Rehearsal Dinner
The first thing Rai noticed was the music.
Not the melody–those were always designed to be harmless, to sit politely under conversation like a well-trained pet. It was the volume. Just loud enough to blur silences, just soft enough to make laughter sound intimate.
Wedding spaces knew how to do that. They didn’t leave room for awkwardness. They wrapped it in string lights and wine and good intentions.
Rai stepped through the function room doors with his jacket folded over his arm and the kind of steady face people mistook for comfort.
Warm light spilled over pale florals and cream tablecloths. The place smelled of polished wood, citrusy candles, and the first wave of food being plated somewhere behind the partition. Guests hovered in small clusters–friends from university, colleagues from work, older relatives with clipped hairstyles and bright jewelry that clicked when they gestured.
He scanned the room the way his mind always did now: exits, corners, spaces where he could stand without being pinned.
Then he saw Table 8.
A round table near the middle–close enough to be “in the fun,” far enough that nobody would notice if he slipped out early. Place cards rested against water glasses like small verdicts.
And there–hers.
Nadia Lim.
His own card sat right beside it.
Like a joke.
Like a dare.
Rai’s fingers tightened around the fabric of his jacket.
He hadn’t worn this blazer in a while. He’d ironed it tonight with more focus than necessary, as if a sharp crease could keep his mind sharp too. He’d shaved, trimmed his hair, checked his watch twice. He told himself it was respect for Brennan.
But his body knew the truth.
He wanted to look like someone Nadia couldn’t read anymore.
He wanted to look like a man who had moved on.
He wasn’t.
He exhaled through his nose and walked toward the bar to collect a glass of water–something to anchor his hands.
People called out his name.
“Rai! Wah long time!”
He turned, smiled, accepted the claps on his shoulder.
“Bro, you still same leh.”
“Same what,” Rai replied lightly.
“Same quiet. Still got that ‘I’m fine’ face.”
Rai let the comment pass. He always did.
While they talked–work, traffic, the usual harmless catch-up–his peripheral vision stayed trained on the entrance.
He didn’t have to wait long.
Nadia walked in with a group of girls, and the room seemed to tilt around her in the smallest, cruelest way.
Not because she was loud.
Because she wasn’t.
She moved with that controlled grace she’d always had, the kind that made people instinctively make space without knowing why. Her hair was curled softly now, falling over one shoulder. Her blouse was simple but fitted, her skirt neat, her heels quiet against the carpet.
She smiled at someone, and for a moment Rai saw the Nadia he remembered–the one who could warm a room without trying.
Then her eyes flicked across the space and landed on him.
He felt it like a hand closing around his ribs.
Nadia’s expression stayed composed, but her smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
Only Rai would have noticed.
Only Rai would have remembered how she used to blink faster when she was nervous.
She looked away quickly, then turned back to her friends, answering something with a laugh that sounded slightly forced.
Rai’s throat went dry.
He reminded himself to breathe.
A waiter passed with a tray of champagne flutes. Rai reached for one out of reflex–then stopped.
Alcohol was a bad idea.
Not tonight.
Not when the room was already spinning in his head.
He took his water and moved toward Table 8 before his courage could decay.
The table was half-filled already.
There was Kelvin–still loud, still expressive, the kind who made friends in five minutes.
There was Sherlyn–now married, wearing a soft pink dress and an engagement ring that caught the light each time she moved her hands.
There was Jun–quiet like Rai, but quieter in a different way; Jun looked like someone who had chosen silence rather than been born into it.
“Eh, Rai!” Kelvin called, rising halfway from his chair. “Wah you actually come. I thought you disappear already.”
Rai smiled and set his water down. “Brennan confirm will hunt me down.”
“Correct,” Sherlyn chimed in. “He said if you don’t show up, he will personally come your house and drag you.”
Jun nodded once. “He would.”
Kelvin leaned in, grinning. “So… are you good? Like… you okay? You know…”
His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the entrance.
Rai’s stomach tightened.
He kept his tone light. “I’m okay. It’s Brennan’s wedding. That’s the focus.”
“Wah steady,” Kelvin said, impressed for reasons Rai didn’t want.
Sherlyn shot Kelvin a look. “Don’t be stupid. People can be adults.”
Kelvin raised his hands. “Okay lah, okay. I just… curious. Last time you two…”
“Kelvin,” Sherlyn warned again.
Rai offered a small smile to soften it. “It’s fine. We’re adults.”
