Sophia's POV.
The mirror is unforgiving. It reflects a version of me I hardly recognize—swollen eyes, smeared makeup, hair matted from hours of restless tossing on my bed. I press my palms into the sink, leaning forward as if getting closer will make the image any less pathetic.
How did I get here?
Three days ago, I was wearing a dress fit for a fairy tale. Three days ago, my heart raced with anticipation, nerves tingling as I prepared to walk down the aisle to the man I thought was my forever. Three days ago, Alexander Kim told me he couldn't marry me.
Not wouldn't. Couldn't.
I choke back a sob as the words replay in my head, the memory sharp enough to cut. I close my eyes, but it's worse when I do. The scene is burned into the backs of my eyelids—the church filled with friends and family, the murmurs of confusion when Alexander didn't show. My brother Daniel pacing the back of the church, his face grim as he stepped outside to make a call.
And then the whispers started.
"He's gone."
"He's not coming."
When Daniel came back, he couldn't meet my eyes. He didn't need to say anything. I knew.
I press a hand against my chest, as if I can physically hold myself together. The pain is a weight, dragging me down. It's not just heartbreak—it's humiliation, betrayal, and the hollow ache of losing someone I thought I knew. Someone I thought I loved.
I stumble away from the mirror and collapse onto the edge of my bed, curling in on myself. The silence in the room is deafening, but I can't bring myself to turn on the TV or music. It feels wrong, like the world should stop for a moment and acknowledge the devastation inside me.
The knock on the door is soft, hesitant. I know who it is before she even speaks.
"Sophia?" Rachel's voice is gentle, but there's an edge of concern in it. "Can I come in?"
I don't answer. I don't think I can. But the door creaks open anyway, and Rachel steps inside. She looks at me, her expression a mix of pity and helplessness.
"Oh, honey." She crosses the room and sits next to me, her arm draping over my shoulders. I stiffen at first but then collapse into her side, letting her hold me.
"It's not fair," I whisper, my voice raw. "Why would he do this to me? Why didn't he just tell me sooner if he didn't want to marry me?"
Rachel doesn't respond right away. She just strokes my hair, letting me cry. Finally, she says, "I don't know why he did it, Sophia. But it's his loss. He's a fool for walking away from you."
Her words are kind, but they don't feel true. They bounce off the walls of my pain, failing to penetrate. "He said he loved me," I murmur. "He said I was his everything. Was it all a lie?"
Rachel sighs. "I don't think it was a lie. I think... I think he's just a coward."
A coward. The word feels right, but it doesn't make the pain any less sharp.
I sit up, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "I can't do this, Rachel. I can't keep going like this. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. I see him walking away."
"You can do this," she says firmly. "You're stronger than you think. And you're not alone. I'm here for you, okay?"
Her words are a lifeline, but I still feel like I'm drowning. I nod anyway, because it's easier than arguing.
Rachel shifts, pulling a tissue from her pocket and handing it to me. "Blow your nose. You look like a mess."
A weak laugh escapes me, surprising both of us. "Thanks for that," I say, my voice wobbling.
She grins. "Anytime."
For a moment, the weight on my chest lifts, just a little. But it's still there, lurking, waiting for the next moment of quiet to pounce.
Rachel stands, brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. "You know what you need? A distraction. Something to get you out of this house and away from your thoughts."
I shake my head. "I can't. I just... I need time."
"You've had time," she argues. "Sitting here and wallowing isn't helping. Trust me on this." She pulls out her phone and starts tapping away.
"What are you doing?"
"Looking up something that'll cheer you up."
I groan. "If this is about signing me up for some singles app, I swear—"
"It's not an app," she interrupts. She turns her phone toward me, showing a flashy website with bold letters that read The Bachelor and You: A Game Show to Find True Love.
I stare at her, incredulous. "You can't be serious."
"Hear me out," she says quickly. "It's not just about finding love. It's an experience. A chance to meet new people, do crazy challenges, and—"
"Make a fool of myself on national TV?" I cut in.
"You're already making a fool of yourself by sitting here crying over someone who doesn't deserve you," she retorts. Her tone is sharp, but her eyes are soft. "Sophia, you need this. You need something to shake you out of this funk."
I shake my head, but the seed of an idea has already been planted. It's absurd, of course. Ridiculous. And yet, part of me wonders if she's right. If maybe, just maybe, this could be the thing that pulls me out of the darkness.
Rachel sits back down beside me, her phone still glowing in her hand. She doesn't push me further, and for that, I'm grateful. My mind is already racing, flipping through the possibilities, the what-ifs. A game show? On national TV? The thought alone makes my stomach twist. Cameras capturing every raw emotion, every awkward moment, every stumble I'd inevitably make.
But then again, what's the alternative? Staying here, drowning in my own misery, replaying that awful day over and over until it consumes me entirely?
"I know it sounds crazy," Rachel says softly, breaking the silence. "But sometimes, crazy is exactly what we need. It's a chance to step out of your comfort zone. To see what's out there."
"What if I embarrass myself?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Her laugh is light, a welcome contrast to the heaviness in my chest. "Sophia, you've already survived the ultimate embarrassment. Nothing can top being left at the altar."
I flinch, and she winces immediately. "I'm sorry," she says quickly. "That was harsh. I just mean… you've already been through hell. The worst has already happened. This could be your chance to take control again. To prove to yourself—and to everyone else—that you're more than what happened to you."
Her words sink in slowly, like stones dropping into a deep, still pond. More than what happened to me. Is that even possible?
I pick at a loose thread on the blanket draped over my lap, my thoughts swirling. "What if… what if I'm not ready?"
Rachel places a hand over mine, her grip warm and steady. "Then you go at your own pace. But I know you, Sophia. You're stronger than you think. And maybe this isn't just about finding love. Maybe it's about finding you again."
Finding me again. I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. The me I was before Alexander seems like a distant memory—a version of myself that's been chipped away piece by piece.
"I don't know…" I start, but Rachel cuts me off.
"You don't have to decide right now," she says. "Just promise me you'll think about it." She tilts her head, her eyes pleading but patient. "Please?"
I sigh, the sound heavy with exhaustion and indecision. "Fine. I'll think about it."
Her face lights up with a smile, and for a moment, I'm reminded of why she's my best friend. "That's all I'm asking."
She stands, tucking her phone into her pocket and brushing her hands together as if she's just completed a monumental task. "Now, how about I make us some tea? You look like you could use a decent cup of chamomile."
I manage a small smile. "Tea sounds good."
As she heads toward the kitchen, I lean back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. The weight in my chest is still there, but it feels… different now. Lighter, somehow.
My eyes drift toward the crumpled invitation lying on the nightstand—the one that should've been the start of my forever. Instead, it's a bitter reminder of what was stolen from me.
Rachel's words echo in my mind. More than what happened to you.
For the first time in days, I feel the tiniest flicker of something unfamiliar. Not quite hope, but the whisper of a possibility. Maybe, just may
be, she's right. Maybe there's more to me than this pain, this heartbreak.
And maybe, just maybe, I'll find her again.