"Do you think I am doing the right thing?" Samuel asked in a nervous tone, adjusting the cufflinks on his clean white shirt while standing in front of the mirror. His anxiety was reflected in his facial expression.

"You're asking someone who has never done the right thing," I said, standing casually against the doorframe while smirking to ease out his tension a bit.

Samuel looked at me, his brows furrowing. "Not helping, Vihaan."

"Relax, man. If you weren't doing the right thing, would you be sweating this much?" I said, pointing to the bead of sweat sliding down his temple.

He sighed, shaking his head. "It's not the commitment. I love Rhea. It's...everything else. Her family, my family, the expectations."

"And yet, here you are, dressed to impress and ready to say 'I do.' Sounds like you've already made up your mind." I pushed off the doorframe and walked over to him, straightening his bow tie. "You'll be fine."

We met in my college days. Back then, he was a rich kid who didn't fit the stereotype at all. Beneath the polished exterior and the obvious privilege, Samuel was refreshingly grounded. He had a dry humour which I liked, and between gym sessions and funny mishaps, we became best friends.

Fast forward to today, Samuel was an advocate who had an exemplary reputation; in his father's footsteps while finding his own place. Today he was marrying Rhea, whom he loves his life to be with —a lawyer like him but also a renowned YouTuber, and whose fans are very fond of her.

And here I was—the best man at my best friend's wedding, though not exactly the same case, I'd say that my life is far from picture-perfect either.

I used to be a fitness influencer. I was in my prime—millions of subscribers, brand deals, the whole nine yards. But for some reason, recently my reach wasn't consistent. My content just wasn't hitting the way it used to. The gods of the algorithm seemed to have forgotten that I existed, and it was frustrating, but I tried not to focus on it too much. Today wasn't about me.

Samuel gave me a small, grateful smile, but his nerves were still palpable. "Let's just hope I don't trip on the way to the altar."

"If you do, I'll make sure it goes viral," I joked with him, which provoked only a half-hearted laugh.

Knocking interrupted our little conversation. One of the groomsmen decided to barge in and announce, "It's time."

Samuel took a deep breath and looked himself over in the mirror one final time. "Okay, let's do this."

The soft murmur of the guests and the distant, muffled sound of the organ created a low hum of anticipation as we made our way to the church hall. The moment we stepped inside, everything shifted. All were seated, heads looking towards the altar where Samuel was soon to stand.

I wasn't exactly a fan of weddings. Too many speeches, too much emotion, and far too many strangers asking about "when it's my turn." Not that I wasn't happy for Samuel—I was. But these events always left me wanting to exit.

I stood on the front, a bit off to the side, where I could take in everything.

By the time we reached the front, the church was packed. It was a beautiful setting: rose petals on the aisle, soft lighting filtering through stained glass windows, and rows of guests dressed in their finest. I adjusted my suit jacket, feeling a little out of place amidst all the grandness.

The decor was stunning—white lilies and orchids adorned the pews, soft golden drapes framing the altar. Elegant, understated, and very Rhea-coded.

The music changed, signalling the entrance of the bridal party. Heads turned toward the back of the hall, and I looked front towards the entrance. The double doors opened, and she walked in.

She was absolutely and incredibly stunning.

Dressed to the nines in a beautiful v-halter-neck pastel blue gown that hugged her form gracefully, she entered, holding a delicate bouquet of white flowers. Her long, dark hair was styled in soft waves that framed a face so captivating and soothing that my chest tightened at the ethereal allure that seemed to radiate each time she walked.

For a second, I stopped breathing. I was sure she was the bride.

I could hear my heart throbbing in my ears. I had seen many brides look beautiful before, but this woman—she was something different. Her gaze was steady and her lips curled into a soft smile that spoke of playfulness, her eyes were shining with a golden light streaming through those stained glass windows.

I leaned toward the groomsman beside me. "She's...incredible," I whispered, not looking away from her.

The groomsman chuckled softly. "That's the maid of honor. Wait till you see the bride."

I blinked, feeling a mix of confusion and embarrassment flood my system. "She's not the bride?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

"Nope," the groomsman said, suppressing a grin. "The bride will enter after her."

Just as expected, she reached the front and moved to the side.

Moments later, another figure entered the church.

The actual bride.

I blinked, completely shocked. The second woman—who was definitely Rhea—wore a pure white gown and a veil that framed her face, looking every bit like the traditional modern bride. But my gaze glanced back to the first woman—the one who wasn't the bride.

Who was she?

Now she was the one standing at the front, beside the bride, adjusting the veil with a calm focus. There was an ease to her movements that seemed to suggest she belonged here, like she'd done this a thousand times. And yet, she wasn't the bride.

That was the sickening realization-it hit me like a bucket of cold water.

Maid of honour.

Of course.

I tried to shake the confusion from my head, but my brain kept turning the thoughts back to her. The way she walked, the faint smile, which lingers even when she isn't speaking, was magnetic in a way that could not be explained.

The ceremony began, but I wasn't listening. I've been to plenty of weddings, so I know the script by heart, but this one was something else.

Because of her.

I glanced at Samuel, who met my gaze with a nervous smile. I smiled back, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

What was her name? Why hadn't he mentioned her before? And why couldn't I stop looking at her?

This wasn't like me.

She wasn't even the bride.

The vows were exchanged, the rings slid on, and the applause filled the air. But as I stood there, clapping along with everyone else, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had suddenly changed.

I turned to look at her again, just in time to catch her looking back at me. This time, there was no mistaking it—the slightest hint of recognition in her eyes, followed by a smile that wasn't meant for anyone else.

Then she looks around again, her gaze scanning the room as if trying to find something—or someone. For a brief moment, it seemed like she was searching for an escape, but then her eyes settled back in my direction, just long enough for me to catch the glimmer of uncertainty in them.

She blinked, as though realizing she'd kept looking too long, and quickly turned her attention back to the front. But I couldn't shake the feeling that the quiet tension between us was more than just an accident.

Something was off, and I had a sinking feeling that this wedding was only the start of a story I wasn't ready to be a part of.