Am I worried about my fiancée calling off the engagement?
This thought, like an undertow beneath the water's surface, quietly skims across my cerebral cortex, carrying a barely perceptible chill.
The anxiety existed, leaving a blurry trace, but it's not quite tangible, like holding a piece of melting ice in my stomach.
Perhaps there is some of it.
I gave myself an uncertain answer.
After all, a man about to hold a wedding, if he feels no qualms about the possible departure of his fiancée, would be too illogical.
Though... I seem to hardly remember why we got engaged.
Memory feels soaked in thick ink, leaving only some indistinct silhouettes.
Oh right, what does my fiancée look like?
I forced my thoughts to focus on this, like adjusting an out-of-focus telescope.
An image of a woman should emerge, without specific features, voice, or scent.
I recall she has long jet-black hair, yes, like the deepest night sky, smooth enough to gleam under any light.
