Chapter 21: Wedding Preparation

Chapter 21: Wedding Preparations

The late afternoon sky was painted in golden hues as Saraswati descended the small steps of her home, a folder filled with notes clutched in her hands. Two weeks had passed since Boase proposed to her, and within that short time, her world had taken on colors she hadn't seen in a very long time. Today, they were going to meet and begin discussing the details of their wedding—something that once felt like a distant dream seen only from behind tear-stained windows.

In the backyard garden of Boase's rented house, two cups of steaming jasmine tea waited on the table. Boase stood up with a calm smile as she arrived—a smile that made Saraswati feel safe, even when life threatened to pull her under.

"I made your favorite tea," Boase said, pulling out a chair for her.

"Thank you," she replied, sitting down and placing her folder on the table. "I made a little list of things we need to prepare. But… I don't want anything fancy. I just want a meaningful wedding."

Boase nodded. "You and Amara are the meaning itself to me."

Saraswati smiled, though her heart trembled slightly. She knew that beyond the warmth of tea and smiles, whispers about her still floated in the air. Some people still believed she didn't deserve a second chance at happiness. They called her selfish for moving on too fast. Some even accused her of stealing someone else's man.

But this time, Saraswati chose not to hide.

"I want to wear a simple dress," she said as she scanned her list. "Maybe I'll sew it myself. I have this white fabric I saved for one of Amara's events. It's never been used."

"If you sew it yourself, it'll be even more beautiful," Boase said gently. "It'll be a symbol of your own journey."

They started drafting their wedding needs: the location, witnesses, a modest meal, invitations, and a few close friends. No lavish vendors, no giant venue. They would marry in the garden of the school where Saraswati taught, under the big shady tree that had always sheltered the kindergarten children in the mornings.

***

A few days later, while Saraswati was at her favorite fabric shop choosing ribbons and lace, she overheard two women who knew her, standing not too far away.

"So she's getting married again?" whispered one, pretending to browse the thread section.

"That was fast, wasn't it?" the other chuckled. "She used to cry all the time, and now she's clinging to a younger man."

Saraswati sighed. In the past, whispers like these could send her home in tears. But not today. She glanced at them briefly, then walked away with her head held high.

She didn't need to defend herself. Happiness didn't require anyone's permission—just her own courage to claim it.

***

That night, as she began sewing the first piece of her white dress, Amara sat cross-legged on the floor, sketching in her drawing book.

"Are you going to be a princess, Mama?" Amara asked, pointing at the fabric that trailed onto the floor.

Saraswati chuckled softly. "No, sweetheart. I just want to be a good wife."

"Then I'll be the little princess?"

"You've been my little princess since the day you were born."

Amara beamed. "So Boase will be the prince?"

Saraswati paused for a moment, turning to look at her daughter before offering a smile.

"Not a prince. He'll be the guardian of our castle—a kind one."

***

The preparations moved along steadily, if slowly. Boase took care of the paperwork while Saraswati focused on the handmade invitations, crafted from recycled paper and adorned with pressed flowers. Some of her fellow teachers offered help, and the principal kindly granted them permission to use the school garden for the ceremony.

But of course, not all news was welcomed with open arms.

One neighbor came by and, with a condescending tone, said, "Are you sure, Saras? You have a daughter, you know. Aren't you worried that man will just leave after a while?"

Saraswati looked her in the eyes. "I've learned enough, Ma'am. I used to be afraid. But now I know—I deserve to be happy too."

The neighbor walked away, muttering under her breath. But in Saraswati's heart, something grew stronger. The wounds of the past had taught her one thing—no one else had the right to dictate her future.

***

A week before the wedding, Saraswati stood in front of the mirror wearing her finished dress. It was simple, imperfect, yet beautiful. Each stitch was a testament to her story—every thread woven with tears, resilience, and quiet hope.

She stared at her reflection.

Once, she had stood before this same mirror, her eyes swollen and her heart broken. But now, her gaze radiated strength. She was not the same woman she used to be.

And in the quiet of that moment, she spoke softly to her reflection:

"I choose happiness. I choose trust. I choose my own life."