“Thanks,” Ruth replied, her gratitude evident in her smile. “You’re a gem, Noa.”

  Noa offered a weak smile in return and made her exit.

  Aunt Maggie clapped her hands together briskly. “Alright, Tilly, time for you to head out too.”

  “But—” Tilly began.

  Aunt Maggie raised a finger, interrupting. “‘But's are for sitting, not rebuttals. Head out and assist Noa.”

  Tilly seemed on the verge of protesting further but eventually heaved a resigned sigh and departed. Ruth felt a weight lift off her shoulders, a sensation bordering on relief.

  With a reduced audience, Ruth turned to her aunt, brushing her hair with a gentle sweep of her fingers. “Should I really reconsider my hair?”

  “Absolutely not,” Aunt Maggie reassured. “You're radiant.” She carefully lifted the veil that lay draped over a nearby chair, gently unfurling it. “Let’s get this on.”

  Ruth complied, leaning down a tad to facilitate Aunt Maggie's efforts. As the veil was affixed and she straightened up, the reflection that greeted her confirmed her earlier inclination about her hairstyle.

  She looked breathtaking.

  An involuntary gasp escaped her. Drawn to her own reflection, Ruth was captivated by how a mere veil could elevate her ensemble. The ensemble had already enchanted her, but this final touch--it felt like something out of a fairy tale.

  Aunt Maggie, standing behind her niece, placed comforting hands on Ruth’s shoulders. “I told you so. Pure beauty.”

  “Thank you,” Ruth whispered, deeply moved.

  Nodding sagely, Aunt Maggie playfully chided, “Now, we should proceed before Noa comes back with fire in her eyes. She seemed adamant we hurry.”

  Ruth, breaking free from the spell of her own reflection, knew Aunt Maggie was right. It was crucial to stay on schedule, to meet everyone out there—

  A gentle knock interrupted their moment.

  Upon opening the door, Aunt Maggie was greeted by Abba, clad in a crisp suit that deepened the hue of his eyes, rendering them almost like dark, tranquil pools. He fixed an awestruck gaze on his daughter, then with arms open invitingly, he declared, “I’ve never witnessed such beauty.”

  Ruth's face was adorned with a heartwarming smile.

  Today was destined to be nothing short of perfection.

  4

  Synagogue Soiree

  Within moments of arriving at the grand synagogue, Abba was ushered into the inner chambers, leaving Tovah adrift. The gathering was larger than she had anticipated. For a while, she loitered on the periphery, her back pressed to the cool stone wall.

  Crowds were never Tovah's cup of tea. Her distaste for them had roots in her early childhood and hadn't waned as she matured. The tumult of overlapping voices, raucous laughter, and the occasional jostle overwhelmed her. The sensory onslaught was intense: a mishmash of scents—fragrant perfumes, musky colognes, and the fresh aroma of flowers—converged into a jarring blend that was almost pungent to her heightened senses.

  The whole scenario baffled her. It was, after all, a wedding. Why the urgency to socialize? The reality was that many attendees barely knew each other, and it was probable that many wouldn’t cross paths again. But, of course, there were also the familiar faces.

  Gideon, a classmate, was there, wandering around. And his sisters, dressed in coordinated attire, played the role of bridesmaids. Aunt Maggie was another known entity, although Tovah couldn't spot her amid the crowd. Aunt Maggie often engaged in deep conversations with Tovah’s father, Ahmed. Having converted in the last few years, she frequently sought insights from seasoned believers, hoping to deepen her understanding. Yet, to Tovah, their dialogues seemed tedious and dull.

  The entire event was overwhelming. Even before the ceremonial proceedings commenced, Tovah found herself yearning for the comfort of her home. Ruth, the only one so understanding of her temperament, had intentionally kept her out of the limelight, sparing her the scrutiny and attention.

  Perhaps she could remain in this quiet corner for the event's duration? The noise was still incessant, but the reduced crowd made it more bearable. Shielded by the wall, there was little risk of unintended physical contact, something Tovah found particularly unsettling. She despised unsolicited touches, whether it was a casual pat or an affectionate ruffle of her hair. The mere thought of such breaches made her heart race. She anxiously nibbled on the side of her tongue, an old habit that Abba often chided her for.

  Distracting herself, her fingers danced over the back of her own hand, mimicking the soothing circular motions Ruth often employed. Her breaths came in short, quick succession, matching the rhythm of the bustling ambiance around her: conversations, melodic tunes, and the occasional sound of camera shutters.

  Looking around, Tovah realized the wedding was even more bustling than she had imagined. She wondered how many of the guests were acquaintances of Asher's. Among them, she noticed a girl of her age, enveloped in a thick, plush white coat, appearing uncomfortably warm in the ambient temperature. Tovah's own skin felt clammy just looking at her.

