Olivia glanced up into the small dressing mirror positioned in front of her, and admired the pretty picture she thought she made. The fourteen bobby pins stuck down straight into her scalp to keep her hair up, the pink eyeshadow her talented bridesmaids used to cover up her stressed eye bags, and the lipstick plastered over her cracked lips couldn’t hide how thrilled she was.

After all, not every day was one’s wedding day.

She had waited for this event for years, starting from when she was a little girl, all the way to the moment that she found out her boyfriend (now husband to be) had been diagnosed with dilated cardiomyopathy. Olivia didn’t think she would ever forget that image of him, in the hospital, cradling his head in his hands and the realization that he could die appearing as steamy eyes and a frowning mouth. He had held her hands, whispering that it wasn’t worth it, to leave him, to forget about him, that he didn’t love her, that she didn’t love him. False accusations, untrue admittances, all sorts of tricks she knew he didn’t mean. They had stayed together through all those times. Olivia worked three jobs to pay for his medical bill, for his health, for the little things he moaned he wanted in the night.

He had begun to heal. All of the doctors said so. His heart was getting stronger. She had laid on his chest on one of the good days, relieved to hear the steady thump, and content that his soft hands could still play with her hair. They both knew what they wanted from each other at that point, even him mentioning “the future”, a term almost abandoned at the start.

And then the relapse.

She had come to visit him in the hospital one day to find his room empty and cold. Olivia hurriedly gasped out to the nurse who had been taking care of him, “Where is he? What’s happened? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, just in the operating room right now. Got taken there only a while ago. Heart failure. They’re getting him a transplant.”

A transplant. At the time Olivia blanked, and collapsed onto the ground, letting out small choking noises until the operation was all over.

A doctor strode into the room, almost tripping over Olivia perched on the ground. She looked up, the mascara streaks on her cheeks, and heard the doctor ask for Poplar Xing’s girlfriend.

“That’s me, how is he?”

He smiled, taking her hand and guiding her down the hall. She felt relief then, and the same feeling exploded into a mental cascade of stars upon entry into the operating room. He looked calm and even healthy. His eyes were weary but shone with strength. Tentatively, she had extended her hand, feeling the sheets for the beat of his heart. He grasped her hand, soft and warm, and slowly brought it to his chest.

She suddenly blushed, remembering how she had bawled like a baby upon feeling the beat of his heart. But that was all over now. They had decided that they had to do something before anything else happened, and that something turned out to be getting married.

Olivia shivered with delight as she slipped the silken petticoat over her body, feeling the fabric glide around her shoulders and onto her waist. Her bridesmaids had offered to help her, but she preferred to dress alone. As she slid open the closet on the other side of the room, the light blinked. Olivia paused, shuddered, and proceeded to take her gown out. There was something that had bothered her after her proposal.

When Olivia left the hospital that night, she felt an ecstatic joy. She could finally dream happily like anyone else about her wedding, the baby shower, and the parties. Poplar’s regained health dissolved the cloud of her pensive mood that had reined her for so long. She was giddy, too giddy, that she took a different way back to their apartment. She stumbled, grin on her face, skipped, and fairly danced back to her house. So when a little old lady crouching at the side of the road croaked for a few coins in return for a quick palm reading, she was more than happy to oblige. Dropping the coins to an outstretched cup, Olivia bent down and extended her hand to the old crone.

“Oh!” The old lady clutched Olivia’s hand hard for a moment before rounding on her.

“Don’t get married.”

“Huh?” Creased eyebrows.

“Demise will soon happen.”

Olivia frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Terrible, terrible...If you do plan to carry out with this marriage, the woman in your boyfriend’s heart will die.”

Olivia stopped breathing. What? Didn’t she and Poplar just get over this situation? Was she doomed to die as soon as she uttered I do at the altar? She glanced up, and stared furtively at the wrinkled old woman reflecting genuine worry for the girl in front of her. Did you literally just believe that? her mind whispered harshly, she’s only a crazy old lady in the streets!

