May 31

Last year

I think I lost the ability to breathe when my heart stopped beating. The sight before my eyes is still there no matter how many times I blink; the ceremony still goes on, its attendees blind to my presence. To them, I am only a stranger.

I can't help but thinking, Is that all I ever was?

Yoona hasn't seen me yet; her eyes are lowered behind her veil.

God, she's beautiful.

I look around at the church once again, this time with fresh eyes. Suddenly everything makes sense, and I know now why it looks so different. I notice the flowers at the end of the aisles, and I realise why everyone is dressed so impeccably. I recognise the song streaming from the pipes of the organ− Pachelbel's Canon.

I remember Yoona telling me once that she wanted a simple wedding.

In my mind, this is anything but simple. Simple to me is a handful of people, in a chapel tucked away in the countryside. It's being able to stand close to each other without being seen by so many eyes, and wearing something more comfortable than waist-cinching dresses and tuxedos that are tight around the shoulders. Something like that.

I wonder if she's happy, and realise for the first time that my chest feels tight, like someone's bunched their fist up in there, leaving no room for my heart.

My gaze swivels round to the front of the church, and I see the groom standing near the altar, his line of men beside him. I can see his features clearly from here: straight nose, dark eyes, dark hair, bee-stung lips and tanned skin.

Faint recognition registers in my mind; I remember seeing him in some article. I don't remember his name, but I know that he's rich, and young, too.

He's nothing like me.

Oxygen seems to be escaping my grasp no matter how many shallow breaths I take, and finally, I stumble out of the back row and over to the door lining the side of the church; the one that leads to the cemetery.

I know that I can't be here any longer. Not only because I'm not a guest, but also because I don't think I can handle watching her get married. I know I won't be able to sit there, knowing that all I can do is hope that she's happy. Because I really don't know if she is or not.

I cast one more glance at her before I go. She's standing at the entrance of the church now and everyone  is staring at her.

Yoona is the epitome of beauty itself, and in that moment, I realise that all this time, it's a sight I've wanted to see− her in a wedding dress, clutching a bouquet with trembling hands.

Except the wrong person is standing at the altar and her hands are shaking for the wrong reasons.

I've been in here for too long. Suddenly it feels like it's 40 degrees when it's probably not even half that.

With a heavy heart and equally heavy feet, I walk out of the church.

I don't know if she'd seen me. But does it matter?

The moment I step out of the church, the tears start falling. I don't even realise that I'm crying at first, because the tightness in my chest is overwhelming now, restricting my breathing to shuddering gasps.

I find myself in front of my mother's grave. Some distant part of me wishes that Sehun had been buried here, too, because he had always been better than Mom at dealing with things like these.

It would be even better if he was still here with me. Maybe this unfamiliar pain in my chest would hurt a little less. Maybe Sehun could tell me what the pain means. Maybe Sehun could be the one person in my life who doesn't leave.

But I know by now that the world doesn't run on maybe's.

The rain has risen out of a drizzle now and is soaking my hair and clothes to the bone, but I barely notice. My eyes sting as I blink back moisture; whether it's the rain or my tears, I don't know.

"She's getting married, Mom." I let out a little laugh, but there's no humour in it and it comes out more like a pathetic gurgle. I realise then that it's not a laugh, but a choked sob.

"I don't know why I didn't see it before. But everything makes sense now. That day she wore gloves... I think she was trying to hide her engagement ring." I don't know whether I'm talking more to my mother or myself, but I continue anyway. "And that day that she was meeting her family for lunch. I bet he was there, too."

Sobs are shaking my shoulders uncontrollably. "Why didn't I see it? Why−" I break off, hiccupping, but the sentence finishes itself in my mind. Why can't it be me at the altar?

And why didn't she tell me?

Why did I have to fall in love with her?

This time, the maybe's are replaced with why's, and I find that I'm just as incapable of answering those, too.

I don't know how long I stay there, kneeling in front of my mother's grave as if it's Yoona's dead body. It feels like seconds, but it's probably closer to hours, by the time I hear applause coming from the church.

My stomach drops. So it happened.

She's married now.

She isn't Im Yoona anymore.

I turn, eyes swivelling towards the church entrance. The rain somewhat obscures my vision, and it takes a few seconds for me to be able to see through it clearly, the way someone had once taught me to.

That same someone is now walking out of the church under the shield of umbrellas.

I think about how she must hate it, how she probably wants to break free and run through the rain in her wedding dress, feel the droplets fall on her face and soak her hair.  

But as I watch, she does nothing of the sort, and stays close to her new husband's side, clutching onto his arm. It's hard to tell from here, but I don't think I see her smiling.

A sleek car pulls up in front of the church entrance, decorated with white silk ribbons. The driver steps out and opens the back door for her.

I watch as she starts moving towards the open door, but before she takes another step, she turns her head slightly− very slightly−in my direction.

I catch a glimpse of her doe-like eyes, and I remember my first thought upon seeing her for the first time. She's like a doe.

My chest gets tighter.

I could have sworn that she had known where I was and looked directly at me.

But I can't be sure, though, because after I blink, all I see is the white lace of her back disappearing into the car in a cloud of tulle and silk.

I'm left speechless and paralysed as the car starts driving off, cheered on by the attendees, who are all shrouded under umbrellas.

I close my eyes, and behind my lids, I replay the scene of Yoona walking out of the church, the train of her dress trailing down the marble stairs. When I open my eyes again, the very stairs that she had stood on a moment ago are empty, save for the guests of the wedding.

I can still see the car disappearing in the distance, and I swear the silhouette of her face is visible from here.

She's still not too far away, I acknowledge distantly. Still in reach. Physically.

I know I should be running after her or something, but only one thought crosses my mind as I watch the car getting smaller and smaller.

I wonder if he likes the rain.

***

Present.

It isn't long before I turn the TV on again. The screen lights up with the last channel I had flicked to, and I don't know whether I'm relieved or devastated to see that the segment I had shut off is still there.

Her face smiles up at me, one arm raised in a polite wave as cameras flash. It pains me to see that she's not really smiling; the cool, practiced curve of her lips is not the smile of the Im Yoona I know.

They're saying something about her celebrating her first marriage anniversary− the one that was arranged by her father, the CEO of the once bankrupt company, Im Vortex Corporations.

By now, I already know the details. Their wedding (the televised one that I didn't attend) had been quite the talk of the media, and I know about him now.

His name is Kim Jongin. Once— it feels like a long time ago, though it's only been a year— his name had slipped my memory, but I know I'll never forget it now.

He's the heir of some obscenely rich company−I don't care to remember its name right now−, and looks every bit the part, with his refined features and ridiculously straight back. He's also younger than her (and me), something that bothers me more than I'm willing to admit.

Right now, he's standing by her side, flashing a smile, and has her hanging off his arm like a corsage, for all the attention he pays her.

I force the thought away. Maybe he really does love her. Who couldn't love her?

I feel my chest tighten with the dulled pain of a long broken heart.

Well... I couldn't. 

***

A/N: *clutches heart* I seem to be making a habit out of torturing poor Luhan ;A;

Anyway, last year first in this chapter, as you can see. Just because. ;) 

Two more chapters :)