The church was suffocating. Heavy with incense, the perfume of lilies, the dull murmur of prayers. My black dress clung to me like a second skin, too tight, too exposing for a day that was supposed to be holy. Every movement felt like eyes were on me, but the only stare that burned was his.
He stood near the stone pillar at the side of the altar, a dark figure among candles. His suit was sharp, his tie slightly loosened, his hair messy enough to look careless but deliberate at the same time. He didn’t bow his head like the others. He didn’t even pretend to pray. He was watching me—only me.
When the priest’s voice droned on, I shifted in the pew, feeling the weight of his gaze. It made me restless, my pulse quickening in my throat. I rose to light a candle, and I heard footsteps following