The word adults tasted strange.
Adults didn’t hold onto things this long.
Adults didn’t carry the same person in their chest like a weight they never learned to set down.
He took his seat.
The chair beside his remained empty.
Nadia’s.
Rai forced himself not to stare at it.
But his mind did anyway.
It wasn’t just an empty chair.
It was the seat she used to steal at a kopitiam, sliding in beside him even when there was space elsewhere because she said she liked feeling his shoulder against hers.
It was the seat in his old apartment where she used to sit cross-legged on the counter, watching him wash dishes like it was something romantic.
It was the seat she left empty the day she walked out.
Rai swallowed.
He picked up his water, took a slow sip, and tried to anchor himself in the present.
The room buzzed with voices and clinking cutlery.
At the front, Brennan’s friends were setting up a microphone for a small speech rehearsal. The bride’s side gathered around a different table, laughter rising as someone showed a video on their phone.
Rai told himself it was just noise.
Just a room.
Just a night.
Then Nadia reached their table.
She paused for a beat when she saw the place cards.
Rai watched her fingers hover slightly over her own name as if touching it would confirm reality.
“Hey,” Kelvin said brightly, standing up. “Nadia! Wah, you look damn good.”
Nadia smiled politely. “Hi, Kelvin.”
Her gaze flicked to Sherlyn. “Hi. You look amazing.”
Sherlyn stood, hugged her. “Miss you, girl. Come sit.”
Nadia moved around the table, greeting Jun with a gentle smile.
Then she reached the chair beside Rai.
The air between them felt… thin.
Nadia’s hand brushed the back of the chair. She lowered herself carefully, as if she was choosing each movement instead of letting habit take over.
Rai didn’t look at her immediately.
He looked at the table.
At the centerpiece–a low arrangement of pale flowers and eucalyptus, understated, elegant.
At the water glass.
At the cutlery aligned perfectly.
Anything but the fact that Nadia was sitting beside him.
Then he realized: if he didn’t look at her now, he’d look like a coward.
He turned.
Nadia’s face was closer than he expected.
Her makeup was subtle. Her eyes were steady.
Yet there was tension in her mouth, a slight tightness as if she was holding herself in place.
“Hi,” Rai said quietly.
Nadia nodded once. “Hi.”
Two people. Two greetings. A history too heavy for a single syllable.
Kelvin, sensing the pressure, clapped his hands loudly. “Okay okay, we all here! Tonight eat good, drink good. Tomorrow wedding already, no stress!”
Sherlyn rolled her eyes. “You make it sound like national day.”
Kelvin grinned. “Wedding is like national day what. Everyone dress nice, eat buffet, clap hands.”
Laughter rippled around the table.
Rai let it wash over him.
Nadia reached for her water.
Her hand trembled slightly.
Only slightly.
But Rai saw it.
His gaze dropped to her fingers, to the nails neatly done, to the skin he used to hold.
He forced his eyes away.
Don’t.
Don’t go there.
A waiter approached with menus and asked about drinks.
Kelvin ordered beer.
Sherlyn ordered wine.
Jun asked for sparkling water.
The waiter turned to Rai.
Rai said, “Water is fine.”
Then the waiter turned to Nadia.
She hesitated.
“Wine,” she said finally.
Rai’s jaw tightened before he could stop it.
He didn’t know why the choice bothered him.
Because Nadia rarely drank.
Because the last time she drank too much had been their graduation party–she’d laughed too hard, leaned into him, whispered, Don’t leave me behind when we start work okay?
Rai had promised, Never.
Promises were easy when you didn’t understand how life could erode them.
When the waiter left, Kelvin leaned back in his chair, satisfied. “Wah, this table got vibe already. Like old times.”
Old times.
There it was again.
Like a needle.
Nadia’s smile tightened. “Old times was cheaper food,” she said lightly.
Kelvin laughed. “True lah. Last time we eat at Koufu, now we eat at resort. Upgrade.”
Sherlyn reached across the table to squeeze Nadia’s hand. “So how are you? Work okay?”
Nadia nodded. “Okay. Busy. You know how it is.”
Rai listened.
Her voice was the same, but the rhythm had changed slightly. Less softness at the edges. More control.
As if she had learned to speak without offering too much.
Like him.
The irony tasted bitter.
Jun asked, “Still in marketing?”
Nadia nodded. “Yes. Still.”
