Everyone expected the wedding to start perfectly.
The banquet hall was glowing: white tablecloths, crystal chandeliers, music, flowers.
No one imagined that half an hour before the bride’s entrance, a pipe would burst in the hall.
At first, it was just a thin stream along the wall. Someone joked, someone else ran to call the organizers.
Ten minutes later, the water was already covering the floor. Light reflected in it like in a mirror. People hurriedly moved chairs, lifted decorations.
The organizer whispered nervously:
— That’s it, we have to stop, we’ll move it to tomorrow.
But Lena, standing by the door in her wedding dress, quietly said:
— No. I’ll go out anyway.
She stood barefoot — she had taken off her shoes so they wouldn’t get wet.
And she walked.
Across the hall, through the water where candles, chandeliers, and faces of guests were reflected.
Each of her steps left ripples.
The music didn’t stop — the pianist just lifted his feet onto the chair and kept playing.
The guests stood up. Some took videos, some wiped their eyes.
Her white dress swayed in the water, the hem trailing like a cloud.
The groom stood by the altar, between the columns, where the water had already reached almost to his knees.
He didn’t move, only looked at her.
She walked toward him — slowly, confidently, with a smile.
And at that moment, the light from the chandelier fell onto the water, and the whole hall shimmered as if it wasn’t a flood, but a miracle.
When she reached him, he said softly, almost in a whisper:
— I thought you wouldn’t come.
— Even if I had to swim, I would’ve come, — she answered.
And they got married.
Right there, standing in the water.
While outside, the rain still poured down.
