A/n pov:
The bridal shop had the fragrance of fresh roses and expensive satin, a smell that should have invoked some sort of emotion in Sylus happiness, nervousness, or at the very least, the excitement of browsing for a wedding gown. But he felt nothing.
Liya twirled in front of the mirror, giggling softly as her fingers grazed the lace on the fourth dress. "What do you think? This one? Or the one before?"
Sylus blinked, nodding on autopilot. "Yeah. That one looks nice."
Nice. It was the best he could offer. Further, that felt like a lie.
Because all he could think about was Y/N.
It was not the woman who stood in front of him, but the one whose company he had left behind.
Y/N would have been mortified by the dress, all frills with far too much value put on whiteness. She would have laughed at the lace, told him it was like someone sewed a curtain onto a corset. Y/N liked the simple. A soft silk with an open-backed cut. Maybe a little champagne gold. She pointed to one in a store window once, her eyes sparkling with unspoken wishes she didn't share with him in those years. It was hard to forget those eyes. He remembered everything.
So here he was, now, standing next to a woman he was about to marry, but realizing he was pretending to see himself in the future with her. Pretending he could move on.
He tensed his jaw as he observed Liya in front of the mirror, posing. She was kind. Sweet. She always tried.
But she wasn't Y/N.
No one would be.
"Sylus? You alright?" she asked as she stepped closer, nicely putting a hand on his arm.
He nodded again and swallowed. "Yeah. I'm fine."
She smiled back at him, and turned toward the mirror again. "I think I'll try one more. Something with a longer train."
He took a seat on the velvet sofa, resting his elbows on his knees, putting his fingers together as he looked toward the changing room she had gone into.
And it hit him. The flood of shame.
Because here he was, trying to focus on the woman who was now saying yes to forever with him, and he couldn't help but think of Y/N's eyes. Not her eyes full of love; her eyes full of sheer devastation the last time he had seen her. The way her voice cracked when she said, "Was it really that easy for you to choose someone else?".
It wasn't.
Oh God, it wasn't.
But he allowed her to believe it was. He allowed her to walk away - full of all that rage bouncing off her chest, full of all that pain solidifying her heart into something icy and bitter. And now she was with Zayn. A man that Sylus could barely grip through a conversation with, because watching her look at him, the same way she used to look at Sylus himself, made him feel sick.
The idea alone made him feel sick.
He had chosen this path. He convinced himself it was right. That Liya was the safer, better fit, the kind of girl who wouldn't love him dangerously like Y/N had.
But the truth was ugly.
He was coward.
He chose comfort over chaos. He chose consistency over passion. And now he was trying to dress it up with satin and rings.
When Liya came out once again, this time in a sleek off-shoulder gown, Sylus's breath was taken away. Not because she was beautiful, which she undoubtedly was, but because this was the exact dress Y/N stood up in front of, shockingly caught her breath in front of during one of their many late nights walking. He could remember how she stopped dead in her tracks with her fingertips against the glass, smiling softly and saying, "Not now, maybe some day."
Someday did not happen.
And now it belonged to someone else.
"This one?" Liya said. "I love how it falls. What do you think?"
His throat caught for a moment. He nodded again. "Yeah. It's beautiful."
But he wasn't looking at Liya.
He was looking at the dress.
At the ghost of the woman who was supposed to be wearing it.
The room fuzzed a little now. The lights above were too bright; the mirrors were too honest.
He closed his eyes for a moment, breathed gently, pretending that he could not feel the pieces of him beginning to split.
When he opened his eyes again, Liya was talking to the assistant, setting up fittings, smiling like she was the luckiest bride in the world. And maybe she was. Maybe she was deserving of much more than a man whose heart could not stop loving someone else.
But Sylus could no longer lie to himself.
Y/N still occupied every inch of his mind. Every song he played in the car. Every coffee he drank black, because she made fun of him for adding too much suger. Every single moment of silence in which he instinctively reached for his phone to text her, only to remember she was no longer a call away.
She consumed him. Not like a ghost. Like a truth.
A truth he buried.
And now, he was submerged in it.
He pictured her with Zayn again, holding his hand or something. Smiling again. Laughing again. Cooking something ridiculous in the middle of the night because she couldn't sleep.
Did she call him 'idiot' when he teased her? Did she cry when he held her?
Did she already forget Sylus?
The assistant faced the man. "Shall we charge this one as the last choice, sir?"
Last choice.
What an awful phrase.
He stood up at last, the weight of it heavy on his chest.
"Yes," he said, his voice low.
And in his mind, it sounded like a betrayal.
He had made a choice, a long time ago. And he had to live with it.
Even if it was a slow agonizing death.
Even if she would never know he still loved her.
Even if the dress she once dreamed about would never be hers.
Note:
Sorry for late updates I am caught up with my work soon next chapter will be updated!!!!love yaa!!! Plz do vote!!!