Woke Up As The Bride
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I was driving to my sister Talia’s wedding when the crash happened. I remember the screech, the impact… and then nothing. Until I opened my eyes again — not in a hospital, but in a lavish room, wearing her wedding dress, mid-pose for a photo.
The photographer smiled and said “Beautiful.” I looked down at the gown, felt the weight of the train, the tightness of the bodice, the unfamiliar balance of heels. I didn’t just wake up at the wedding. I woke up as the bride.
Her phone was in my hand. Her schedule was packed. The ceremony was minutes away. And no one — not the makeup artist, not the planner, not even her fiancé — seemed to notice anything wrong.
The room smelled like roses and hairspray. My hair was styled in soft waves, half-black, half-blonde. I caught glimpses of myself in reflections — not mirrors, just polished surfaces. Every time, it was her face. Her body. Her voice when I spoke.
I tried to text someone. Anyone. But the messages were already answered. Her replies. Her tone. Her life.
I don’t know where my body went. I don’t know what happened to Talia. But I’m here now. And I have to walk down that aisle.
And the strangest part? Her thoughts are starting to feel like mine. I catch myself remembering things I shouldn’t — the taste of her favorite lipstick, the rhythm of her breathing when she’s nervous, the way she tilts her head when she’s trying not to cry.
I whispered to myself, “This isn’t happening.” But the voice that came out was hers. Soft. Controlled. Familiar.
Then I laughed — just once, quietly. “This wasn’t supposed to be me,” I said to the empty room. Maybe I was talking to her. Maybe just to the silence. I don’t know if she’s still in here… but I can feel her. Like a shadow behind my thoughts.
I looked down at the dress again, ran my fingers over the lace, tracing the delicate embroidery along the bodice. My hand drifted to the pendant resting just above the neckline — something she must’ve chosen carefully. It was warm against my skin, like it had been worn with love. The neckline hugged my chest in a way that felt both unfamiliar and intimate, and as I shifted slightly, I caught the soft scent of her perfume rising from the fabric — floral, subtle, unmistakably hers.
“Talia…” I said softly, the weight of it all sinking in. This was her moment. Her day. And now I’m living it for her. “Of all the days… why this one?”
The planner knocked gently on the door. Not to rush me. Just to check. I nodded without thinking.
I’m standing here in her body, in her dress, on the one day she was meant to be the bride. I smile faintly, adjust the neckline, smooth the train behind me. My hand lifts to tuck a loose wave of hair behind my ear. I don’t even notice I’m doing it. But it feels… right.
