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“WOW…” Kristoffer murmured, eyes wide as he took in the bustle of the venue. The air was alive with clatter and chatter, and somewhere not far off, several cooks stood behind a wide iron griddle dressed in crisp white. Their sunburnt faces were flushed from the heat, brows glistening, hands moving quickly and surely over the sizzling surface.
Meat, vegetables, and seafood tumbled and flipped, hissing and popping as they cooked. The scent was warm and savory. Dish after colorful dish was plated and whisked away, but one caught Kris’s eye: a shrimp, deep red and impossibly large, its shell expertly peeled to reveal the plump flesh beneath, glistening under a glossy orange sauce. He made a quiet promise to himself to come back for it later.
It had been Mick—his newest and possibly best-ever friend—who’d burst into the lab, waving a flyer overhead. It boasted about a festival offering delicious food, free entry, and a time like no other. Mick hadn’t even finished reading before the rumbling stomachs and watering mouths had made it clear—they were all going together.
For Kristoffer, it was more than just a fun outing. Having spent so much of his life without anyone to hang out with, just being invited—being part of something—felt like stepping into a dream he’d quietly carried for years. He’d gone home with a jaunty tune on his lips and a spring in his step, only to find his mother waiting at the door, practically buzzing with the same excitement.
She’d handed him a beautifully penned letter. It was a formal invitation from Sophie, inviting him and his whole family to her wedding. Kris had it figured out before he was even halfway through the letter—the wedding and the festival Mick had read about were one and the same. But as his mother twirled, spun, and skipped away, already muttering about dresses and shoes and whether feathers were too much, Kris sank into a rather sullen expression. The excitement drained out of him like someone had just asked him to chew a fistful of sand.
He’d worn the expression throughout dinner. Later at night, there came a soft knock on his door—his father. He asked about school and his studies, but something about him felt distracted, like he wasn’t listening to the answers. It was clear he was circling something else entirely, working up to a question he couldn’t quite bring himself to ask. A few more rounds of this, and Kris couldn’t take it anymore. He burst into tears and confessed what had been on his mind.
He said he wanted to celebrate Sophie. He wanted to go out with his parents and share the joy with them, too. But he’d already made a promise. A promise with his friends, one he’d very much like to keep.
He said he’d never had anything like this before. A festival. A day out. Friends to go with. The memory. But the thought of telling his mother that—of shattering that bright, sparkling smile she’d worn all evening—was more than he could bear.
His father blinked. Then, slowly, a kind of pride swept through him so suddenly it shook his whole frame. He clapped a firm hand on Kris’s back, mussed his hair with the other, and let out a warm, echoing laugh.
“I’m proud of you, Kris,” he said, “you’ve finally become a man.”
And now, today, his parents were here. Somewhere in the crowd, he knew.
After that talk, his father came home with a beautiful dress and an extra invitation addressed to his wife alone.
There’d been something sweetly earnest in his father’s face as he presented the dress, admitting it had been far too long since they had gone out, just the two of them. And his mother, cheeks warming with a bashful smile, had run her fingers over the fabric, insisting she was far too old to pull off something so youthful, though the way she kept touching it said otherwise.
They had been adorable. Completely, embarrassingly adorable.
A red-nosed clown with a white-painted face passed in front of Kris, snapping him from his thoughts. He was juggling oversized, candy-colored balls while trailing a stream of soap bubbles in his wake. Off to the side, a group of sunburned, barrel-chested men hollered and laughed around a keg, hoisting foaming tankards into the air like it was the best ale they’d ever tasted. People were everywhere. The air shimmered with drifting flower petals, the sky a flawless blue overhead. It was bright, it was noisy, it was alive…
It was fun.
“Kris! Over here!”
A familiar voice rang out through the crowd. He spun—and promptly laughed.
There they were. All his friends squeezed around a table bearing a towering pile of food so improbably constructed it seemed to defy physics just by staying upright.
He trotted over. The girl in white who’d called him waved him in, handed him a drink, and scooted aside to make room. He set his plate down, took a seat, and glanced over at Mick, whose entire face was already smeared with streaks of cream and sauce.
“Eating with your whole face there, Mick?” Kris teased.
“There’s no time for a napkin,” Mick shot back, mouth half-full. “You’ll understand once you start eating.”
