The Shape Of Forever
Country: Aurivelle
City: Auremont
Alvara
We'd been back from Morocco for two days.
Two days back in Auremont.
Back to schedules. Meetings. Emails. The atelier. Dane Properties. Traffic. Calls from Seren before nine in the morning.
Everything was exactly where I'd left it.
And somehow, I wasn't.
That was the strange part.
Nothing around me had changed.
But something inside me had gone quiet in a way I hadn't realised it needed to.
Japan and Amsterdam had softened me.
Morocco had slowed me down even more.
A whole week of waking up beside Grayson without rushing anywhere. Eating late breakfasts. Wandering unfamiliar streets hand in hand. Falling asleep tangled against him while he talked about things that didn't matter and somehow mattered completely.
It had done something to me.
Something subtle.
Something permanent.
Grayson noticed it before I did.
The morning we landed back in Auremont, he looked at me across the car and said,
"You're quieter."
I'd frowned. "I'm always quiet."
"No," he said easily. "You're usually holding ten things in your head at once." His eyes stayed on mine for a second. "This is different."
I remembered looking out the window after that.
Because he was right.
For once, I wasn't bracing for anything.
I was just... happy.
Isabella had been harassing me since Saturday evening.
Not about work.
Not even directly about the wedding.
Just relentless messages that all carried the exact same energy.
" How was your vacation?"
" Are you ignoring me now?"
Then it shifted to the wedding.
"When are you coming?"
"Alvara Dane, if you delay this fitting one more day I'll lose my mind."
"Come see your dress."
"COME ALONE."
That last one had made Grayson glance up from his laptop.
"Why alone?" he asked.
"It's bad luck for the groom to see the dress before the wedding."
He looked unimpressed immediately.
"I don't believe in arbitrary traditions."
"You're participating in this one."
"I've already seen you wearing less complicated things."
I'd stared at him over my tea.
"Grayson."
"What? It's true."
"It's still bad luck."
He leaned back against the sofa, looking entirely unbothered.
"You are not coming."
The corner of his mouth lifted.
"Fine."
But he'd kissed my forehead afterward like he deserved compensation for his suffering.
Isabella Cortez sat in the quieter side of Auremont's fashion district.
Big. Bright. The same scale as mine.
Floor to ceiling windows. Clean lines. Gold lettering that caught the March light.
ISABELLA CORTEZ.
I stopped outside for a second just looking at it.
At the fact that both of us had somehow made it here.
Life was strange.
Beautiful sometimes too.
I pushed the door open.
The space inside hummed. Quiet music. The sound of scissors. Low voices.
Isabella was already waiting upstairs, pacing near the staircase.
Arms folded.
Looking like someone who had consumed too much caffeine and too little patience.
"You're late," she said immediately.
I checked my phone. "I'm early."
"You're emotionally late."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means I've been waiting since eight."
"It's ten in the morning, Isabella."
"The dress has been ready since yesterday and I nearly died keeping it from you."
I laughed softly.
Then I looked at her properly.
My best friend.
Who had cared about this dress almost as much as I did.
"Show me," I said.
Her entire face softened.
"Come on."
The dress was in the main fitting studio.
Covered carefully with white fabric.
Two of her team were already there. Mara, her lead seamstress, and Lise, the fittings coordinator. Both turned when we walked in.
"Good morning, Miss Dane," Mara said with a warm smile.
I nodded to them. "Hey."
The moment I saw the silhouette beneath the cover, my heartbeat actually changed.
Which felt dramatic.
But it's true.
Isabella glanced at me.
"You ready?"
I nodded.
She pulled the cover away.
And for a few seconds, I honestly forgot how to speak.
It was perfect.
Beautiful.
Elegant.
Completely me.
The bodice was structured and clean, fitted with the kind of precision that made it feel almost architectural.
Strong rather than delicate.
The skirt flowed softer from the hips, the fabric moving even when completely still.
And the back...
God.
The back.
Open enough to feel intimate without trying too hard.
The kind of detail that only revealed itself fully when you turned away.
Quietly devastating.
I walked around the dress slowly.
Taking everything in.
The stitching.
The lines.
The way the fabric caught light.
The train trailing behind it , is like the final line of a beautiful sentence.
Isabella stayed silent while I looked.
Finally I looked at her.
"Isabella..."
"I know."
"No seriously, how did you make something this... "
"This you?" she interrupted.
I nodded.
She shrugged one shoulder lightly.
"I've known you for a year now, Al." Her voice softened. "I didn't design it for a bride. I designed it for you."
That hit me harder than I expected.
I looked back at the dress quickly before I embarrassed myself emotionally before noon.
Alright," Isabella said, clapping her hands once. "Let's get you in it."
The fitting took almost an hour.
