Wedding Morning Light and Whispers
Morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the hotel's high-floor suites, filtering through a sheer curtain and casting soft, pale golden dappled patterns on the plush carpeted floor. The air was filled with the delicate fragrance of newly arranged lilies and roses, the subtle, complex sweetness of high-end cosmetics, and a faint, almost imperceptible scent of fresh textiles.
Feng Ya sat ramrod straight in front of the large dressing table, like a marble statue about to be meticulously sculpted. Her face, reflected in the mirror, still carried a hint of morning languor, but her eyes were bright. A professional makeup artist stood behind her, her movements gentle and skillful, first patting toner and serum onto her face, then beginning to apply foundation. The cool touch of the foundation brush against her skin carried an undeniable professional rhythm. Another hairstylist stood beside her, sectioning her smooth black hair, securing it with hairpins, preparing to style it into an updo.
The room was quiet, save for the soft rustling of makeup brushes against skin, the gentle buzzing of curling irons, and the occasional hushed conversation: "Lower your head a little." "Fill up the light here a bit more." The bridesmaid— Chen Hao's lively and cheerful cousin, Xiaoyu —dressed in a light pink bridesmaid dress, moving gracefully around the room, handing out hair clips here and there, adjusting the angle of the curtains, humming a cheerful Wedding March tune.
Feng Ya quietly looked at herself in the mirror, watching her eyebrows and eyes gradually become more defined and sculpted, her cheeks tinged with a soft blush, and her lips meticulously drawn with a lip brush to achieve a perfect curve. She was beautiful. This was the most important day of her life, and she wanted to appear at her most beautiful.
But in a certain corner of my heart, there was an emptiness, a draft.
Her mother had passed away, and there were no female elders around to watch her with expressions of relief and nagging, patting her hair and saying things like, "My daughter looks so beautiful today." There were no sisters or close friends around, chattering about the makeup details, sharing their excitement and nervousness. Only the professional and polite staff, and her future sister-in-law, who was warm but ultimately distant.
She tried her best to concentrate and cooperate with every instruction from the makeup artist and hairstylist. When the last strand of hair was cleverly fixed at the back of her head and adorned with sparkling rhinestone hair accessories; when the makeup artist lightly sprayed setting spray in front of her, the fine mist carrying a faint fragrance fell down, announcing the completion of the makeup, Feng Ya looked at the familiar yet unfamiliar, almost unrealistically beautiful self in the mirror, but she did not feel the excitement and joy she had expected.
"The bride is so beautiful!" Xiaoyu came over and exclaimed sincerely, taking out her phone to take a picture.
Feng Ya smiled at her, a polite smile that didn't reach her eyes. She stood up and, with the help of two assistants, carefully put on the pure white wedding dress that held the dreams of countless young girls. Layers of tulle flowed like clouds, delicate lace wrapped around her arms and waist, and the openwork design at the back outlined her beautiful back. It was heavy, but also exceptionally solemn.
She walked to the full-length mirror, gazing at her reflection—a princess in pristine white. The wedding dress fit her perfectly, accentuating her snow-white skin and slender figure. This should be the moment her dream came true. But why, because of this perfect attire, did the emptiness in her heart feel even more stark and cold?
The floor where the hotel banquet hall is located is already a festive and busy scene. The huge crystal chandelier illuminates the entire hall brightly, with champagne-colored curtains, white roses and baby's breath decorations, and the word "" can be seen everywhere Together with the couple's English initials, they created a romantic and warm atmosphere. Guests arrived one after another, and a small queue formed at the sign-in desk. In front of the reception desk, an uncle of Chen Hao was greeting the guests with a smile on his face, and skillfully registered the gift money.
Feng Ya, arm in arm with Chen Hao, appeared at the entrance of the banquet hall. A flawless, sweet smile graced her face as she nodded to each arriving guest, saying, "Thank you for coming." "The bride is so beautiful!" "Congratulations!" "The couple is such a perfect match!" A flood of blessings poured in. Relatives, colleagues, and friends of Chen Hao, as well as several of her own university classmates and former colleagues with whom she maintained good relationships, all came forward to offer their congratulations, creating a lively atmosphere.
Feng Ya responded gracefully, tightening her grip on Chen Hao's hand slightly, as if drawing strength from the warmth of the person beside her. Her gaze, however, kept drifting involuntarily, as if drawn by an invisible magnet, towards the area on the left side of the banquet hall—the reserved seating for the bride's family and friends.
Unlike the surrounding seats, which were full of people chatting and laughing, the long table, covered with the same exquisite tablecloth and adorned with the same vibrant bouquets and name cards, was now completely empty. The carefully prepared name tags stood there forlornly, pointing to a void. The chairs were arranged neatly, cold and silent. That glaring emptiness, in the bustling banquet hall, was like a huge, silent flaw, an undeniable wound.
She could feel it. Those gazes, after briefly falling on her and offering blessings, would always inadvertently sweep over that area before quickly withdrawing, accompanied by lowered conversations and more subtle scrutiny. There might be concern, curiosity, sympathy, or even a barely perceptible contempt or inquiry in those gazes, but in any case, they were like tiny thorns, pricking at the calm facade she was trying so hard to maintain.
"Have all your family members come? Which side are they sitting on?" A distant cousin of Chen Hao asked warmly, taking her hand, her gaze already glancing towards the side of her family's table.
Feng Ya's smile froze for a fraction of a second, then blossomed into an even brighter one. Her voice was soft, yet tinged with barely perceptible tension. "They... live quite far away, so it's not very convenient for them. Thank you for your concern, Auntie." She glossed over the question.
My aunt seemed to sense something, her eyes flickered, and she patted the back of her hand. "Oh, it's nothing, it's nothing, as long as you two are doing well!" Then she quickly changed the subject.
Similar situations occurred more than once. Each time, Feng Ya felt her heart being clenched by an invisible hand, then she forced herself to loosen it, force a smile, and get through it. Chen Hao held her hand tightly, his palm warm, and occasionally gently stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, silently conveying support and comfort. He also skillfully deflected some overly direct questions for her.
"Are you tired? Do you want to go to the lounge to sit for a while?" Chen Hao asked in a low voice in her ear during a break, his eyes full of heartache.
Feng Ya shook her head, her smile weak but firm, "It's okay, I can manage." She told herself she couldn't lose her composure, couldn't bring shame to her father, and couldn't embarrass Chen Hao and his family. Her father had done what he believed was right, and she couldn't let the world's opinions and her relatives' indifference make her feel ashamed. But reason is one thing, emotion is another. Surrounded by the lively atmosphere of clinking glasses and couples with their families, the loneliness and grievance of being completely abandoned by blood ties surged like a tide, almost overwhelming her.
She looked again at the entrance, at the archway decorated with flowers and balloons. Deep within her heart, in a corner she herself hadn't fully realized, perhaps still lingered a faint, unrealistic hope. A hope that the door would be pushed open again, a hope that even just one person, someone with even the slightest connection to her father, would appear. It didn't need to be grand or illustrious; just their appearance would prove that her father wasn't entirely alone in this world, not completely forgotten and abandoned by everyone.
This proves that she is not truly alone, standing here.
The emcee's voice, testing the sound, came from the stage in front, announcing that the ceremony was about to begin.
Feng Ya withdrew her gaze, took a deep breath, and straightened her back. The beautiful bride in the mirror regained her firmness, though beneath that firmness lay a desolation unseen by anyone.
She tightened her grip on Chen Hao's arm.
What's meant to come will come.
She has to face what she has to face herself.