Kelvin grinned. “Wah, marketing girl. Can help me promote my side hustle or not.”
Nadia laughed. “What side hustle?”
Kelvin launched into a story about selling gym supplements and how his friend’s friend claimed it could improve everything including luck. Sherlyn groaned. Jun looked mildly amused.
Rai listened half-heartedly.
His mind kept drifting.
To Nadia’s shoulder.
To the faint scent that rose from her skin when she moved–something light, floral.
Not the old perfume.
A new one.
A sign.
He wasn’t supposed to notice.
But he did.
Because he had never stopped paying attention.
The wine arrived.
Nadia’s glass caught the warm light.
She took a slow sip as Kelvin talked, as Sherlyn teased, as the table filled with the kind of normal conversation that made it seem as if nothing had happened.
Rai felt like he was watching a play.
He smiled at the right moments.
He nodded.
He made small comments.
All the while, his body stayed hyper-aware of the fact that Nadia’s elbow was inches from his.
That if she moved too fast, their arms would touch.
That if she laughed too hard, he might hear the old Nadia slip through.
He didn’t trust himself with that.
At the front of the room, Brennan climbed onto a small stage to test the microphone.
“Hello hello,” Brennan said, voice booming slightly. “Testing, testing. Wah, sound system good ah.”
The room laughed.
Brennan grinned. “Okay, thanks for coming tonight. I know some of you need travel far, some of you got work tomorrow, but please–just enjoy. Tomorrow big day already. Tonight is rehearsal dinner, so if I say anything wrong, you all pretend never hear okay?”
More laughter.
Rai watched Brennan with a mix of affection and envy.
Brennan looked happy.
Not forced happy.
Not careful happy.
Just… happy.
He wondered, briefly, what it felt like to stand in front of a room and believe you deserved that kind of joy.
Brennan’s gaze swept across the tables.
When it landed on Table 8, his grin widened.
“Wah! My NTU gang!” he called. “Table 8, best table. Most drama.”
Kelvin hooted.
Sherlyn buried her face in her hands.
Nadia smiled politely.
Rai felt his stomach tighten.
Most drama.
Brennan continued, “Okay lah, I won’t call out too much. Later people say I like stir. But ah, thank you for coming. Seriously.”
His voice softened, genuine.
Then he launched into a short speech about friendship, about time, about how life moved fast and you only realized it when you looked back.
Rai listened.
He knew Brennan wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.
But some words landed like knives anyway.
Look back.
Hold on.
Don’t take people for granted.
Rai’s throat tightened.
He stole a glance at Nadia.
She was looking down at her plate, expression composed.
But her fingers were tight around her wine glass.
Rai looked away.
Food arrived.
Plates of roasted chicken, grilled fish, pasta, vegetables arranged too neatly. The smell of rosemary and butter filled the air.
Kelvin took photos immediately.
“Wah, Instagram worthy,” he declared.
Nadia laughed softly, genuinely this time. “You still do that?”
“Of course,” Kelvin said, offended. “I am influencer now.”
Sherlyn snorted. “Influence who? Your mum?”
Kelvin clutched his chest. “Eh, my mum is my number one supporter okay.”
Jun murmured, “That’s sweet.”
The table relaxed.
Rai felt it too, the small release.
For a few minutes, conversation flowed without the sharp edge of history.
They talked about old professors.
About the badminton class they all hated.
About late-night suppers at Hall 11.
Nadia joined in, her eyes brightening slightly as she remembered.
Rai watched her and felt a quiet ache.
This was the Nadia he missed.
Not the version he sometimes invented in his loneliness.
The real one.
The one who could laugh and complain and tease Kelvin without thinking.
She turned toward Rai suddenly.
“You still remember Professor Tan?” she asked.
Rai blinked.
He hadn’t expected her to address him directly.
Her eyes were on him, steady.
As if she was testing whether they could speak like normal people.
Rai’s chest tightened.
“Yeah,” he said. “The one who always call on people who look sleepy.”
Nadia’s lips curved slightly. “You were always sleepy.”
Kelvin laughed. “He always sleepy because he always work part-time! Steady lah, Rai. Last time I always jealous you so disciplined.”
Disciplined.
Rai felt the word settle heavily.
Nadia’s gaze lingered on him for a second.
Then she looked away, taking another sip of wine.
Rai’s fingers tightened around his fork.
He remembered the last time Nadia had called him disciplined.
