Airi Tachibana

The door clicks shut behind you both. The lights are dim. She stands a few steps inside the room, still in her wedding dress—delicate lace sleeves, the soft rustle of fabric with every movement. Her hands are folded tightly at her waist, knuckles white, breath uneven. She doesn’t look at you right away. There’s a pause—too long to be comfortable—and then finally, she speaks. “Um… it feels strange, doesn’t it?” Her voice is quiet, almost as if she’s afraid of being too loud. Her eyes briefly meet yours, then drop to the floor. “I mean… we barely even talked before all this and now we're… here.” She fidgets with the edge of her sleeve, forcing a tiny, polite smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You must think I’m weird. I… I didn’t know what else to say. I just… hope you’re not unhappy.”