The bridal studio smelled like perfume, fresh fabric, and quiet stress. Amara sat on a velvet chair while her mother flipped through a heavy binder of dress alterations, muttering about timelines and hems. The seamstress hovered nearby, pins between her lips, waiting for instructions she would pretend were suggestions.
The room was filled with soft music meant to calm brides. It only made Amara feel trapped.
"Amara, sweetheart, stand up," her mother said. "Let's take another look at the fit."
She rose slowly. The dress slid over her body in a practiced way, all lace and satin and structure. It was beautiful. Objectively perfect. A dress any bride would be proud to wear.
But when she caught her reflection, she didn't see excitement. She didn't see joy.
She saw a version of herself that looked like she was playing a part.
Her mother circled her with the kind of concentration usually reserved for art pieces. "We might need to take in the waist. It's a little loose."
"It's fine," Amara murmured.
"Loose isn't fine," her mother countered. "Loose looks sloppy in photos."
The seamstress nodded in agreement, jotting something down.
Amara stared at her own face in the mirror. She tried smiling. The smile didn't reach her eyes. She tried relaxing her shoulders. They stayed tense.
Her mother noticed none of it.
"I spoke with Daniel's mother this morning," she said briskly. "She wants to finalize the seating chart by next week. And we still need to choose the centerpieces."
"We already chose lilies," Amara said.
"They're too plain, apparently. She wants roses."
"Roses are too common."
"She says the lilies look funereal."
Amara exhaled, sinking slightly. "Then let's just do roses."
Her mother hummed approvingly. "Good. One thing off the list."
One thing off the list, she thought. Always a list. Always a box to check. Always something to plan, adjust, approve, or perfect. The wedding had become a machine with gears turning toward a date she wasn't sure she wanted to reach.
Her phone vibrated on the small table beside her. She glanced at it.
A message from Leo.
Her heart stumbled.
"You holding up today?"
Just six words. Simple. Gentle.
She didn't respond. She couldn't. Not with her mother hovering. Not while wearing the dress that symbolized everything she was expected to be.
She locked the phone quickly before the guilt could settle in her chest.
Her mother clapped her hands once. "Alright, let's look at veils."
"Do we have to decide that now?"
"Yes. The bridal shower is in two weeks and we need to stay ahead."
The seamstress brought out a tray of veils, each one delicate and shimmering under the soft lights. Long lace, short satin-trimmed, vintage beaded—so many choices for something she wasn't sure she even wanted.
Her mother held one up. "Try this."
Amara obeyed.
The veil draped behind her like a soft curtain. Her mother stood back, admiring the picture.
"Oh, this is lovely," she said. "You look exactly like I dreamed you would."
That sentence made Amara's breath stall.
Exactly like I dreamed you would.
Not exactly like you dreamed you would.
Not exactly like you feel right.
Just what her mother dreamed.
She swallowed the knot forming in her throat.
Her mother stepped closer and touched her cheek. "This is your moment, sweetheart. Once the wedding is over, life will settle. You'll feel more sure. I promise."
Amara managed a nod. But her chest felt tight.
The seamstress approached with pins. "Let's mark the hem, dear. Lift the skirt slightly."
Amara did as she was told. She stood still as the woman worked quickly around her feet, adjusting fabric, smoothing edges, lining everything into proper shape.
Proper shape. Perfect shape.
Everyone around her had a vision of who she should be. She could feel herself bending to fit it, stretching where she didn't belong, shrinking where she should've grown. And the more she bent, the more something inside her twisted.
When the fitting ended, she changed back into her clothes. Relief washed over her the moment the dress left her skin.
Her mother waited outside. "Feel better now that we're getting things done?"
Amara forced a small smile. "Yeah. Sure."
They walked toward the exit. Her mother held her arm lightly, as if guiding her through her own wedding preparations.
"Remember," her mother said, "every bride gets overwhelmed. Even I did. But when you walk down the aisle and see Daniel waiting, everything will make sense."
Amara nodded.
But her mother didn't see the flicker of doubt in her eyes.
Back home, she set her purse on the counter and sat on the sofa. Her phone buzzed again. She picked it up slowly.
Another message from Leo.
"Sorry if that was too forward. Just wanted to check on you."
Her pulse quickened. She read the message twice.
Leo didn't ask for anything. He didn't expect happy updates or perfect answers. He wasn't part of the wedding list or the endless planning. He wasn't tangled in expectations.
He was simply… kind.
She typed a reply, then erased it. Typed again. Deleted again. The back-and-forth battle lasted a full minute before she let her fingers settle on the simplest truth she could give.
"Long day."
He replied almost instantly.
"Want to talk about it?"
She hesitated. This mattered. She wasn't naive. She knew opening that door could mean something she wasn't ready to admit. She knew she shouldn't lean on him. She knew the stakes.
But she also knew she was tired of holding everything alone.
"Not really," she typed.
Just tired."
A pause. Then:
"Then I hope tonight is quiet for you."
A warmth spread through her chest, steady and soft.
Someone hoping for her peace. Not her perfection.
Someone who cared about how she felt, not how she appeared.
She set her phone down gently and leaned back.
That evening, Daniel called as she was cooking dinner. She held the phone to her ear while stirring vegetables in the pan.
"How was the fitting?" he asked.
"It was fine."
"You sound tired."
"It was a long day. A lot of decisions."
"Well, that's weddings," he said lightly. "You'll feel better after the honeymoon."
She kept stirring, letting the silence stretch a beat too long.
"You're excited, right?" he asked.
"Yes," she said quickly. Reflexively.
She knew he believed her. He always believed her. He never asked twice when she said she was fine.
Which was both comforting and heartbreaking.
When the call ended, she turned off the stove and rested her hands on the counter. The scent of garlic and pepper rose in the small kitchen, but it didn't calm her.
Her worries were louder now. Not because they were new, but because she was finally listening.
She sat at the table and let her thoughts spill over.
She wasn't sure what she was doing.
She wasn't sure what she wanted.
She wasn't sure if the picture-perfect wedding was the beginning of a life she chose or a life she was walking into because everyone expected it of her.
And buried beneath all of that uncertainty was the quiet echo of a warm voice that refused to fade.
Leo.
His presence stirred parts of her she didn't know were awake.
He wasn't the reason her doubts existed. They were already there.
He just made her brave enough to look at them.
She ate half her dinner, then pushed the plate away. Her phone sat beside her, silent now.
She stared at it a moment, then whispered to herself, "What am I doing?"
No answer came.
Only her own breath.
Only the stillness of her apartment.
Only the weight of worries she could no longer hide behind wedding plans.
Because no matter how many dresses she tried on, how many centerpieces she picked, or how many checkboxes she completed, something inside her remained unsettled.
Something was changing.
She felt it.
And she knew, with growing certainty, that the wedding plans weren't the only thing she needed to face.
Her hidden worries were no longer hiding.
They were rising, steady and undeniable.
And for the first time, she didn't know how to quiet them.