Chapter 2 2

It was her favorite song.

A haunting, romantic melody she had once confessed to Harry that she wanted played at her wedding, a memory from a late-night conversation under streetlights. The stranger's voice was smooth, resonant, pulling at something deep inside her as it echoed through the empty theater.

She should have felt flattered, but the unease was stronger.

Why was he singing to her?

The man's eyes were closed, lost in the song, but as he reached the final verse, they snapped open, and for a fleeting second, their eyes met. A slow smile curled on his lips, sending a chill up her spine.

Sarah's instincts screamed at her to leave.

She turned to leave, but collided with a warm, solid chest.

"Careful," came a familiar voice, deep and calm.

Harry.

Relief and confusion collided in her chest. She looked up into his green eyes, which crinkled as he smiled softly at her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Welcome, Sarah," he said.

For a moment, the oddness of the evening melted away. She returned his smile, but confusion still swirled in her chest. "Is this... a rehearsal?" she asked, glancing at the stage, where the stranger's voice still floated.

Harry's smile deepened, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes.

"No," he murmured. "You're part of this play. And it's called 'You.'"

A frown tugged at her lips. "I don't understand... Harry, what's going on?"

Before he could answer, the spotlight shifted, illuminating a group of dancers emerging from the shadows. They moved gracefully to a piece of classical music that filled the theater, their voices blending into the soaring melody, their faces hidden behind delicate lace masks. The ethereal beauty of the scene should have captivated her, but instead, her heart pounded harder. Something was off.

She turned back to Harry, but the space beside her was empty.

"Harry?" Her voice trembled, barely audible over the growing swell of the music. She spun in place, scanning the darkened hall for him. Then, his voice-clear, strong-cut through the music, singing the same romantic melody as before.

Sarah's gaze snapped back to the stage. There he was, bathed in the spotlight, standing alone, his voice pouring emotion into every note. She froze, breathless, as Harry descended from the stage, his eyes never leaving hers. He reached for her hand, guiding her up the stairs to join him under the warm circle of light.

The air shimmered with rose petals that gently cascaded from above, soft as whispers, brushing her skin as they fluttered down. Her heart raced, torn between disbelief and wonder. The opera singers waved, their voices lifting in harmony, as if celebrating her presence. And in that fleeting moment, Sarah understood-this was all for her.

As her eyes met Harry's, he knelt before her. The music faded into the background, the world narrowing to just the two of them.

"I can't imagine another minute without you," he said, his voice low, intimate.

His hand, steady and sure, reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. He opened it slowly, revealing a delicate ring. The diamonds sparkled under the light, but it was Harry's gaze that captured her, full of warmth and certainty.

"Sarah Wayne," he whispered, "will you marry me?"

For a heartbeat, the world went silent.

She stopped believing anyone could ever truly like her. But then, Harry came into her life. It took time for her to trust him. Harry was different. Patient and unwavering, he stayed by her side, proving himself in quiet, steady ways. Slowly, she began to believe in him, and even more so, in herself. For the first time, after meeting Harry, she realized she deserved happiness-and she deserved it with him.

Tears pricked her eyes, memories flashing in quick bursts-her lonely childhood, the long days of scraping by, the fear of trusting anyone, and the warmth Harry had brought into her life. The bakery, their laughter, the quiet moments she had thought were too simple to mean anything, but now felt like the foundation of her world.

She nodded, unable to form words. "Yes," she whispered.

Cheers erupted around them as the dancers clapped, the lights brightening to a warm glow. Music swelled, drowning out the last fragments of fear.

Harry slipped the ring onto her finger, standing to pull her into a gentle embrace. The scent of his cologne surrounded her, grounding her in the moment.

"You've made me the happiest man alive," he murmured against her ear.

Sarah clung to him, overwhelmed, the softness of his voice breaking through every wall she had built.

But as they pulled apart, the lights flickered.

For a second, the stage darkened, and in that darkness, Sarah felt it-a presence, cold and watching, somewhere in the shadows of the empty seats.

