The champagne flute felt heavy in Elias’s hand, the bubbles doing little to lift the dullness that had settled in his chest. He watched the bride, a vision in white, twirl on the dance floor, her laughter echoing through the reception hall. He should be happy for Maya, truly he should. But the sight of her joy only served to highlight the emptiness he felt, a hollowness that seemed to magnify the echoing music. He caught sight of a familiar face across the room, and his breath hitched. Amelia. There was no escape.
He’d almost managed to convince himself he was over her. The past year had been a relentless cycle of distraction, a relentless pursuit of numbness. Now, seeing her, the carefully constructed facade began to crumble. She looked radiant, talking animatedly with someone he didn't recognise. Her laugh, he remembered, still had the power to disarm him. He took a long swig of the champagne, the cold liquid doing little to extinguish the sudden, unwelcome heat spreading through him.
He debated turning and fleeing. Pretending he needed to use the restroom, or suddenly remembered an important phone call. But he knew, with a sinking feeling, that running would only prolong the agony. He steeled himself, taking a deep breath that felt more like a sigh, and began to walk, each step a leaden weight, towards the inevitable.