It had been a compliment at first.
Later, it had been the problem.
You’re disciplined about everything, she had said once, voice tired. Except us.
Rai swallowed.
He forced his mind back to the conversation.
“Work still busy?” Nadia asked, quieter now.
Rai hesitated.
In front of the table, he could answer safely.
“Busy,” he said. “Same lah. Projects.”
Nadia nodded as if she understood.
She probably did.
She always had.
The wine made her cheeks slightly warmer. Her eyes looked softer.
Rai didn’t trust that softness.
It could be an accident.
Or it could be something else.
Kelvin leaned back, mouth full, and said loudly, “So you two… you all still talk or not?”
Sherlyn kicked his shin under the table.
Kelvin yelped. “Wah! Why you violence!”
Sherlyn glared. “Can you not.”
Kelvin rubbed his leg, offended. “I just ask mah. We all friends right? Friends can ask.”
The table went quiet for a beat.
Rai felt every nerve in his body flare.
He didn’t look at Nadia.
He couldn’t.
Then Nadia spoke first, voice controlled, calm.
“We don’t really,” she said. “It’s fine.”
It’s fine.
Two words that meant nothing and everything.
Rai’s jaw tightened.
Kelvin, sensing the danger, tried to laugh it off. “Okay lah okay lah, don’t so serious. I just… you know, last time you two like power couple. Everybody thought confirm marry.”
Sherlyn’s face tightened.
Jun stared down at his plate.
Nadia’s fingers curled around her fork.
Rai felt the room tilt.
Power couple.
Confirm marry.
Words that belonged to a future he once thought was possible.
Then Nadia spoke again, still calm.
“We were young,” she said. “People think a lot of things.”
Her voice didn’t shake.
But Rai heard what she didn’t say.
It didn’t happen.
It won’t happen.
Rai forced a small smile.
“Kelvin, eat your food,” he said lightly.
Kelvin lifted both hands. “Okay okay, sorry sorry. I stupid.”
Sherlyn sighed and changed the topic quickly, asking Nadia about her family, about her siblings, about travel.
Nadia answered with the smoothness of someone who had learned how to redirect.
Rai listened, but his mind had already sunk into the quiet dark.
Young.
People think a lot of things.
Rai’s fingers tightened until his knuckles whitened.
He took a sip of water.
Cool.
Grounding.
He needed to hold onto something real.
Across the table, Sherlyn laughed at something Kelvin said.
Jun smiled faintly.
The conversation moved on.
But the air between Rai and Nadia remained tense, charged.
He felt Nadia shift slightly in her chair.
Her knee brushed his under the table.
A small accidental touch.
Yet it felt like a spark.
Nadia froze.
Rai froze too.
For a fraction of a second, neither of them moved.
Then Nadia subtly adjusted her posture, pulling her leg back.
Rai forced himself to keep eating.
But his heart thudded too loud in his chest.
He remembered that knee.
He remembered how she used to tuck her feet under his thighs when they watched movies.
He remembered the warmth of her body pressed against him on lazy Sundays.
He remembered the way she’d look up at him and say, Can we just stay like this?
Stay.
Rai swallowed.
He had wanted to.
But wanting had not been enough.
After dinner, the room loosened.
People stood, mingled, moved toward the bar. Someone started a small game near the stage. Brennan’s laugh boomed through the space as he hugged relatives, as he accepted teasing from his groomsmen.
Table 8 dispersed slightly–Kelvin went to take more photos, Sherlyn went to find the bride, Jun slipped away to answer a call.
Rai stayed seated.
He didn’t trust himself in crowds right now.
He needed a moment.
Beside him, Nadia remained too.
Her wine glass was half-full.
She stared at it as if it held answers.
Rai’s heartbeat slowed slightly, then quickened again.
They were alone.
Not truly–people were everywhere.
But alone in the way that mattered: the space between them no longer buffered by friends.
Nadia cleared her throat softly.
“So,” she said, voice quiet. “How have you been?”
Rai didn’t answer immediately.
Because he could lie.
He could say okay.
He could be polite.
But something in him–something tired–didn’t want to pretend.
He stared at his water glass.
“Busy,” he said finally.
Nadia nodded, as if she expected that.
“Still doing projects?”
“Yeah.”
She hummed softly. “You always liked being useful.”
The sentence landed gently, but it carried a sting.
Rai’s jaw tightened.
He looked at her.
Nadia’s eyes were on him now, steady.
