Reunion – A One-Shot 1

Many turned to look at him. Many stared as though there was nobody else in the room, save their significant others. He paid no heed, arrogant, head raised high, sure stride. It was quite the sight when he saw the bride. She met his gaze, cold as the chilled champagne served. That was when, barely if even, his confidence faltered. The waiter, dutifully attending to the empty glasses, collided perfectly with the man – apologising profusely at the spoilt suit of the unsuspecting victim. It wasn’t the suit that was ruined as much as the ego and confidence.

“I see you finally plucked up the courage to come out and meet me. You’re a bit late – it’s my wedding.” The man nodded, not with approval – but with a sort of understanding that passes between friends. They were friends, they had been for the last nine years, but even so he didn’t really know the woman in the creamy white dress as she floated down the aisle on her father’s arm to another man. His heart broke in his chest. It was almost as if he was losing her all over again. It had happened once: five years prior. Twice was too much for him. Everyone thought that he was crying tears of joy for his old friend. It seemed that only she knew that his heart was slowly imploding inside.

“Nice of you to make it.” The woman was tired, everyone had been bid farewell and she was just about ready to chuck off her white pumps and free herself from the dress. Just as she was about to do so, a voice interrupted her thoughts and actions.

“You looked ravishing out there.” His voice was soft, as she’d heard it many times. Before she turned to look at him, she allowed herself a smile. He was a good friend, but he wasn’t all that dependable – he forgot to bring the confetti required. Yet, at the end of the day she gladly threw herself into his arms. His smell has always been the same. A sweet dose with a dangerous, but inviting undertone. She buried her sweaty face into his already-stained shirt. He held her for a while, neither daring to speak. Words wouldn’t do justice to what they felt. He put his face down in the crook of her neck. The gesture would have almost been romantic, that is, if he hadn’t blown and thrown the girl into a fit of chortling laughter.

“Hey! Seriously, what took you so long?” The man, with a boyish smirk plastered all over his face, laughed. Then he stood in silence, he couldn’t remember the last time that he’d laughed. She stood there, meek, most people would have called her a bride getting cold feet. He knew that it was quite the opposite. It took a total of twenty minutes for her to extricate herself from the contraption known as the wedding dress, and a grand two more to throw on some sweatpants and a spaghetti strap top. The duo set out into the night.

Friends forever.

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