Two years and two months to the day. Half of which was spent in sheer hell. They didn’t agree on much, and they fought all the time, but they were crazy about each other. He hopes it will end the way he is planning, the ring, the three words, the lifetime together. When she’s asleep, he watches her. It’s mesmerizing. She smells like her own bottle of perfume, it’s just for him.

Planning their special day, cold feet start to set in. She distances herself to make sure she is doing the right thing. Will it last, can they last, how will she know? She can’t. “Take the plunge,” her father always used to say, “Because if you don’t, you’ll never know what you could’ve had.” She thought long and hard about his words, but he doesn’t know.

The day comes, she has to decide. For the moment, sitting on her bed in her wedding gown, she thinks if this is really what she wants. Too much thinking. He’s in his room, pacing back and forth, reiterating his vows with conviction. He is ready. She is unsure.

At the church later that day, he stands at the alter and waits for his love. Waits. He would be waiting for a while because she would be there late. Finally the news that she is there lifts the burden from him that seems to be weighing on his tux. His eyes tear up as the doors open and he sees her, but she has the look of disappointment, she looks perplexed, she looks at a loss for words. The tears fall from the perch upon his face. Happy or sad tears, though, he isn’t sure of…yet.