The wedding had ended and the hustle and bustle was mostly over. The couple sat quietly by the window, watching the snaking river outside the window, as it carried wild ducks and dry vegetation downstream. A few dark clouds in the distance couldn’t prevent strong sunshine warming up the grounds and the room they were in. In the hallway and dining area, laughter mingling with voices indicated that the guests, mostly family, were setting the table and probably had started with drinks.
The bride’s face was lit by the brightness at the window and she looked calm. Her long-sleeved dress hid the scars of the cuts she’d suffered, on the inside of both her arms. It reminded her of the places she’d been to before arriving here: The nightmare eleven months overseas. The baby. The embassy. What it took to get through to the right people eventually. Returning to your own country is supposed to be easy and the natural thing to do, but that wasn’t her experience. She pulled the sleeves of her dress forward, grateful to be seated there that afternoon.
He took off his glasses and wiped them with his handkerchief. It was a specially monogrammed gift he’d received from his mother for the wedding. He squinted, allowing his face to feel the warm layers of sunlight in the silence. Behind him, outside, he could hear the voice of his uncle, as clear and eloquent as ever, making an impromptu speech. She was next to him, their thighs were touching, he could smell her perfume. A Moroccan scent from Body Shop. He’d forgotten the exact name, but it was exotic.
The funny thing, the thing he felt grateful for, was that his heart was beating normally. He didn’t feel any anxiety. Unlike what he’d experienced five years earlier, when an allergic reaction to his medication had triggered off panic attacks. Unable to leave home, wondering if he’d lose his job if he remained afraid to drive or visit clients. For many months, he’d gone to work in fear, afraid panic attacks would take place anytime. Which they did. Eventually, things improved. The internet had helped. He found advice, certain blogs. Faith helped. But there had been no shortcuts. He just couldn’t believe that he was sitting here today. To be actually present at his own wedding when he didn’t even have the courage to step out of his house for some time.
A hand pressed against his. He turned to look at her and realized they’d both been silent for a long time, lost in their own musings. She wore a look that said that she was with him even if she didn’t understand or know his whole story. He put his glasses back on and gave her a look that he sincerely hoped would convey the same intention. The sound of the door opening was followed by voluminous noise flooding in from the hall outside.
‘Bride and Groom, come on! We’re all waiting for you at the table.’
photo from Unsplash.com by Suhel Nadaf