na'

ana Bel

another life-one in which I wasn't concealing myself behind bridal stores and dead gowns. One in which I wasn't p

ke a woman with her life t

alert:

. It's not something anyone would ever receive. Every year, every time, I'm going into the same bri

s because the dresses were like. a party. Like one day someo

stence that filled my life, and proceed to Rosa's store. Rosa, the gentle woman who operated the store, never asked que

ion. Or leastwise it w

e. I tore on my jeans, tied my scarf around my head, and ventured

nside Rosa's shop, e

osa greeted me with

" I told her

, waiting for my touch. I did not want the gowns. Not at all. I was not here for the weddi

ng was. dif

g over the fabric carelessly. I wasn't looking for anything, not th

else would. Her eyes were distant, wandering around the room, as if she was looking

sy. Edgy. Unreal. And the strangest thing? She was a dead ringer for me. Same heig

ed. Onc

there she was, standing before me, as if the u

e looked as surprised as I was. And then, i

yebrow, obvious

ds the designer bag she held. It caught the l

quietly, smiling shy

was something I couldn't even afford. "Wow

h leather between my fingertips as if it were something valuable. The strange thing was,

e," I said, a smile

, the way she used the word. It sounded sincere. But th

he surp

t it?" s

ked. "

uld trade the bag and

spicion and curiosity. Who offers

ile-like a dare and a secr

d. Was s

spered. "You're. you're w

her lips. I felt my stomach jump, surprise an

ile on her face wide, but her

d by this odd feeling. This moment, this encounter, felt too.

ung to me like it belonged. Her scent stayed on my sk

e said, agai

lection. I didn't look like me. I looked lik

nd, to look at her again, an

mpty sensation take up residence in

pened the doors of the boutique and three businessmen entered

mediately. "There she is," he sa

fr

was going on. But they were already moving towar

time," one

tammered, the fear c

in a signal to the others, and they closed in on either side of me. One of them reached back a

I screamed, m

nd man answered, his voice f

break away. "I'm not her!" I cried out. "You'

get to see their faces when the door opened. The

! The one who gave me this

owed me up whole. My hands were clenched around the fabric of my jeans, knuckles aching white from how tightly I was

the mansio

ce of common sense in the cosmos. Marble pillars gleamed as if ripped straight from a museum exhibi

re. They moved with barely a sound, shadow-like. One of them thrust out his hand, as if I were a long-

said, his voice too respectfu

hat for? There was no possible way that I fit here. This was a place for people

but words became lodged somewhere in my throat. I wasn't sure if it was fe

under me. I could almost hear the whine of my sneakers

the same man who had opened the door, the same man who spoke to me

? No

had been waiting for me all along. There was something so smooth, so practiced about the

't quite put my finger on-haste, maybe. I was being royally treated like some queen who'd

went, my legs, step by step, across the meticulously trimme

was onl

s if sucked from some lofty, unconquered mountain peak. I gazed about at the gigantic chandelier overhead, how i

g-was perfect. As if

n. This. this was not for me. This was not my life. How had I gone f

had brought me here, their masks of expressionless faces, th

you people? And why are you all keeping calling me 'Madam'?" My eyes darted between them, hunting for