Lise helped me into the dress carefully, checking each clasp. Mara circled with pins in her mouth, adjusting the hem, muttering things about proportions and seams under her breath.
At one point Mara narrowed her eyes at the left shoulder .
"Too much ease," she mumbled. "One centimeter."
Isabella stood back, arms crossed, watching everything with terrifying concentration.
I stood on the platform in front of the mirror and finally looked at myself properly.
And something inside me stopped.
Because there she was.
The woman who had survived all of it.
Starting over.
Building a life from almost nothing.
Standing in a wedding dress in Auremont.
About to marry a man who loved her completely.
I swallowed hard.
"Oh no," Isabella said immediately from behind me. "Don't cry."
I laughed through the sudden sting in my eyes.
"You made it emotional."
"I made it gorgeous. The emotions are your responsibility."
That made me laugh harder.
Lise turned me gently toward the side mirror so I could see the back properly.
And honestly?
That nearly finished me off completely.
The train fell perfectly.
The open back looked elegant instead of dramatic.
Everything sat exactly where it should.
"Oh my God," I whispered.
"I know," Isabella said smugly.
Mara nodded, satisfied. "It's sitting right. We'll take the waist in a fraction, adjust that shoulder, and it'll be flawless."
I looked at myself again.
At the woman in the mirror.
June suddenly didn't feel far away anymore.
It felt real.
Very real.
Isabella appeared beside me in the reflection, resting her chin lightly against my shoulder.
"Look at us," she said softly.
I smiled immediately.
"Yeah."
She grinned suddenly. "Grayson is actually going to lose his mind when he sees you."
"That is exactly the point "
"That man already looks at you like he's in a Victorian tragedy."
I laughed so hard Lise had to steady the pins.
"That man already looks at you like you're his last prayer "
I laughed so hard I had to hold the dress.
After the fitting, we sat in her office with tea .
Final adjustments pinned and noted.
" The final fitting will be in two weeks," Isabella said.
"You sound terrifyingly organised."
"I am terrifyingly organised."
I smiled into my cup.
"How bad is the wedding planning chaos?"
"Ninety-seven percent under control."
"That specific?"
"Vivienne said ninety-eight but she's overly optimistic."
"What's the missing three percent?"
"Seating arrangement politics."
I blinked. "Politics?"
"Your mother and my father."
I nearly laughed immediately.
"What about them?"
"They keep accidentally ending up next to each other in every draft anyway, so I gave up and officially seated them together."
I smiled into my tea before I could stop myself.
" That's good."
Isabella pointed at me immediately. "That smile means you approve."
"I do approve."
"The florist is confirmed," she continued. "The quartet is booked. Sabestine has opinions about table linens for some reason."
"Of course he does."
"Your fiancé overruled his mother about flower colours."
I looked up immediately. "What?"
"He said blush pink made more sense for you."
I stared at her.
Then quietly,
"That's... oddly romantic."
"Right?" Isabella said. "I almost forgave him for being richer than everyone."
I laughed softly.
Then she looked at me for a second too long.
I noticed immediately.
"What?"
"You look different."
I sighed. "You sound like Grayson."
"Then Grayson is correct."
I frowned slightly. "Different how?"
She tilted her head.
"Happier," she said first.
Then softer,
"And glowing a little."
I rolled my eyes instantly. "Do not start."
"I'm serious."
"I just came back from vacation."
"You've touched your stomach three times since you sat down."
I froze.
Because...
Had I?
"No I haven't."
"You literally just did it again."
I looked down automatically.
My hand rested lightly against my stomach.
I moved it immediately.
"That means nothing."
Isabella leaned back slowly.
"When was your last period?"
"Isabella."
"That's not an answer."
I stared into my tea.
And suddenly realised...
I genuinely couldn't remember.
My stomach tightened slightly.
"We've been travelling," I said quickly. "Time zones. Stress. That's probably all it is."
"Maybe."
"But?"
"But maybe not."
I looked at her.
My best friend.
Who knew me too well.
Who was watching me carefully now.
"Go buy a test," she said gently.
I laughed nervously. "You're making this dramatic."
"No," she said softly. "I think life might be."
I looked down at my hand again.
At the thought I hadn't allowed myself to think fully yet.
And suddenly my heart was beating too fast.
"If it's true..." I started quietly.
Isabella's expression softened immediately.
"Then it's something good, Al."
I swallowed hard.
The word settled somewhere deep inside me.
Warm.
Terrifying.
Beautiful.
Maybe all three.
I left the atelier just after noon.
I stood outside for a second staring at the street ahead of me.
People are moving normally.
Cars passing.
Auremont carrying on like my entire world hadn't just tilted slightly sideways.
My phone sat in my coat pocket.
Heavy somehow.
I knew exactly where the nearest pharmacy was.
And for the first time in a very long time...
I was afraid to know something.
And hopeful too.