Aina
On the morning of my wedding, I sat in front of the mirror while the makeup artist carefully worked on my face. The room buzzed with activity-maids moving swiftly, some arranging my gown, others fussing over my shoes or carrying out last-minute tasks.
"You don't have to worry about anything, ma'am. Just focus on getting ready," the wedding planner reassured me, and I gave a small nod.
A knock came at the door, and one of the maids rushed to answer. I kept my gaze on the mirror, watching as colors slowly transformed my features-until a voice pulled me out of the moment.
"Aina."
It was my mother.
I turned quickly, my breath catching when I saw her. She wore a wine-colored suit with a matching skirt and hat, elegance radiating from her in a way I had never seen before. My lips curv
