The house was alive with wedding energy.
Every corner hummed with some activity—decorators moving in and out, arms full of flowers; a band rehearsing in the courtyard, the dhol echoing with festive promise; laughter spilling from rooms where cousins teased Ann about her "last few days of freedom."
The fragrance of marigold and jasmine blended with the aroma of cardamom tea brewing in the kitchen. The long verandah was strung with fairy lights, not yet glowing but waiting for nightfall to scatter stars across the house.
Ann, though surrounded by movement, seemed to float in her own world. She moved quickly, efficiently, folding napkins, adjusting flower garlands, answering questions from the decorators. Her face wore a smile, but behind it, a tide of emotions churned restlessly—excitement, nervousness, a trembling hope.
"Ann, the mehendi decorations are perfect!" her mother exclaimed, tugging gently at her dupatta to adjust the pleats.
Ann looked at her mother's glowing face and nodded, forcing her lips into a brighter curve. "Yes, Ma. Everything looks beautiful… I can't wait."
Her words were true, yet the moment she said them, a small flutter of unease stirred inside her chest. A vague, shadowy feeling—like the hush before a storm. She shook it away. This was no time for doubts. In three days, she would become Dennis's wife. Three days until all her dreams—dreams they had whispered about beneath moonlit skies, over cups of coffee, through endless late-night phone calls—would finally come true.
The office day had dragged longer than usual, though Dennis barely noticed. He had been restless all morning, tapping his pen against the desk, replaying Ann's laughter in his mind. Numbers and reports blurred; all he could think of was her.
As he packed up, his heart was light, buoyed with anticipation. Just three days. He smiled at the thought. Three days until he would call her his wife—not fiancée, not sweetheart, but wife. Forever.
He thought of Ann's shy glances, the way she lowered her eyes whenever he teased her, the way her fingers fit into his as if molded for him alone. He remembered her hesitant smile the day he slipped the ring on her finger, her whispered "yes" trembling like a prayer.
He grinned to himself as he slid into his car.
Dennis's POV
I'll see her tonight. I'll tell her again—like I've told her a hundred times—that every day of this year was worth waiting. And soon, I'll hold her hand and say, 'my wife.'
The road ahead stretched in ribbons of golden evening light. He turned the radio on, tapping the steering wheel in rhythm, joy bursting in his chest. Life had never felt so full, so right.
Back at home, Ann was humming softly in the kitchen as she folded the last set of colorful napkins for the wedding décor. Her voice blended with the clinking of utensils, the muffled sound of cousins laughing in the next room.
Her phone rang, shattering the fragile calm. She picked it up, smiling, expecting Dennis's voice.
But the voice on the other end wasn't his.
"Ann… Dennis… there's been an accident. He… he's been admitted… seriously injured. You… you have to come, now!"
The words cracked like thunder.
Ann froze. "Accident? How… how bad?"
"I… I don't know. Hurry! Please!"
The line went dead.
Her phone slipped from her trembling hand and clattered to the floor. A cold shiver swept through her. Her vision blurred. For a heartbeat, the world stood still—and then, chaos surged inside her.
"No… no… this can't—" she whispered, her voice breaking.
She didn't bother explaining to anyone. She grabbed her keys, sprinted out of the house, her dupatta fluttering behind her like a torn wing. Her mother called after her, but Ann couldn't stop.
The drive to the hospital was a nightmare. Every street seemed endless, traffic lights cruelly red. Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the steering wheel, tears burning her eyes.
Not now… not three days before our wedding… I can't lose him… God, not him…
She whispered his name again and again as though it could protect him, as though the sound of her voice could hold him in this world.
At City General Hospital, chaos reigned. The sterile smell of disinfectant stung her nostrils. Stretchers rushed past, wheels squeaking. The frantic beeping of monitors cut through the air like alarms of doom. Doctors and nurses hurried in every direction, their footsteps sharp, their expressions grim.
Ann stumbled inside, her chest tightening, her breaths shallow. Her eyes scanned desperately until she saw Jacob, Dennis's cousin, standing pale and stricken near the ICU doors.
"Jacob!" she gasped, running to him. "Where is he? Tell me he's okay—tell me—"
Jacob's lips trembled. His voice cracked. "He… he's… critical."
The word splintered something deep within her.
Ann didn't wait. She shoved past the double doors, ignoring the protests of a nurse. Her heart thundered in her ears.
And then she saw him.
Dennis lay on a stretcher under the harsh glare of fluorescent lights. His strong frame, always so full of life, looked broken, almost unrecognizable. Tubes snaked into his body, an oxygen mask covered his face, machines beeped mercilessly around him. His skin was pale, drained of the warmth she knew.
Her heart froze.
"Dennis!" she screamed, her voice tearing through the room. She ran to his side, clutching his hand, her tears falling onto his motionless fingers.
She shook him gently, desperately. "Wake up! Please! You can't leave me now! Not three days before… not ever!"
But there was no response. No flicker of recognition in his eyes. No movement of his lips.
Only the relentless beeping of the machines, a sound that mocked her pleas.
For a terrifying moment, the machines beeped in a flat, dreadful rhythm, and her world tilted. She thought she had lost him forever.
Then—suddenly—the beeping steadied.
The doctor leaned forward, barking urgent instructions. Nurses rushed in with syringes and masks. Ann stumbled back, her palms pressed together in desperate prayer, watching as they fought for him.
Minutes stretched like hours. Each second clawed at her chest.
Finally, the doctor turned to her, breathless but smiling faintly. "He's stable. We managed to bring him back. It's critical, but… he's fighting."
The words broke something open inside her. Ann covered her face with her hands, sobbing, not from despair this time, but from gratitude.
She moved closer, brushing her fingers gently across his bruised hand. His skin was cool, but there was warmth returning—life still within him.
"Dennis… I'm here," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere. You just hold on… I'll wait as long as it takes."
His eyelids fluttered, but he didn't wake. His chest rose and fell faintly under the machines' rhythm, each breath fragile, borrowed.
Jacob stood in the doorway, silent, tears in his own eyes. Ann's mother reached her daughter and wrapped an arm around her trembling shoulders.
The wedding, the celebrations, the laughter—it all faded into the background. None of it mattered now. All that mattered was this: Dennis was still here.
He didn't speak, not yet. He couldn't. But Ann knew in her heart—he was holding on, for her, for them.
And she promised herself, as she held his hand and laid her head beside him—
No matter how long it takes, I'll wait. Our forever hasn't ended. It has only been delayed.