“I believe you. Did you see the shrimp over there? They’re huge. Like, this big.”
“We’ll get some. Don’t worry. But first, we gotta clear off meat mountain here, first!”
The table was a blur of matching uniforms and clattering plates, an endless parade of dishes passed back and forth. Shouts overlapped: This is the best one! No, this is! Slow down, someone save me a bite! And if you took even a moment to chew, something was already gone. It was then, when Kris was shoveling yet another contender for the most scrumptious dish of the day into his mouth, that music began to play.
He froze mid-bite and looked up.
At the far end of a long, elegant carpet, a man and a woman had begun walking toward the crowd.
The woman wore a veil.
Kris’s chest twinged.
His mother had once told him that a wedding was the grandest moment in a woman’s life. That no matter if she was rich or poor, plain or lovely, this was the one day she would shine the brightest through the power of love, magic, or something else entirely.
So for Sophie—kind, gentle Sophie, who had once healed the burden his mother had carried for so many years—to have to hide herself on a day like this…it stung in the deepest, most visceral sort of way.
As they reached the platform at the center of the procession, the man beside Sophie reached for her veil.
Kris froze. His breath caught.
What was he doing? They were in love, weren’t they? That was what getting married meant. So then why—why would someone who loved her do that? Strip away her dignity? Humiliate her on the most important day of her life?
His legs tensed. He was just about to rise, to shout, to stop it—when the veil lifted.
Just at the corner. Just enough to reveal the face beneath.
And what he saw made him relax all at once.
She was beautiful.
Radiant. Dazzling. Glowing with something warm, clear, and gentle. She seemed to shine—not just from the way the sunlight kissed her skin, but from something within. A smile played across her lips.
It outshone the sun.
A breathless silence followed. Then came the swell of voices—somewhere between a murmur and a gasp, a wave of sound washing over the crowd. She stood there smiling, strong and serene, as if she’d made up her mind not to let anything faze her. And she looked only at the man before her.
And the man before her looked at her, squinting a little, like he was struggling to make out the shape of something too bright to look at directly.
What passed between them was something deep and wordless. A kind of stillness. A certainty. The kind that made your heart ache without knowing why.
In other words, love, Kristoffer thought.
With a clatter, his chair scraped back behind him. He stood tall, lifted his arms high above his head, and clapped. With all his might.
Tears streamed down his face. Why, exactly, he couldn’t say—but it surely wasn’t sadness.
“Congratulations!” he shouted, voice ringing out loud and clear—louder than he’d ever heard himself speak.
His voice cracked a little. His best friend Mick turned to stare at him like he’d just grown wings, but Kris didn’t care. No emotion he felt at that moment could be construed as anything remotely resembling embarrassment.
To stay quiet now? To keep all those warm feelings for Sophie hidden away inside?
That would have been the truly embarrassing thing. The cowardly thing. The kind of thing he’d long since graduated from.
Graduated. Back then, in that salon. Thanks to a certain “monstrous miss.”
Just look at this place. So vibrant, so full of life, so fun.
Just look at her. So pretty. So happy. And no longer the monster she once purported herself to be.
What other words could possibly suit this moment?
So he said the one thing he knew, without question, was right.
“Congratulations, Ms. Sophie! I’m so happy for you!” he shouted again.
This time, his friends joined in. One by one, they rose to their feet, clapping just like he had—and before long, the entire square erupted in applause.
Hoots and hollers rang out. Someone whistled sharply and clearly. Soap bubbles drifted through the air, mingling with a fresh shower of flower petals as the happy couple made their way down the long carpet.
And when they passed by his table, Sophie turned.
She met his eyes and offered him a smile. Warm and radiant.
Her green eyes shimmered—not from sadness, but from something full and overflowing. And in that moment, a single tear slipped free. Clear and round like a gemstone, it rose into the air.
Without thinking, Kris reached for it.
His fingers closed around nothing. But he held them there, suspended in the air, before gently drawing them back. He cupped the empty space in his other hand, cradling it like something precious.
Then he watched her go.
That slender figure in white grew smaller and smaller as she walked on ahead.
What his mother had said wasn’t wrong. Not in the slightest.
Today, Sophie really was the most beautiful woman in the world.