“Thanks, but I’ll leave now” Olivia straightened and turned to leave. The damp, winter-beaten bricks beneath her boots seemed unstable as she marched out. She tried stomping as loud as possible to block out every single word that woman said, but her words span around in her head like a hurricane, refusing to fade away.

Will die, will die, will die, will die, will die…

Olivia uneasily zipped up the last seam in her wedding gown. She shook her head. None of that even mattered now! Who was she to wish doom on this happy day?

Olivia cast one final look in the mirror, briefly adjusted her hair and veil, and started out. It was time to commit her future with the man she loved.

“And now, the bride!”

The marigolds in Olivia’s bouquet wafted honey and salt, smelling like the tears running down her face and into her mouth. She looked up, mascara and lashes framing the man standing before her just a couple weeks ago she never would’ve thought to make it here. It had taken so long, this ceremony. They had loved too long, too hard. Nothing, nothing, could possibly ruin this day for her.

Then, something unexpected happened.

A snap.

Like a bird that had just been shot mercilessly out of the air, the crystal chandelier suspended from the roof of the wedding hall fell. The hundreds of glass droplets tinkled as they flew down, a bunch of electrical wires trailing behind it. Altogether, with the light from the other chandeliers reflecting off, it looked quite splendid.

3 milliseconds away. By then the entire crowd had noticed the falling lamp plunging towards the groom, whose eyes were still only fixated on the girl in white frozen in the aisle.

2 milliseconds away. The bride had noticed too, her mouth and pupils slowly growing wider and wider.

1 millisecond away.

Then suddenly, the moment of tranquility was gone. The groom was pushed aside, and a girl dressed in all green was smashed under the chandelier.

It was like magic: the action freed the people's voices from their awestruck silence.

“Oh my goodness!” “Who is she!?” “Did she just push the groom? Is she okay?” “Oh my god, oh my god!” “Call an ambulance!”

Olivia’s vision swam in front of her. She clenched her eyes hard, allowing what had just happened to her to resonate. Who had shoved Poplar with such force and urgency? A girl was dying at her wedding, and it wasn’t her.

Olivia could only stare dumbly as blood gushed out and flowed across the floor.

~

“Another one of these.” Poplar tossed another textbook to her, almost hitting the lamp propped up behind him.

“Be careful sweetheart! Don’t damage anything!” Olivia’s voice was gentle, but held strict admonishment in it. Poplar sighed, turning and sinking down on the single bed. She strode over, and lied on it beside him.

It had been a week since the accident. The girl had died, and Poplar immediately recognized that she was the nurse that had been meticulously taking care of him. They had cried softly and listened to what was to be done. Some people had asked if the dead girl had any known close friends or relatives. Except for the general info on her hospital profile, they found no answers and thus assumed the negative. They had started to the girl’s apartment, to organize her belongings, when Poplar stopped them, and volunteered to do so himself.

This turn of events brought them here, to a remote part of the city where the buildings were no more than 5 stories tall, and the sun shone on every part of the neighbourhood.

Poplar stood up and began rummaging in the nightside table beside the bed.

“Huh, she kept a journal” He tossed a purple bound book onto the bed for Olivia to pick up and examine.

It was a nice looking book though torn in some parts and bent in others. It’s waterlogged pages seemed to hold a bunch of hopeful ambitions and dreams a young, innocent girl may dream. She flipped it open to a random place and somewhat bashfully began to read it.

It detailed on the love between a boy and a girl. A boy that loved the girl so much, and a girl that loved him back almost equally fierce. A boy that had died too early on, and a girl that had never gotten over the grief that came with it. A boy who had donated his heart, and a girl that never failed to stop caring about him.

The last entry in the journal was brief.

One of my biggest fears has been to watch the person I love marry someone else. But this time, I’ll only smile with my red eyes. Tomorrow, I will leave, no matter how hard it is. I think the best wedding gift I could give you is to be happy myself, just like you told me before you died. I will be happy, and I know you will be happy too, as you have a girl who loves you just as much as I love you.