part of her wondered if this feeling would pass. If she would eventually settle. If the tightness in her chest would ease when the chaos of planning ended and life calmed.
But another part warned her that real doubt didn't fade. Real doubt grew.
She lay back in bed and closed her eyes, letting the silence settle around her. The day had been full of smiles, but none of them had reached her heart. She felt like she was losing parts of herself one tiny piece at a time.
And the worst part was that no one saw it.
Not her mother, blinded by excitement.
Not her father, proud of the match she had made.
Not Daniel, who believed her softness meant certainty.
Not even the people cheering from the sidelines of her life.
Only Tessa understood, and even then, Amara didn't know how to give a voice to the storm inside her.
She rolled onto her side. The ring pressed into her skin. She felt it more than any other night. Heavy. Insistent. Unavoidable.
She knew something had to give. She could not keep smiling for everyone else forever.
But she did not know the first step toward changing anything.
She only knew one thing for sure.
This was the beginning of a breaking point she could no longer outrun.