ALSphere Foundation
Dressed in my bridal attire, I stood in my room, yet I had no desire to look in the mirror. Instead, my eyes wandered to my bookshelves, where my collection of dog-eared novels lay. I traced their spines, reliving countless hours spent in their world. As I pulled out a book, a hand-painted bookmark and a pressed flower slipped from its pages, fluttering to the floor.
I bent to pick them up, smiling as memories surfaced. The bookmark reminded me of my first painting class, where my brushstrokes were wobbly yet full of enthusiasm. The dried flower was a gift from my childhood best friend, a token of friendship that had endured through school corridors and whispered secrets.
My gaze shifted to the white teddy bear with a red bow on my bed—a gift from my younger sister, who once refused to sleep without it. Nostalgia thickened in my throat as I took in the trinkets I had cherished growing up. I opened my cupboard, where a small, gleaming box sat undisturbed. Inside, stickers, friendship bands, artificial jewelry, and tiny knick-knacks told stories of birthdays, school fairs, and giggles shared in the classroom.
A Mickey Mouse piggy bank rested on my shelf, a symbol of my father’s lessons on saving. He had gifted it to me, encouraging me to drop coins into it, promising they would one day add up to something meaningful. Beside it sat my first-ever doll, a battery-operated toy that sang nursery rhymes, a memory of my mother’s love. She had picked it out for me, her eyes twinkling as she handed it over, knowing how much I had longed for one.
The walls around me weren’t just walls; they were storytellers. Family photographs, school pictures, and my hard-earned trophies lined them, their silent presence reminding me of the years that had shaped me.
Outside, the swing in the garden swayed gently, as if calling me for one last ride. The scent of my mother’s cooking drifted through the air, mingling with the familiar traces of my father’s cologne—the scent I had come to associate with safety and warmth. My mind played a reel of childhood fights with my siblings, the late-night whispers, and the laughter that had once filled these walls. The magnolia tree in the garden, my secret retreat in winter, stood tall, its presence grounding me one last time.
A hesitant knock at the door.
Mom stood there, her eyes holding a thousand unspoken words. My siblings joined, their arms wrapped tightly around me, all past quarrels dissolving into tears. They didn’t want me to leave.
Mom finally broke the silence. “Dear, it’s time. They’re waiting.”
As I stepped out, my father stood in the doorway. The man who had always been my strength now looked fragile. He held my hand, his grip firm yet trembling.
My groom stood by the decorated car, the door open, an unspoken welcome into my new journey.
I stepped in, turned back one last time, and waved.
