THE WEDDING DREAM
941 Words
Sarah
"Have you chosen a wedding date yet?"
It was the third time someone had asked me that question that week.
I smiled politely.
"Not yet."
The truth was, Adam and I had only been engaged for two weeks.
Two wonderful, magical, overwhelming weeks.
Every day felt like a celebration.
My phone was filled with congratulatory messages.
My social media notifications wouldn't stop.
Friends wanted details.
Family members wanted updates.
Everyone seemed excited.
Especially my mother.
"You should have a traditional ceremony and a church wedding," she said over lunch one afternoon.
"Mom, we're still planning."
"Planning starts now."
I laughed.
She wasn't joking.
My mother had already started discussing guest lists.
Guest lists.
As though the wedding was happening tomorrow.
"How many people are you expecting?" she asked.
I nearly choked on my drink.
"Expecting?"
"At least three hundred."
"Three hundred?"
"That's small."
I stared at her.
She stared back.
Neither of us blinked.
The conversation should have alarmed me.
Instead, I found it amusing.
Everything felt exciting.
Even the chaos.
Even the pressure.
Because I was marrying Adams.
And somehow that made every inconvenience seem worth it.
That evening, I called him.
"My mother wants three hundred guests."
There was silence.
Then laughter.
"Three hundred?"
"Apparently that's considered small."
"Sarah, I don't even know three hundred people."
I laughed too.
"We'll figure it out."
And for the moment, we genuinely believed we would.
Adams
I hated wedding planning.
Not because I didn't want to marry Sarah.
I did.
More than anything.
But the planning process felt like a corporate project disguised as romance.
Budgets.
Venues.
Decorations.
Schedules.
Meetings.
Spreadsheets.
So many spreadsheets.
The strange thing was that Sarah seemed energized by it.
The more complicated things became, the more excited she looked.
Meanwhile, I was constantly calculating costs.
One evening, we sat at the dining table reviewing venue options.
Sarah pointed at a photo.
"What about this one?"
I looked at the price.
Immediately.
Always the price.
My chest tightened.
"That's expensive."
She frowned.
"It's our wedding."
"I know."
"We only do this once."
I rubbed my forehead.
"We still need to be realistic."
The smile on her face disappeared briefly.
Only briefly.
But I noticed.
And instantly I felt guilty.
That was becoming a pattern.
Sarah would get excited.
I would point out practical concerns.
She would feel disappointed.
I would feel guilty.
Then we'd move on.
Neither of us ever discussed it.
We simply assumed it wasn't important.
Sarah
A month later, I found myself standing inside a bridal boutique surrounded by mirrors.
The dress was beautiful.
Elegant.
Perfect.
At least I thought so.
My mother cried immediately.
My friends gasped dramatically.
The consultant looked pleased.
I turned toward the mirror.
For a moment, I imagined the wedding day.
The music.
The flowers.
Adam waiting at the altar.
The image felt so vivid it almost brought tears to my eyes.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text from Adams.
How's dress shopping?
I smiled.
Found one I love.
His response arrived seconds later.
How much?
I laughed out loud.
Of course.
That was Adams.
Even through text messages.
Always practical.
Always grounded.
I loved that about him.
At least I thought I did.
Adams
My brother watched me review wedding expenses for nearly twenty minutes before speaking.
"You look stressed."
"I'm fine."
"You've said that three times."
I sighed.
Maybe I was stressed.
Not about marriage.
About expectations.
Everywhere I turned, people had opinions.
The wedding should be bigger.
The wedding should be smaller.
Spend more.
Spend less.
Invite this person.
Don't invite that person.
It felt endless.
And yet whenever I talked to Sarah, she seemed genuinely happy.
Part of me envied that.
She was focused on the experience.
I was focused on managing the process.
My brother leaned back.
"You know what worries me?"
I looked up.
"What?"
"You always think about problems before they happen."
I frowned.
"That's called planning."
"No."
He shook his head.
"Sometimes it's called worrying."
His words lingered after he left.
Because deep down, I knew he wasn't entirely wrong.
Sarah
Three weeks before the wedding, Adam and I attended a dinner hosted by some friends.
The topic eventually shifted to marriage.
A woman across the table smiled.
"What's the secret to a successful marriage?"
An older couple exchanged glances.
Then the husband answered.
"Understanding."
The wife shook her head.
"Patience."
"No, understanding."
"Patience."
Everyone laughed.
Including me.
But something about their disagreement stayed with me.
Later that night, while driving home, I asked Adams.
"What do you think is more important?"
"What?"
"Understanding or patience?"
He thought for a moment.
"Understanding."
I smiled.
"Me too."
Then he added quietly:
"Because patience eventually runs out."
The comment surprised me.
I turned toward him.
"What does that mean?"
He shrugged.
"It means if people don't understand each other, patience alone isn't enough."
The answer felt strangely serious.
Almost too serious.
For a second, I wanted to ask more.
But then he smiled.
And the moment passed.
Sarah
The night before our wedding, I couldn't sleep.
My phone was filled with messages.
Family members were arriving.
Friends were excited.
Everything was ready.
I should have felt nervous.
Instead, I felt hopeful.
Certain.
Happy.
Because tomorrow I would marry the man I loved.
The man who understood me better than anyone else.
The man I believed would always understand me.
Lying in bed, I smiled into the darkness.
Tomorrow would be perfect.
Tomorrow would change everything.
What I didn't realize was that marriage doesn't reveal who people pretend to be.
It reveals who they really are.
And sometimes, those are not the same person.
- Writer
