Inside the Manalo house, in the quiet of a bedroom away from the crowd, Anisa stood in her wedding gown. Her mother, Mrs. Manalo, knelt to adjust the hem, her fingers skilled and gentle. She looked up at her daughter's reflection in the full-length mirror. đ°
"It fits you perfectly, like it was made just for you," her mother said, her voice warm with pride. But then her smile faltered. In the mirror, she didn't see the radiant joy she expected. She saw a beautiful, but eerily still, statue. Anisa's eyes were distant, focused on some unseen point far beyond the glass.
"Anisa?" her mother's voice softened with concern. "My darling, what is it? You look... you look like you're somewhere else. Is it just nerves?" đ§
Anisa blinked, the spell broken. She forced a small smile onto her lips. "It's nothing, mom. Just tired from the trip. And... everything." Her voice trailed off, the unspoken everything hanging heavily in the air between them.
Her mother stood up, placing her hands on Anisa's shoulders, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "You can tell me anything, my love. Right up until the moment you walk down the aisle. You know that, don't you?" đ
Anisa's lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly. She opened her mouth, a confession about rough kisses, possessive grips, and a deep, chilling doubt poised on her tongue. But the sound of laughter and Hasan's confident voice drifted in from the courtyard outside.
The moment passed. She closed her mouth and nodded, the silence a cage she couldn't yet break out of. "I know, mom. Thank you." đ
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On the road, Yugh and Asifa were finally moving again, the repaired tires humming on the asphalt. Their relief was short-lived. A few miles from the Manalo residence, they hit an unexpected snag, a local parade or a small festival was winding through the streets, blocking the main route with colorful floats and crowds.
"Not again," Yugh muttered, hitting the steering wheel in frustration. He quickly pulled out his phone to check for alternate routes, but the digital map showed a web of congested streets around them. Their direct path was cut off. They were forced to take a series of smaller, unfamiliar back roads, each turn adding precious minutes to their delay. The clock was ticking mercilessly, the distance to the house now measured not just in miles, but in agonizing, crawling increments of time, while the wedding preparations at their destination continued unabated. đ