  A sudden camera flash momentarily blinded her. Tovah managed to muster a fleeting smile before the photographer darted off, probably in pursuit of a more photogenic subject. She blinked rapidly, clearing the bright spots from her vision.

  “Thanks,” the photographer uttered, shifting his focus to his next subject. As he approached, many guests animatedly adjusted their postures, their faces breaking into bright, rehearsed smiles. They seemed to relish the spotlight.

  Tovah, however, felt quite the opposite. If she could traverse her entire life without facing the lens, she'd be ecstatic. Her gaze darted around the hall, wary of any potential camera advances.

  Suddenly, a familiar voice caught her off guard. “There you are, Tovah.”

  She turned to find Asher, the groom, standing beside her. His unexpected presence startled her briefly but was soon replaced by a comforting smile.

  “Asher,” she responded, her voice tinted with evident relief. “It's quite a whirlwind in here.”

  “Where's your father?” His eyes scanned the room.

  She gestured vaguely toward a distant door. “He headed in that direction. I believe they escorted him to see Ruth, but the music drowned out their conversation.”

  Truth be told, she hadn’t been paying much attention. Often, Tovah found herself drifting off, the words of others becoming mere background noise, only to realize the conversation had ended before she could refocus her attention.

  Asher, sensing her discomfort, reassured her, “I'm sure they won't be away for long.”

  "I hope not," Tovah murmured.

  Navigating through the sea of guests to find her assigned seat felt like an insurmountable challenge. Ruth was the one who took Tovah's sensitivities into account, not Ahmed.

  “You look lovely, Tovah,” Asher graced her with a warm smile. Dressed impeccably for his big day, he wore a dark suit, complemented by a crimson shirt adorned with golden buttons. His hair, meticulously styled, glistened under the lights, framing a clean-shaven face.

  Indeed, Asher was a striking figure. While Abba often remarked that no amount of conversion would make him a "true" Jewish boy, Tovah felt differently. Aunt Maggie, after all, never faced such scrutiny from Ahmed. Perhaps, Ahmed harbored a fondness for Aunt Maggie that he lacked for Asher. It puzzled Tovah.

  In her eyes, Asher's kindness and chivalry overshadowed his religious origins. He exuded the aura of the movie princes she adored, always ready to lend a hand and consistently patient with her.

  “Thank you.” Tovah absentmindedly tugged at her cerulean dress adorned with white lace. “It's itchy.”

  His eyes held a playful glint as they scanned her, and he said, "Well, hopefully you'll be able to take it off soon enough." His fingers grazed the front of his crisp shirt, tugging it away from his chest as if the fabric imprisoned him. It took Tovah a breath to understand: he felt as constricted in his attire as she did in hers.

  Ruth had gushed about the joys of dressing up for weeks. But Tovah wondered if anyone ever asked Asher how he felt about the confining suit and tie. Would he have preferred to recite vows in the comfort of his worn jeans? Most aspects of their wedding diverged from the customary. Why not add to it?

  Asher's voice pulled her back from her thoughts, "Traditional weddings? They aren't the endless affairs the elderly romanticize them to be."

  "Abba mentioned we might not get home until dawn," Tovah remarked, her voice betraying her longing for the familiar comforts of home. The fantasy of weddings from her childhood games was vastly different from this overwhelming reality—mostly because of the sea of faces.

  Maybe it was even more overwhelming than she had braced herself for.

  "The wedding itself won't stretch on that long," Asher assured her, his eyes darting through the crowd momentarily as if seeking someone. He leaned closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Want to be my partner in crime for a bit?"

  Eagerness flared within her. Anything was better than engaging in forced small talk with the swarm of distant relatives and strangers. At thirteen, she had already reckoned with her introverted nature and the likelihood of maintaining only a close-knit circle of friends.

  School was a battlefield of its own, and while she had harbored hopes of speaking to the one familiar boy from her class at this gathering--Gideon--just a fleeting glimpse of him had sent her heart racing, anxiety constricting her chest.

  But Asher, he was different.

  She felt safe with him. If Ruth's heart found a home in Asher, so did Tovah's by association. And it didn't hurt that he possessed the charm of a fairy-tale prince, either.

  Steering her away from the throng, Asher guided her down a hallway, moving toward the more secluded areas of the venue. The absence of a bustling crowd acted as a soothing balm for her fraying nerves. She let out a sigh of relief, the weight on her shoulders lessening.

  "I wish you were enjoying this more, Tovah," Asher confessed, a hint of guilt shadowing his eyes. "Ruth had so hoped this day would be magical for you."

  Scrambling for words, Tovah responded, "It's not that. It's just... overwhelming. I'm sorry if I seem distant. I don't mean to be a raincloud in the midst of this sunny celebration."

  He quirked an eyebrow, a gentle tease in his tone, "A raincloud?"

