ROOM 7
Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Dress
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Three weeks after setting the date, Jay stood in front of a mirror surrounded by white fabric and indecision.
The bridal shop was tucked away on a quiet street in Makati, nothing like the grand boutiques her mother had suggested. Jay had chosen it herself—small, private, no photographers lurking outside. Just dresses. Just mirrors. Just her.
Her mother sat in a velvet chair to her left, already emotional. Lyra stood to her right, arms crossed, examining every seam. Ash perched on a stool near the window, phone in hand, probably texting David. Emma sat in the corner, Clara asleep in her arms, watching with quiet eyes.
The first dress was lace. Long sleeves. A train that pooled on the floor like milk.
"It's too heavy," Jay said.
Her mother dabbed her eyes. "It's beautiful."
"It's too hot. September is too hot for long sleeves."
The consultant whisked it away.
The second dress was silk. Simple. Strapless. A line that hugged her hips and flared at the knees.
Lyra tilted her head. "It's plain."
Jay looked at her reflection. "It's boring."
"Next."
The third dress had beads. Thousands of them. They caught the light like scattered stars.
Ash whistled. "Now that's a dress."
Jay turned. The beads sparkled. The fabric whispered. She looked like a princess. She looked like someone else.
"No."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
Jay touched the beads. "It's not me."
The consultant nodded. Removed it.
The fourth dress was different. No lace. No beads. No silk. Just cotton. Simple. White. A line that brushed the floor. Short sleeves. Buttons down the back. A sash that tied at the waist.
Jay stopped moving.
She stared at her reflection. The dress was plain. Almost ordinary. But something about it felt right. Like slipping into an old sweater. Like coming home.
Her mother stood up. Walked to her. Touched the fabric.
"It's cotton," her mother said.
Jay nodded. "It's cotton."
"It's not fancy."
"It's not."
Her mother looked at her face. At the calm in her eyes. At the quiet smile on her lips.
"It's you," her mother said.
Jay looked at her reflection. At the woman in the white cotton dress. At the woman who had survived kidnapping and forced marriage and months of healing. At the woman who was finally, finally ready.
"It's me," she said.
Lyra was crying. Ash was crying. Emma was smiling. Clara slept.
Jay turned to the consultant. "This is the one."
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Part One: The Fitting
The fitting took two hours.
The consultant pinned the hem. Adjusted the sleeves. Tightened the sash. Jay stood on a small platform, arms out, while the woman worked.
Lyra handed her water. Ash held her phone. Emma fed Clara. Her mother took photos.
Keifer texted. How's it going?
Jay typed back. Found it.
What does it look like?
You'll see.
That's not fair.
September twenty-third.
He sent a photo of the shark on his pillow. Bruce is excited.
She smiled. Put her phone away.
The consultant stepped back. "Done."
Jay looked in the mirror. The dress fit perfectly. Simple. White. Cotton. Buttons down the back. A sash at the waist.
She touched the fabric. It was soft. Familiar. Like something she'd worn before.
"Where did you get this dress?" she asked.
The consultant smiled. "It belonged to my grandmother. She wore it when she married my grandfather. Sixty years ago. She said it brought her luck."
Jay stared at her reflection. At the dress that had seen sixty years of love.
"Your grandmother?"
"She passed away last year. She would have wanted someone to wear it. Someone who deserved it."
Jay's throat tightened. "I don't know if I deserve it."
The consultant walked to her. Touched her shoulder. "My grandmother survived a war. She lost her family. Her home. Everything. But she never lost hope." She paused. "She would have wanted you to have this dress."
Jay looked in the mirror. At the woman in white. At the dress that had been waiting for her for sixty years.
"Thank you," she whispered.
The consultant smiled. "You're welcome."
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Part Two: The Veil
Her mother handed her a box. White. Ribbon. No card.
"What's this?"
"Open it."
Jay untied the ribbon. Lifted the lid. Inside was a veil. Long. Simple. Lace edges. Her grandmother's veil. The one she'd worn at her wedding. The one she'd passed to Jay's mother. The one she'd saved for Jay.
"This was Grandma's."
Her mother nodded. "She wanted you to have it."
Jay held the veil. The lace was soft. The fabric was thin. It smelled like lavender and old memories.
"She wore it when she married Grandpa. She wore it when she came to this country. She wore it when she held you for the first time." Her mother's voice cracked. "She would have wanted you to wear it on your wedding day."
Jay's eyes filled with tears. She didn't wipe them away.
"Help me put it on."
Her mother stood behind her. Lifted the veil. Placed it on her head. The lace fell around her shoulders. The fabric cascaded down her back.
Jay looked in the mirror. The dress was simple. The veil was old. Together, they were perfect.
Lyra was sobbing. Ash was holding her. Emma was crying quietly. Clara was still asleep.
Jay's mother put her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "Your grandmother is watching."
Jay looked at her reflection. At the woman in white. At the veil that had seen three generations of love.
"I know," she said.
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Part Three: The Shoes
The consultant brought out a box. Brown. Worn. Taped at the corners.
"These belonged to my grandmother too. She wore them with the dress."
Jay opened the box. Inside were shoes. White. Simple. Flat. Leather scuffed at the toes.
"They're old."
The consultant nodded. "They're sixty years old."
Jay picked them up. The leather was soft. The soles were worn. She could see the imprint of feet that had walked down an aisle decades ago.
"Try them on," her mother said.
Jay sat down. Slipped her feet into the shoes. They fit. Perfectly.
She stood up. Looked in the mirror. The dress. The veil. The shoes. All of it from a woman who had survived. A woman who had loved. A woman who had passed her strength down through generations.
"She would have liked you," the consultant said.
Jay touched the veil. "I would have liked her too."
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Part Four: The Box
They packed the dress in a box. The veil in tissue paper. The shoes in their original box.
Jay carried them to the car. Her mother walked beside her. Lyra and Ash followed. Emma held Clara.
"You're going to be a beautiful bride," her mother said.
Jay looked at the box. At the dress inside. At the veil. At the shoes.
"I'm going to be a married woman."
Her mother stopped walking. Turned to face her.
"Your father and I—" She paused. "We never said thank you."
Jay blinked. "For what?"
Her mother took her hands. "For agreeing to marry Yuri. For sacrificing yourself to save the company. For—"
Jay shook her head. "I didn't do it for the company."
Her mother waited.
"I did it for you. For Dad. For our family." She squeezed her mother's hands. "I would do it again."
Her mother pulled her into a hug. Held her tight.
"I love you," her mother whispered.
Jay held her back. "I love you too."
They stood in the parking lot. The sun was setting. The box was in Jay's arms. The veil was inside. The shoes were inside. The dress was inside.
September twenty-third was coming.
She was ready.
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End of Chapter Sixty-Eight