The lights returned, bright and cheerful, but Sarah's smile faltered.

Harry seemed not to notice, lifting her hand to kiss it. "Let's go celebrate," he said, leading her off the stage.

They walked to the bakery afterward, the air cool and fresh, the city alive with distant traffic and laughter spilling from nearby restaurants. Harry's hand never left hers, his thumb tracing soft circles against her skin.

The bakery was closed, but Harry had the key. It was theirs, after all. The air was rich with the scent of flour and sugar, the warmth of the day's baking still lingering. She flipped on the lights.

"Why here?" she asked, turning to him.

Harry smiled, pulling her into a dance in the middle of the empty bakery. "Because this is where it all started."

He swayed with her, humming softly, the quiet moment comforting, soothing the tension that still gripped her from the odd feeling at the theater.

But as they danced, she noticed the way his eyes flicked toward his phone on the counter, the screen lighting up with a message he ignored. His hand tightened on her waist briefly before relaxing again.

"Everything okay?" she asked softly.

"Perfect," he replied, but his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

She let it go, resting her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

The following days were a blur of planning. They visited bridal shops, flipped through catalogs, argued playfully over cake flavors, and took long walks through the park discussing flowers and venues.

Sarah should have been happy.

But every so often, when Harry thought she wasn't looking, she saw the tightness in his jaw as he glanced at his phone, the way he excused himself to take calls in hushed tones, the distant look that would sometimes cloud his eyes.

She tried to dismiss it. Everyone had secrets, she reasoned.

But one night, as she lay awake in her small apartment, staring at the ceiling, the doubt gnawed at her.

Why did Harry ignore those calls?

Why did she feel like she was being watched?

She rolled over, clutching the pillow to her chest, closing her eyes against the unease.

The days after the proposal were a whirlwind of joy and planning. They visited bridal shops, tried on suits and dresses, and circled dates on the calendar with eager hands. Yet beneath her excitement, Sarah felt the quiet ache of something missing.

She had no family to share this moment with.

One afternoon, as they stood in the bridal shop, Sarah's fingers lightly traced the intricate lace of a gown, its softness somehow amplifying the hollow feeling in her chest. Her smile faltered, her hand falling to her side. Harry, standing beside her, noticed immediately. He always did.

"I don't have anyone to invite," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. She kept her gaze fixed on the gown, as though if she looked at Harry, her sadness would spill over.

For a moment, the shop was filled only with the faint hum of distant chatter, the rustling of silk and tulle. Then, Harry's hand gently found her shoulder. His touch was warm, grounding her in the moment.

"It's okay," he murmured softly, his voice filled with quiet understanding. "You have me. I don't have my mother with me either... but my father will be there. And together, "We'll make our own family, Sarah. One day, it'll be more than enough."

Her heart warmed at his words. Harry, ever the steady presence, had a way of making everything seem possible.

His words settled over her like a soft blanket, comforting yet bittersweet. Sarah looked up at him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. She saw the sincerity in his green eyes, the way they softened with love and certainty.

Even when her past threatened to creep in, casting its long shadow, he was always there to pull her back into the light.

"I know," she whispered, trying to smile, though her heart still ached. "It's just... sometimes I wish things were different."

Harry cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing a tear that slipped free he said, his voice low and tender. "But what we build together-it'll be more than enough. I promise."

In that moment, Sarah felt the weight of her loneliness lift slightly. She nodded, letting his words soothe the emptiness that had followed her for so long. With Harry, perhaps she could believe that they really would create something whole, something new.

Looking into his eyes, Sarah couldn't help but believe him. Was she truly this lucky? Could happiness be this simple?

But something as off days turned into restless nights, Sarah's mind torn between the joy of planning a wedding with Harry and the gnawing dread of unanswered questions.

She tried to talk to him once.

"Harry... is there something you're not telling me?" she asked softly as they shared coffee in the bakery before opening.