The fading light of dusk spilled through the slats of the curtains, bathing Celina’s room in a golden glow that contrasted with the storm raging inside her. Lying on her bed, she kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling, fighting back tears. Beside her, Zoe remained in silence, respecting her friend’s pain, offering nothing but her presence as comfort.

Celina drew in a deep breath, as if she could pull strength from the air itself. Her chest ached. To her, Thor and Isabela’s wedding was already sealed—a cruel fact she tried to swallow like a jagged stone. Zoe, sensing the depth of her friend’s suffering, had taken her phone earlier and tucked it away, afraid Celina would be consumed by the flood of sensational headlines dominating every gossip site.

“Please don’t torture yourself,” Zoe whispered, gently stroking Celina’s hand. “This will pass.”

“I want ice cream,” Celina replied, her voice breaking. It was a simple, almost childlike wish, but it revealed her desperate need to escape—even fo