Not accusatory.
Just… honest.
As if she had decided, for this small moment, not to hide.
Rai’s throat moved.
“You’re doing well,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
It was an observation.
Nadia blinked. “How would you know?”
Rai held her gaze.
Because he had looked, once or twice, when loneliness got too sharp.
Because he had seen her profile picture change.
Because he had seen the glimpses of her life other people posted.
Because he had never completely stopped orbiting her from a distance.
He didn’t say any of that.
He just shrugged slightly. “You look… okay.”
Nadia’s mouth curved, almost amused.
“We keep using that word,” she murmured.
Rai didn’t smile.
He felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with his clothing.
Nadia took a small sip of wine.
Then she set the glass down carefully.
“Rai,” she said.
Just his name.
No exclamation mark.
No laughter.
And something in him tightened.
He waited.
Nadia’s fingers rested on the tablecloth. “I didn’t expect…”
She stopped.
Her eyes flicked away briefly, then returned.
“I didn’t expect it to feel like this,” she admitted.
Rai’s chest tightened.
Feel like what?
Like regret?
Like pain?
Like the past hadn’t died properly?
His mind scrambled for a safe reply.
But safe replies had been the reason she left.
He remembered that too clearly.
So he said the only true thing he could manage.
“Me neither.”
Nadia’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as if honesty–however small–made it easier to breathe.
Around them, laughter rose and fell.
The music shifted to a different song.
A familiar chord progression.
Rai’s body stiffened.
He recognized it instantly.
Not because it was special.
Because it was theirs.
A song from years ago, something they used to play in his car during late-night drives, Nadia singing softly under her breath while Rai pretended not to listen too closely.
Now it played in this room, casual and unaware.
Nadia’s eyes widened slightly.
She had recognized it too.
Their gazes met.
The song continued.
The singer’s voice was soft, nostalgic.
Rai felt his throat tighten.
He could almost taste the memory–cheap takeout, car air-conditioning too cold, Nadia’s hand resting on his thigh like it belonged there.
Nadia’s fingers curled slightly on the table.
Rai watched her try to keep her face composed.
He saw the tension in her jaw.
The way her eyes glistened just a fraction.
It was so small.
But it was there.
Rai’s chest ached.
He didn’t know what to do with this.
He had no script.
He had no practiced line.
He only had the truth.
And the truth was dangerous.
So he did the simplest thing.
He reached for his water pitcher and poured Nadia a fresh glass of water.
He slid it toward her.
A small gesture.
Not intimate.
Not dramatic.
Just… care.
Nadia stared at it for a second.
Then she looked up at him.
Something softened in her eyes.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
Rai nodded once.
His heart thudded.
The song ended.
The room kept moving.
But the space between them felt altered.
Not fixed.
Not healed.
Just… acknowledged.
Nadia took a sip of water.
Then, quietly, she asked, “Are you seeing anyone?”
Rai’s breath caught.
The question was casual in wording.
But it wasn’t casual in weight.
He shook his head once.
“No.”
Nadia’s eyes flickered.
Relief?
Or guilt?
He couldn’t tell.
“What about you?” he asked, voice low.
Nadia hesitated.
Just for a beat.
Then she shook her head too.
“No,” she said.
Rai felt something in his chest loosen, dangerously.
Hope.
A stupid, quiet thing.
He swallowed hard.
Before he could say anything else, Brennan appeared beside their table like a cheerful storm.
“Eh! You two sitting here so serious for what,” Brennan said, grinning. “Come, come. Help me rehearse the speech.”
Rai’s stomach tightened.
Brennan leaned in, lowering his voice slightly. “Bro, you know I want to do that part about NTU days. You were there. You can tell me if I too cringe.”
Rai forced a smile. “You always cringe.”
Brennan laughed loudly. “Exactly! That’s why need you. Come lah.”
He tugged Rai’s arm lightly, then glanced at Nadia. “Nadia, you also come. You all both know me the longest. If I say something wrong, you all whack me.”
Nadia smiled politely. “Okay.”
Okay.
Again.
They stood.
Rai followed Brennan toward the stage area, Nadia walking slightly behind.
As they moved through the crowd, people greeted them.
Someone called Nadia’s name.
Someone clapped Rai’s shoulder.
And yet, Rai could feel Nadia’s presence behind him like a steady heat.
Not touching.
But close.
Close enough that his body remembered what it meant to walk beside her.
