Beneath My Broken Sky

The mirror didn’t lie. But Alia Edrees wished—just this once—it would. She stood still, wrapped in layers of ivory silk and delicate lace. The scarf draped neatly over her shoulder. The veil, tucked gently at the side of her head, shimmered beneath the soft boutique lights. The gown clung like it had been spun just for her—elegant, ethereal... flawless. “You look like a dream,” her mother whispered, eyes glistening with quiet pride. “Perfect,” her older sister added, circling her like a stylist fawning over royalty. Alia offered a small smile. “It’s... nice.” But her voice—usually warm and honey-sweet—was flat. Hollow. Off. This should have been magical. The kind of day little girls grow up imagining. But Alia didn’t feel like a glowing bride. She felt like a ticking clock. The boutique hummed around her. Soft rustles of fabric. Light chatter. Her mother flipping through accessory trays. Her sister fussing with the camera, trying to FaceTime their younger sibling. It was all background noise to the storm brewing in Alia’s chest. Because the girl in the mirror didn’t look happy. Not truly. Then her phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Then again. Her sister’s voice was light. “Who’s blowing up your phone? Is Khalid sending last-minute poetry again?” Alia didn’t answer. She walked over, the layers of her gown swishing with each step. She picked up her phone, tapped the screen... and froze. Missed Call – Khalid Message – “We need to talk. Alone.” Her stomach knotted. Her heart lurched. “Khalid?” her mother asked casually from across the room. Alia nodded quickly, locking the screen. “Yeah, probably something about the prayer schedule.” But her voice cracked slightly at the end. She didn’t believe her own lie. And she was sure her mother heard it. Khalid had been... distant. In the past few weeks, his calls had grown shorter. His texts, colder. He missed the cake tasting. Skipped their pre-wedding shoot. Last night, he dropped a sentence that hadn’t left her mind since: “Are you really sure about this?” At the time, she laughed it off. Cold feet. Nerves. Typical groom behavior. But now? Now she wasn’t so sure. “I need some air,” Alia muttered, escaping before anyone could question her further. Outside, the sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue. But she didn’t feel it. Her skin felt cold. Her chest tight. She stared at her phone. “We need to talk. Alone.” Her fingers trembled as she typed: “Is everything okay?” Then she deleted it. “When can we talk?” Deleted again. Because deep down... She already knew. She had seen it in his eyes for weeks. Heard it in the hesitation in his voice. Felt it in the widening silence between them. But she still clung to hope. Foolish, fragile hope. The boutique door creaked open behind her. “Alia?” her mother called gently. “Come back in, sweetheart. We still need to try the veil with your shoes.” Alia inhaled. Held the breath. Forced a smile. “I’m coming.” She slipped her phone back into her purse and turned. But her heart? It didn’t move. It remained right there—on that cracked sidewalk outside the boutique—beating slow, uncertain rhythms of a girl whose world was about to collapse. Because the message wasn’t just a message. It was the start of something irreversible. And two days before she was meant to walk down the aisle... Alia Edrees was about to be left at the altar. Not by fate. But by the man who swore he’d stay.