her tone already edged with disappointment. Stop making everything a problem. So Imani went because she was tired, because she wanted peace because some part of her still hoped she was wrong. The fitting began normally enough. The seamstress pinned the hem adjusted the waist, stepped back, and smiled with professional approval. Immani stood on the small raised platform in front of the mirror, looking at herself in the dress she had once imagined would mark the beginning of a new life.
Instead, she felt strangely detached, as if the woman in the mirror belonged to someone else. Her hands rested at her sides, but her fingers kept twitching, betraying the tension she was trying so hard to control. She could feel Kesha’s eyes on her from across the room. You look beautiful, Kesha said at last, her voice honey soft. Simple, safe, very you.
It took effort for Ammani not to react. She swallowed, kept her eyes on the mirror, and forced her breathing to stay even. Their mother smiled as if she had heard a compliment. The seamstress continued working, unaware of the current moving beneath the surface. Then Kesha rose from the cream colored sofa and moved closer, circling slowly with the kind of confidence that always made rooms rearrange around her.
She reached out and touched a section of the lace near Immani’s shoulder, not roughly, but with a familiarity that felt invasive. “You know,” Kesha said lightly. “I wonder how it would look on someone with stronger posture.” Immani turned her head slightly. What does that mean? Kesha laughed softly, almost kindly. Nothing bad. Don’t be so sensitive.
Their mother sighed. Immani. The seamstress stepped back to retrieve another pin. For a second, no one was blocking the dressing area behind them, where another finished gown hung on a manquin near the mirror. Kesha’s eyes shifted toward it, then back to Ammani. Then she smiled. Actually, she said I wanted to try something.
Before anyone could stop her, she stepped behind the changing screen, slipped off her blazer, and with the help of one of the assistants, pulled on a sample bridal gown that was far more dramatic than Ammani’s sleek satin deep neckline fitted through the waist. The kind of dress designed to dominate attention. A few minutes later, she stepped out and positioned herself in front of the larger mirror across from Ammani.
For one suspended second, the room went completely still. Kesha tilted her head, studying her reflection with slow, cruel pleasure. Then she looked directly at Ammani through the mirror and smiled. I wanted to see how it looks on the right bride. The words landed cleanly, deliberately, without mercy. Immi felt the blood drain from her face.