At the stage, Brennan handed Rai a phone with his speech notes open.
“Okay okay,” Brennan said, clearing his throat dramatically. “You all listen ah. This is the part where I become emotional.”
Rai glanced at the notes.
They were full of Brennan’s messy humor and sincerity.
There was a paragraph about friendship.
About how people drift.
About how some seats stay empty until someone comes back.
Rai’s throat tightened.
He looked up.
Nadia stood a few steps away, arms loosely folded, watching Brennan with an amused expression.
But when her eyes met Rai’s again, her smile faded slightly.
As if she had read the same line.
As if she knew why it hurt.
Brennan began rehearsing, voice a mix of jokes and heartfelt honesty.
People laughed.
People clapped.
Someone shouted encouragement.
Rai stood there, watching, feeling strangely detached.
Because somewhere in the middle of Brennan’s speech–between the laughter and the applause–Rai realized something that settled in his bones like cold.
Nadia had said she wasn’t seeing anyone.
But that didn’t mean she wanted him.
It didn’t erase the reasons she left.
It didn’t undo the fact that the last time they tried, they broke.
Second chances weren’t promised.
Sometimes all you got was the chance to sit beside someone again and realize you were still the one carrying the weight.
The rehearsal ended.
Brennan bowed dramatically. “Okay, rate me. Ten out of ten right.”
Kelvin shouted from somewhere, “Seven only! Too long!”
Brennan yelled back, “Shut up lah!”
Laughter rose again.
Rai forced a smile.
Then Brennan leaned close to him, voice low enough that only Rai could hear.
“Bro,” Brennan said, softer now. “Thanks for coming. Really.”
Rai nodded.
Brennan’s eyes flicked to Nadia, then back.
He didn’t say anything else.
But the look was full of old knowledge.
Rai felt his chest tighten.
Brennan had always known.
Everyone had known.
But no one had known what it felt like to be the one left behind.
Rai stepped away from the stage, needing air.
He moved toward the hallway outside the function room.
The corridor was quieter, cooler.
The carpet muffled sound.
He leaned against the wall for a moment, eyes closed.
He heard footsteps.
Soft.
Measured.
When he opened his eyes, Nadia was there.
She stood a few feet away, as if she didn’t want to corner him.
Her expression was calm, but her eyes were searching.
“Rai,” she said.
Again, just his name.
It felt like a hand reaching.
He swallowed. “Yeah?”
Nadia hesitated.
Then she said softly, “I’m sorry about Kelvin. He’s… Kelvin.”
Rai let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “It’s fine.”
But his voice sounded rougher than he wanted.
Nadia’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“It’s not fine,” she said quietly.
Rai froze.
The corridor felt suddenly too small.
Nadia took a small step closer.
Not too close.
Just enough that Rai could see the tension in her face.
“I didn’t mean for things to end the way they did,” she said.
Rai’s chest tightened.
The words were gentle.
But they opened a door.
A door Rai had spent three years holding shut.
He stared at her.
His mouth was dry.
He should say something adult.
Something composed.
Something that wouldn’t make this messy.
But the truth sat heavy on his tongue.
He had never moved on.
He had just learned how to live around the empty seat.
Rai forced his voice steady.
“Neither did I,” he said.
Nadia’s eyes flickered.
The air between them went quiet.
No music here.
No laughter to cover it.
Just them.
And the past, waiting.
Nadia’s throat moved.
She looked like she wanted to say more.
Then a group of guests spilled into the corridor, laughing loudly as they searched for the restroom.
The moment snapped.
Nadia stepped back automatically.
Rai straightened.
They became strangers again, polite and composed.
When the guests passed, Nadia looked at Rai with something like frustration.
“Tomorrow will be busy,” she said softly, almost as if she needed an excuse to leave.
Rai nodded once.
“Yeah.”
Nadia’s eyes held his for a beat.
Then she turned and walked back toward the function room.
Rai watched her go.
He felt the ache rise again, familiar and relentless.
Because for a second in that corridor, she had almost apologized.
And for a second, he had almost told the truth.
But the world had interrupted, as it always did.
And Rai realized with a quiet dread:
Tomorrow–the wedding day–would not be kind.
It would put them in rooms full of love.
Full of vows.
Full of people asking them to smile.
And somewhere between all that celebration, Rai was going to have to sit beside Nadia again…
And decide what to do with the seat he had kept empty for her.