EPISODE 4: engagements, Apologies and other crazy shit

Moving on is supposed to be noble.
You know — the whole “heal, forgive, rise above” spiel that therapists, rom-coms, and yoga instructors swear by.

I tried.
I really did.

I journaled. I meditated. Even stopped stalking Ethan and Clara’s Instagram for an entire forty-eight hours.

But moving on is hard when the internet refuses to let you. I thought I had found closure but something must be missing because I can’t get rid of this feeling inside me.

Why was this so hard??

Every time I opened my phone now, — a screenshot, a meme, a reaction GIF.

One site even ranked “Top Ten Wedding Meltdowns,” and guess who made number one?
Hi. It’s me. I’m the problem, it’s me.

After my little comment-section war, I did what every sane, humiliated woman would do: I ghosted the world.
Deleted Instagram, only answered important calls, blocked Ethan’s number for the 400th time, and became a full-time hermit with an honorary PhD in Avoidance Studies.

Three days into the isolation, I got an email from Pamela —my boss. She’s one of those put-together women who always smell like bergamot and Earl Grey tea. Or was that the same thing?

No matter how many Taylor Swift songs I cried to, the world kept turning. Bills kept billing. Fucks kept fucking and life kept life-ing. Point is, it was time for work. And I was ecstatic.

Taking a deep breath, I looked around the hotel room I’d been haunting for weeks, and exhaled into the empty air. 

I returned to Grandma’s house that Saturday.

Come Monday morning, my hair was in a bun so tight it could split atoms, put on a beige blazer. Onwards to work.

My first event was an engagement party.

If there is a God, He hates me.

Oh, I forgot to mention, I am a wedding planner.

I normally don't do this but the bride-to-be, a bubbly influencer named Chanellle with three L’s, had booked me personally and wanted to meet.

When I arrived at the venue — an upscale garden strung with fairy lights — the staff stared like I’d walked in naked. Whispers soon followed: 

"It's her" 
"the sister's much cuter"
"she looks...ugh!"

Ignoring them made my face itch.

“Good morning,” I said, channelling Professional Leah. “Is the bride here?”

From across the room, a petite woman came rushing like an abnormal Titan.

“Oh….My….God,” she started, “I…am a hella huge FAN. I loved your meltdown. SO raw. So real. You were totes my inspo for breaking up with my boyfriend.”

“Thanks…” I said, forcing a smile.

“Wait a minute.... Aren’t you getting married?”

She shrugged. “Oh that, right...of course I am. Trev’ and I met two weeks ago….we vibed and everything and he bought me this huge diamond ring. Ah, it was love at first sight.”

Riiight??? I’m not even touching that.

As the party continued on, I kept enduring pity compliments, mumbled rants, ten selfies and the maid of honor requested I "object" during the engagment toast as a bit.

Just calm down, I kept chanting to myself.

— the final straw.

As Chanellle’s fiancé, Trevor-with-a-man-bun, made his grand entrance, half-naked raised his glass and shouted. “Everyone, let's thank our planner, the legend herself ..... Dragon Bride! Proof that love always wins!”

The crowd clapped. Phones flashed. Someone yelled, “Say something, Mrs Dragon!”

There's a moment when everyone has that 'click' in their head. Lights flashing. Like a champagne cork to the face and suddenly it happens. Your ears are thrashed with the instrumental of "Eye of the Tiger" and you're filled with this adrenaline that let's your body know, 'it's go time bitch!"

Something similar happened to me, only it was the lyrics of "I'm Back in Black" by AC/DC.

"Say something?" I blurted my voice slicing through the imaginary music. "Sure. Fuuuuck you. Fuck your wedding, your party and your fucking BBL abs....."

You could hear the collective gasp ripple through the crowd but I wasn't done. 

"....You know what you remind me of? Pigeons. Little dirty pigeons flying around eating shit and going through life like pieces of small .....SHITS! You can't even see that you're shitful marriage is doomed!"

Trevor blinked, confused. "Uh, babe is she talking about us...."

"Yes," I clapped in his face. " I'm definitely talking about you! What are you dumb? Stupid or both? Huh?. Bitch??..."

There was more but I'm not comfortable divulging the rest

When the music ended I waited for judgement, but instead everyone cheered. A few of them laughed— laughed!

Someone shouted, "Let her cook!"

Indeed I cooked. And the food was served all over the internet for everyone to enjoy. 

Mentions. Tags. Headlines.
“Wedding Planner Loses It — Again.”

#The Dragon-Bride Returns.

And my personal favourite: “The Patron Saint of Scorned Brides.”

My DMs, even more chaotic.
Half were women, the other “feminist men” cheering me on.

And one message — from my ex’s mother, ‘Still praying for you, sweetheart.’
Gee, thanks, Carol. Maybe pray for your son’s zipper control instead.

Mother and Clara texted too but I ignored them.

The internet had officially adopted me as its favourite tragicomedy. And I realized, that there was no escaping it. As they say, 'the only way is through." 

While I was making this alleged breakthrough, I got a call to report to the office.

“Good Morning, Harper,” Pamela ushered me to a seat.

“Good morning,” I managed sitting straight, trying my best to look like a functioning adult and not a meme come to life.

“Harper,” she said, voice smooth as soy milk. “You’ve… caused a stir. Again.”

Pamela had been my boss for three years — calm and patient in a way I never could be.
And now, she was probably planning my termination.

Pamela hesitated, then sighed. “I watched the video from the event….”

Of course, she did. 

“I’m sorry,” I said immediately. “That wasn’t… who I want to be. I lost control, and it was unprofessional. I promise, it won’t happen again.”

There was a small silence. Then she nodded. “Thank you for saying that.”

Her tone was soft, like a baby lecture.

“You’ve had a difficult few weeks. No one blames you for.....having feelings. But professionalism matters, even when life doesn’t cooperate. Especially then.”

I nodded. “I understand.”

Pamela leaned forward slightly. “I don’t want to lose you Harper. You’re talented. And let’s be honest, the buzz you’ve been generating has been….extraordinary. Our clients have increased and they are all requesting you.”

Thank you, internet. A public meltdown turned into free marketing.

“So, for now take the weekend to rest, decompress and issue a short apology if you’re comfortable doing so.”

Translation: You must apologize immediately.

My throat tightened. “Yes, ma’am.”

Later that day, I reopened my socials and drafted my apology.

“Hi, my name is Leah Harper. You might have seen my… viral moments making the rounds. I want to start by saying my actions were inexcusable and do not reflect the standards that HonestWedder4U represents. I love what I do, and I’m taking steps to make sure my personal pain never bleeds into my work again. To everyone affected by my behavior at the Harrow engagement event ..... I sincerely apologize.  Thank you to those who’ve shown kindness while I learn to do better. Please grant me some privacy to deal with my issues in peace. ”

I hit “Post,” closed my laptop, and looked around the living room I was currently using as a bedroom.

So much had changed. Before I had frames of Ethan and me. The Europe trip two years ago. Now gone. 

The only thing left on the shelf was Grandma's dragon.

I picked it up.

It's carved scales smooth under my thumb— I heard something.

A voice. Soft and low.

I can't explain but it felt like Grandma was speaking to me through it.