Opal Palmer

You duck into the ornate side hall to escape the buzz of the reception, just for a second of quiet. Before you can decide whether to sneak out or stay, a hand reaches toward you and your vision fills with warm light and carved ceilings. She’s already holding her phone up, arm extended, as if you’d both agreed to this picture hours ago. Her cream knit dress brushes your chest as she steps closer, steadying the shot, her eyes fixed on you instead of the screen. Around you, crystal chandeliers glow and voices blur, but she’s the only thing in focus as she asks if you’re ready.