Forever, Again

Past: February 11, 2017

"Stop fidgeting," Tyler muttered, tightening the knot with a sharp tug. His voice carried a mix of exasperation and concern. Dylan's pale face reflected in the mirror, eyes wide and unfocused.

"I'm trying," Dylan replied, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, the crisp fabric of his white shirt rustling with the movement. He felt an overwhelming urge to vomit, his nerves a relentless tide crashing against the shores of his resolve.

Tyler, sensing the imminent disaster, grabbed an empty fruit basket from the dresser. It had been repurposed as an ashtray, the faint scent of tobacco mingling with the aroma of pine and old wood that permeated the cottage. He thrust it against Dylan's chest with a stern look. "Don't you dare puke on that suit. It cost eight hundred dollars to rent."

Dylan managed a weak nod, clutching the basket like a lifeline. His mind was a whirlpool of doubts and fears, each thought pulling him deeper into a vortex of uncertainty. He worried incessantly about the ceremony, whether it would honor her Indian heritage adequately, whether the details had been right, whether she might change her mind at the last moment. The weight of the impending vows pressed heavily on his chest.

Tyler stepped back, examining his work with a critical eye. "You're overthinking it, Dylan. Everything's going to be fine." His voice was firm, a steadying anchor in the chaos of Dylan's thoughts. He gave Dylan a sharp jab in the side, a physical reminder to stay present.

Dylan winced, but the pain grounded him momentarily. "What if she hates it? What if she decides she doesn't want to go through with it?"

Tyler rolled his eyes, his patience wearing thin. Emma, sensing the rising tension, approached him. Her hand was warm as she placed it gently on his shoulder. "Dylan, breathe," she murmured, her voice soothing and steady. "It's beautiful. She'll love it."

Dylan exhaled slowly, the mist from his breath mingling with the frosty air. Normally, the presence of so many people would have made him uneasy, but today, surrounded by his closest friends, he felt an unexpected comfort. His chosen family, consisting of school and college friends, had gathered to support him on this momentous day. The absence of his biological family, though a persistent ache, was overshadowed by the warmth and camaraderie that enveloped him now. "Everything's on schedule, buddy," he said, clapping Dylan on the back. "The last guests have arrived, and the officiant is ready. All we need now are you and Aliya."

"The rings!" he exclaimed, frantically patting his pockets, the sound of his hands slapping against the fabric breaking the stillness.

At that precise moment, the door creaked open. Sheila entered the room, her timing impeccable as always. She held a small, velvety box in her hands. A knowing smile played on her lips as she approached Dylan.

"Looking for these?" she asked, holding the box out towards him.

Dylan managed a weak chuckle, the sound more a release of pent-up anxiety than genuine amusement. "Sheila, I don't know what I'd do without you."

Sheila winked at him. "Just doing my part to keep the groom sane," she teased. "And by the way, Aliya looks absolutely stunning in her white saree and mesh veil. I might be a little jealous—I had the biggest crush on you back in senior year, you know."

Dylan's laugh this time was more genuine, a deep, warm sound that filled the room. "Well, I guess I missed my chance," he joked, though his mind was already drifting back to thoughts of Aliya.

Tyler took the ring box from Dylan with a grin. "Don't worry, I've got it safe and sound," he said, slipping the box into his pocket.

Emma gave him an approving nod. "Good. Now, Dylan, take a deep breath. Everything is going to be perfect."