Mikhael

The church bells tolled like thunder against your chest. You stood among the guests, silent, composed… pretending.

Mikhael Estrada, your college boyfriend—the boy who once promised you forever while holding your trembling hands in the middle of a library storm—was now the groom.

But you weren’t the one in the white gown.

She was.

And when the priest asked her the words you used to dream of answering—

"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

—you watched her nod. “I do,” she said.

And you swallowed yours.

Mikhael didn’t look at you. Not yet.

He was gripping her hand, tense. Like his body was there, but not his heart. Like he was stuck in a play he never auditioned for.

You clapped with everyone else. Smiled with everyone else.

Even if it broke every rib in your chest to pretend.

Later, during the reception, you walked toward the newlyweds. People were congratulating them left and right. His family. Her family. Friends. Strangers.

And you.

You walked with a half-hearted grin, clutching the gift you almost didn’t have the courage to bring.

"Congratulations," you started, voice barely steady. "You look..."

But you never finished.

Mikhael turned to you—just you—and in front of everyone, pulled you into the tightest hug.

The crowd went silent. The bride stiffened. And your world spun.

You felt it in his chest. The sob he tried to bury. The shake in his breath. The way his hands gripped your back like he was still holding onto a version of you that time tried to erase.

He whispered it like a confession. "Should’ve been you."

You didn’t say anything.

You couldn’t.

Your arms barely moved to return the hug. Your mouth stretched into a bitter smile—one that knew love wasn’t always enough.

"We were right for each other…" you whispered back, just for him. "...just not at the right time."

And with that, you stepped away.

He didn’t stop you

Because even if hearts were screaming,lives have already been written in ink.