Veil of Deception

I didn’t shed even a single tear the night before my wedding. Everyone expected me to. My mother kept watching me the way mothers do when their daughters are about to cross into something permanent. She would pause mid-conversation, study my face, and then smile gently, almost cautiously, like she was measuring my emotions. “Are you okay?” she asked at least four times that evening. “Yes,” I told her every time. And I wasn’t lying. I just wasn’t entirely telling the truth either. The house was alive in a chaotic, beautiful way. The kind of chaos that only happens before weddings and funerals: too many bodies in one space, too many opinions floating through the air. My younger cousins ran through the hallway in half-zipped dresses. My aunt argued with someone on the phone about the delivery time of the chairs. Laughter erupted from the kitchen every few minutes, followed by the sharp clatter of pots. It should have felt warm. It did feel warm. But warmth isn’t always comfort. I slipped away quietly and went to my bedroom, closing the door gently behind me. Not dramatically. Just enough to muffle the noise. The silence inside my room felt thicker than usual. My wedding dress hung against the wardrobe, covered in a thin garment bag. I walked toward it slowly and unzipped it halfway, just enough to see the lace. I had chosen it months ago after trying on at least twelve others. I remember standing in front of the mirror at the boutique, smiling in disbelief. This is the one I had said. Now, standing in front of it again, I waited for that same certainty to return. It didn’t. Not completely. I told myself it was nerves. Every bride gets nervous. Every bride wonders if she’s ready. That’s normal. That’s human. Still, there was something in my chest that felt… paused. Not fear. Not doubt. Just a pause. Like my body knew something my mind hadn’t caught up to yet. I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up my phone. Three missed calls. From Shakira. I frowned slightly. That didn’t make sense. She had been downstairs with everyone else just fifteen minutes ago, helping my aunt organize gift bags. She had laughed at something my cousin said. She had looked perfectly fine. Why would she call me three times in a row when she could have just come upstairs? I stared at her name longer than necessary. Shakira and I had been inseparable for years. She knew my fears before I spoke them. She knew how I liked my tea. She knew which version of me was real and which version was pretending. If there was one person I trusted without calculation, it was her. My phone buzzed in my hand. I expected her name again. But it wasn’t. Unknown number. No picture. No saved contact. The message was short. Are you sure you know everything? That was it. No greeting. No explanation. Just a question. I read it once. Then again. It could have been a prank. A wrong number. Someone trying to be dramatic for no reason. I almost laughed. But my stomach tightened instead. Because the message wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t threatening. It was calm. And calm can be dangerous. Downstairs, someone called my name again. Music started playing one of those old love songs my mother adored. The house felt normal. Too normal. I typed back before I could overthink it. Who is this? The message showed as delivered. No response. I waited. Nothing. I stood up and walked to the window, pulling the curtain aside slightly. Outside, cars were parked along the street. A few neighbors had already hung small ribbons on their gates in celebration. Tomorrow, this house will be full of cameras and congratulations. Tomorrow, I will walk down an aisle. Tomorrow, I will promise forever. My phone buzzed again. This time, it was Sipho. I let out a breath. I didn’t realize I was holding. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow, my wife ❤️ Simple. Normal. Exactly what a fiancé should say the night before his wedding. I stared at the message longer than necessary. I typed back: You nervous? Three dots appeared almost immediately. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. Then disappeared. I frowned slightly. Finally, his reply came. A little. Big day. Get some rest. Shorter than usual. He was usually the one sending long paragraphs about our future house, our future children, how lucky he felt. Tonight, he sounded… contained. I shook the thought away. You’re overthinking. I placed my phone face down on the bed and looked at myself in the mirror across the room. I tried to imagine tomorrow. Walking toward him. Seeing his face at the altar. Hearing him say my name. And for a brief second, just a second. I couldn’t picture it clearly. It was like trying to remember a dream after waking up. The image is blurred. A soft knock came at my door. “Shakira?” I called. The door opened slowly. She stepped inside, smiling but not fully. Her eyes searched my face quickly. Too quickly. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?” she asked. Her voice was light. But something underneath it wasn’t. And that was when the pause in my chest deepened. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just enough to make me look at her a little longer than usual.