Our Love Is Covered In Dust

We, who had been together since we were students got married. Henry Lawson proposed that we go back to our alma mater and take photos of us wearing school uniforms as a souvenir.

He sounded nostalgic and regretful, saying, "I want everyone to know you are my beloved."

Last night, I looked through his cell phone for the first time.

His young lover became the first woman to take wedding photos with him. She felt aggrieved, posting, [Wedding photos are ultimately fake ones.]

He gently comforted her, commenting, [But my love for you is genuine.]

I couldn't help but confront him, commenting, [Is our ten years being together fake?]

Our youth days faded away, leaving us tired and lonely. Our love had lost its color like a faded invitation card.

---

I saw my fiancé's wedding photos with another woman while trying on wedding dresses. "What a joke."

Through the shimmering satin edges, the gentle sunlight shone throughout the lush greenery, sprinkling on the girl's lace veil fluttering in the wind.

The man turned his face and smiled, lightly kissing the girl's forehead and showing extra tenderness.

It was like the last scene of a romance movie. The male and female leads walked hand in hand towards a happy future in the sunlight.

Sitting in front of the computer screen, I couldn't help but have an urge to cry. Their sweetness seemed to have affected me.

My chaotic heartbeat and rapid breath revealed my panic and anxiety.

The photos were in the style that I liked.

If the male lead weren't my fiancé, Henry, whom I had been in love with for ten years, it would be better.

He had nothing in his left hand. He even took off the couple ring I had given to him with care.

If I hadn't impulsively decided to try on a wedding dress alone, I would have been deceived by the beautiful dream of a long-distance relationship turning into a successful marriage.

I wanted to keep my first look for the wedding. I held myself back from taking pre-wedding photos in advance.

Facing my stubbornness, Henry said helplessly and indulgently, "You... You just want to make me cry with excitement at the wedding. You're so naughty."

I raised my chin and squinted my eyes, smiling mischievously.

The confused shop assistant mistook me for the female lead in this set of wedding photos. She pulled me over to choose one from the pictures.

Out of curiosity, I sat down in front of the computer with her.

The girl in the photo who bore some resemblance to me did surprise me, but it was the man, who I was equally familiar with, who surprised me more.

After all, this man was clinging to me in bed this morning, refusing to go to work.

The tangled and twisted questions in my mind finally confused me.

I didn't remember how I had explained and said goodbye to the shop assistant. Nor did I remember how I got home.

I didn't even remember how long I had been sitting on the sofa in the dark room. I curled up with my legs crossed.

Cold moonlight shone in. The golden foil on the coffee table of the wedding invitation letter flickered intermittently.

The faint light stung my eyes, causing me to burst out crying.

Henry came home and turned on the lights. He was shocked to see me sitting on the sofa, clutching the wedding invitation letter, and crying.

He didn't have time to change his shoes. He hurriedly walked to the living room and hugged me, saying, "What's wrong? Who bullied you, Lucy?"

"Don't you know who it is? You bad guy?"

I discreetly broke free from his embrace, wiped away my tears with a tissue, and forced a smile naturally.

"It is because of the wind."

I unfolded the wedding invitation letter and pointed to the blank space in front of him. I said, "I was thinking what should we put here if we didn't take wedding photos? Should we take the wedding photos first?"

Henry instinctively looked at the closed window without exposing my poor lie.

He lowered his gaze and gently touched our names on the wedding invitation letters. Tenderness flew through his fingertips.

You always come up with different ideas. What kind of style do you, a little schemer, like?"

"How about a vintage French style?" My eyes started to feel sore. I forced myself not to perceive every detail of his expression.

Henry's face changed slightly. He became normal in a second, saying, "As long as it's what you like, it's fine."

He was as handsome as he had been twelve years ago when we first met. When he looked at me affectionately, I felt like being trapped in a whirlpool. I couldn't feel anything else.

No matter how much I contradicted myself over the years, Henry had always been tolerant of me.

"Now I can't help but suspect whether he does so out of his habit or his guilt towards me after cheating on me."