Why would she do it? Why couldn’t she think about him and what we would all go through? Did she want to hurt us, or herself?

It was 6 months before the big day; that every girl dreams about. Walking down the isle, standing besides the man she loves. Her flowing white dress sparkling from every angle, the cake centred in between it all. And the ring; the ring she would wake up to every morning to see. It would give her, her new identity.

She was a nice girl; pretty. Pale skin, cherry red lips. The first time I saw her, I thought she resembled the girl from ‘Twilight’. Weird, but nice. The day I first met her was exactly 9 months, 2 weeks and 3 days now. I remember quite well as the whole family were gathered together; that rarely happens unless it’s something special. I guess you could say this was something special. She was something special – in everyone’s eyes. She was quite talkative, easy to get along with. She began asking me questions, quite personal stuff. But I didn’t mind, she had certain warmth to her. I had a feeling we would get along, just fine. Her name was Bushra; it means survivor. But she didn’t try to be did she? Anyway, she was a perfect match for my cousin; he’s like a brother to me you see.

Eventually, days went by and each day I got closer to her. She was a friendly figure, someone I could talk to. Not problems in particular, but just general everyday things. Soon, the wedding date was set and everyone went about preparing for the big day; as most people call it. We were all given a colour to wear, mine was blue. A dark sea blue; the colour of the ocean that lures you in. My dress was tailored specifically to my liking, creating my unique look.

I went to sleep one night thinking ‘Tomorrow is just another day’. One day closer to the wedding. The excitement was immense. I could feel the ‘buzz’ every time someone mentioned ‘The Wedding’. But that morning destroyed it. Those words shattered everything. It was like someone had plunged a dagger into our family’s joy and happiness. When people say ‘It’s too good to be true’, they’re probably right. Nothing could be going so good for our family without [something happening]. Fate was always against us and luck was never on our side.

I woke up to the tear-jerking news that morning. The words rang through my ears like a thousand bells. The ‘King of Pop’ was dead; a worldwide tragedy. But that didn’t bother me, that didn’t make my heart ache - in so many ways I cannot even begin to explain.
“She’s in a deep coma, a critical state. No-one can tell if she’s going to make it” my mother told me slowly with a serious expression plastered all over her face.
A person’s initial reaction to news like that would normally be tears or asking a million and one questions, a rollercoaster of emotions. Mine wasn’t like that. In fact, I didn’t even have a reaction. I was blank, a blank wall; nothing could affect me. They probably thought I didn’t care about her, how were they to know it was the complete opposite?

Eventually, the news hit me; like a powerful blow to the stomach. My stomach turned at the thought of her laying there. No movement, no sound leaving her mouth; her glimmering eyes closed. In spite of all that, I wanted to go see her. No, I knew I had to. I felt it was my duty after we had become so close. A duty to my cousin and a duty to her; I had to fulfil it. Everyone kept coming up to me and asking if I was sure about seeing her in that state. I wasn’t fully sure myself, but I couldn’t let anyone know that. I kept my head up, gesturing my self-assurance and said “Yes I’m sure”.

Walking into the hospital was hard, let alone seeing her the way she was. I hated hospitals; it had always been that way. The smell, the torturing, lingering wait in the room, staring at the clock wishing there was a way to make the time move faster. Eventually, we were called into the ward. My heart skipped a beat as we entered the area where she was. It was so silent; all I could hear was the buzzing from all the electrical components surrounding her. I stared at her; she looked like a complete stranger. She had a white gown on; making me think of her wearing a beautiful wedding white dress. When will that chance come now? Or will it ever?
The experience of sitting there, watching everyone’s blank faces was tormenting. I was just waiting for her to jump out at me or open her eyes, or just something- anything.

On the journey back home, my mind was on one thing and one thing only; The Wedding. When the news was first revealed of the tragic event, everyone questioned him, accusing him. They all thought it was his fault, how could they? I won’t deny it, the thought did cross my mind too. Maybe they had some kind of argument, I kept thinking. After all, what couple doesn’t? They say that ‘love isn’t love without the misunderstandings as well as the laughter’ He kept on saying “No, I had nothing to do with it, How could you even think that?” I understood the hurt in his tone. He went to the police station and filed a statement explaining all of his actions when he found out what had happened.

The news spread like a virus; from one person to another. “Did you hear about the girl who jumped off London Bridge into River Thames?” I couldn’t tolerate it anymore! Would I really let her be known as ‘The girl who tried to commit suicide?’ After days of waiting, the phone finally rang and we were given the news that she had regained consciousness. A mere two months remained till the official wedding date, the excitement had returned. The week before the wedding was the most enjoyable; the fun and games, the entertainment. We all felt like a real family again, happily celebrating in unison.

The wedding day arrived. Friday 10th July, a day to be remembered for many great things. She came in a golden carriage, a white horse leading the way. A glimmering tiara placed on her head, the Asian Henna, known as ‘Mehndi’ drawn onto her hands. I remember thinking ‘Wow, I’ve never seen a more beautiful bridal entrance’. The groom, my cousin Rizwan marked his entrance by arriving in a glossy black Aston Martin DB9. The venue was Walthamstow Hall, renamed the ‘Waterfall Hall’ because of its centrepiece.