AALIYAH
"She should really be embarrassed. How can she even show her face here?" Shanda's voice sliced through the air, sharp and judgmental. I stood frozen, my hand gripping the toilet stall door, paralyzed by fear. Fear of moving. Fear of stepping out.
"I could almost hear her smirk as she mocked, 'Poor Aaliyah, always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Did you see her standing all alone at the reception, watching her best friend get married? What a disgrace.'"
Her words hit me like a punch, tightening my chest with a familiar ache. The same ache I'd endured too many times before. I fought the urge to crumple, to hide away in the corner of the stall where I could let the pain swallow me. But I wouldn't let it. Not now.
Then Tamika chimed in, her tone dripping with cruelty. "Honestly, she's overweight. No guy is going to look at her like that. With two of her sisters married off, and the youngest one even has a boyfriend who's going to soon put a ring on her finger."
"If I were in her shoes, I wouldn't even think about coming to this wedding, especially not one for my best friend," she mocked, and their laughter echoed through the bathroom as I remained hidden, my back pressed against the cold metal. I could almost feel the weight of their laughter on my skin, like invisible hands pushing me deeper into the shadows.
I should have been used to their taunts by now, but the sting never quite dulled. Tears threatened to spill, and I blinked them back furiously, refusing to cry for them. Not now. Not for Shanda, not for Tamika. They didn't know me, their words shouldn't matter. But they did. They always did.
At last, I heard the bathroom stall door slam shut, signaling their exit. I exhaled shakily, taking a deep breath as I pushed the door open. The bathroom was empty. I walked to the mirror and gazed at my reflection.
Looking at my reflection, I couldn't help but focus on the shape of my body, the curves I had tried to ignore for so long. I was what some might call "chubby," sure. But if you really looked, you'd see the hourglass shape, the swell of my hips, the curve of my bust, and the small pooch in my stomach that I could never quite get rid of. I had tried to hide it, tried to pretend it didn't matter, but deep down, I could never escape the feeling that I didn't fit in anywhere.
It didn't matter much anymore, though. Not when I'd always been on the outside looking in, watching the world move around me, feeling like I didn't quite belong.
My long, natural hair was braided into a simple, plain braid that hung down my back, the dark strands thick and full, a reminder of my African roots. I was light-skinned, the kind of shade that didn't quite fit into either world, too light for some, but never really enough for others. My face was round with full cheeks, but my eyes, dark brown and a little too wide for my liking, always gave away my feelings. I had tried for years to hide my insecurities behind a smile, but the effort was getting harder with every passing day.
I wasn't ugly, at least not in the way they meant it. But I could never see what anyone would see in me. All those years of subtle jabs and cruel whispers had worn me down, chipping away at my confidence. I didn't have the bravado of my sisters, who had already found their place in the world. I wasn't the one to stand tall in the spotlight; I was just... Aaliyah. The one who always stood at the sidelines, waiting for something to happen, waiting for a life that seemed to always pass me by.
I sighed and straightened up, looking away from the mirror . It didn't matter. I wasn't here for them, or anyone else. I was here for my best friend.
I lifted my chin, squared my shoulders, and stepped out of the bathroom. The hallway felt longer than usual, and as I entered the reception room, a wave of self-consciousness suddenly washed over me. I lowered my gaze instinctively, eager to blend into the background, where I wouldn't be noticed.
The atmosphere was electric, filled with the pulsating rhythm of music and the lively chatter of guests. Yet I felt like an outsider in this vibrant scene. I was the invisible one, standing in the periphery, watching the world unfold around me.
I gravitated toward a quiet corner, where I could lean against the wall and clutch a glass of champagne, a small something to occupy my hands and give me the illusion of having a place in this moment.
From where I stood, I watched my best friend, the radiant bride, twirl joyfully with her husband, Darren, at the center of the dance floor. A genuine smile crept across my face, filled with happiness for her. But as I turned slightly, my eyes fell upon a familiar figure: my mother.
Marriage has always been a significant milestone for my mother. She adored weddings, especially her own. But as easy as it was for her to get married, my relationships had never even come close to takeoff.
My mom says it's because I'm too picky. She claims that's why I'm not married, but I don't think I'm picky. I just know what I don't want.
I don't want a man with wandering eyes or one who cares more about his work than me. I don't want someone who thinks he's above everything, especially me.
I glanced at my brother, who was in the midst of a heated argument with a waiter, and I certainly didn't want someone lacking ambition.
And most of all, I didn't want to spend my entire life listening to my mother tell me how she found four husbands and I can't even find one.
According to her, a woman isn't truly a lady unless she's married by 30, and you're not considered a woman until you've had at least two children. If you fall short of both, then you're just like my aunt Monica.
"Aaliyah," my mother's voice sliced through the noise of the reception hall, pulling me from my reverie. I turned to see her approaching, her expression serious, her wig neatly styled in a bun, her eyes narrowing in my direction.
"What are you doing pressing against the wall like you are one of the wedding decorations?" she asked, halting right in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed people glancing our way and whispering. I often wondered if my mother took pleasure in humiliating me.
"MomâŠ" I murmured, but she merely rolled her eyes and snatched the champagne from my grasp.
"Why don't you go over there, socialize, find yourself a man, and stop lurking in the background?" she insisted, pulling me away from the wall and into her line of sight. And I wished the floor would open up and swallow me, everyone's gaze pressing down on me.
Yep, this was my life.
To make matters worse, I suddenly heard a familiar voice.
"Aaliyah," the deep male voice called.
My heart skipped a beat, and I froze, the lump in my throat growing heavier. That voice. I knew it, but I hadn't heard it in two years.
No. It couldn't be.
Slowly, I turned, my hands trembling as I tried to steady myself, my mind racing through possibilities.
And then I saw him.