  Her cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze, "You know what I mean."

  "No, I don't."

  “Abba always says that. That I have this particular look, like a looming storm cloud.” Tovah's eyes began to roll in exasperation, but remembering manners, she stopped midway. Instead, her fingers clutched the delicate fabric of her dress, the grip betraying her turbulent emotions.

  His voice was soft, almost a whisper, carrying the warmth of empathy. “I don’t see a tempest in your eyes. Just a girl who seems a little out of her element. And that’s perfectly okay.”

  Tovah relaxed a little more. Asher was so sweet to her. “At weddings, you’re meant to feel...jubilant. It’s like an unspoken rule,” Her voice carried the weight of an old soul. “Everyone seems to."

  Everyone but her. Yet another page in the ever-growing chronicle of her inadequacies. The list often felt like a mountain she was perpetually climbing, only to find its peak elusive.

  “Life doesn’t come with a playbook,” Asher began, a gentle authority to his tone, “Sometimes, we discover our joys in unexpected corners, indifferent to the crowd's delight. Celebrating our authentic selves is where the magic truly lies.”

  She scuffed the ground with her foot, her little kitten wedge heels making a soft scraping noise against the floor. “Being authentic isn’t exactly winning me any popularity contests.”

  With a glint in his eyes, Asher leaned in. “Here's some inside information for you. The genuine me? He's not the prom king either.”

  Tovah's eyes widened. “That's impossible! You're... you're charismatic, warm-hearted, effortlessly cool. In my books, you're on a pedestal.”

  His laugh was hearty, warming the space between them. “You know, Tovah, I was just reflecting on how incredibly special you are. Funny how the universe works, right?”

  Her cheeks painted a shade of rose, and she quickly dropped her gaze, feeling the weight of his compliment. Sure, Ruth showered her with such affirmations, but siblings are wired that way. Coming from Asher, it held a different, more profound resonance.

  He glanced around, discreetly nudging open the door to the bathroom and motioning her closer. “I need a tiny favor from my co-conspirator.” From his pocket, he produced a pack of cigarettes and a striking red lighter embellished with a serpentine design.

  He sighed, the weight of the day evident. “You remember I mentioned that everyone has qualities not everyone embraces? Ruth doesn’t approve of this vice of mine, but sometimes it steadies my racing heart.”

  Tovah's empathy swelled. Their shared anxiety, though manifesting differently, was palpable. While Ruth found solace in twirling and chewing her hair, Asher sought refuge in a smoky exhale. Her father found strength in whispered prayers and soft Arabic curses, and Aunt Maggie? Well, her oven bore witness to her stress, along with the occasional not-so-kosher indulgence.

  Lost in thought, Tovah wished she had her unique escape, a momentary reprieve from the chaos inside. If only, life came with a magic wand.

  “Can you stand guard for me, just for a bit?” Asher’s eyes pleaded, paired with a somewhat sheepish smile. “It's just...the nerves are about to consume me. I need a breather, and not the wedding kind.”

  A ripple of pride swelled within Tovah as she responded, “I’ve got you covered.” This task, seemingly simple, made her feel valued, significant in the grand tapestry of today’s events. And to top it off, the hallway’s stillness was a stark contrast to the lively buzz of the wedding reception.

  She wished she could nestle in this quiet cocoon for the entire ceremony. Yet, her reserved front-row seat, right beside her Abba’s, ensured her absence wouldn't go unnoticed. She mentally urged Asher to take his time, savoring every drag.

  “This,” Asher held the cigarette and lighter closer to her, emphasizing, “is our little secret. I swore to your sister I'd give it up.”

  Her brow furrowed in contemplation. “Why hold onto it then?” she pondered aloud. But...if Ruth had her vices, wasn’t it a tad hypocritical to ask Asher to shed his? It struck her as an uncanny parallel to the world expecting her to adjust while being inflexible itself. It was as if society was a relentless current, pulling everyone in a singular direction, showing no mercy to those striving against its flow.

  Asher exhaled, a mixture of resignation and anticipation, “I did cut back, significantly. But in moments of overwhelming pressure--like right now--they become my crutch.” He plucked out a silver-lined paper from the pack, crumpling it discreetly before pocketing it. “Can I trust you with this?”

  Being given such trust was rare for Tovah, making it all the more precious. Eager to prove her reliability, she nodded fervently, captivated by Asher's every move as he found a semi-secluded spot and ignited the cigarette.

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” Tovah whispered, her fingers instinctively forming a cross over her heart. “Asher, I wouldn’t want you caught in a storm cloud because of me.”

  A warmth twinkled in his eyes, “You have such a kind heart.”

  Tovah’s spirits soared, as if she had been showered with the rarest of compliments. If joy had a physical manifestation, she’d be beaming, exuding it.

  The lighter’s click seemed almost amplified in the hushed corridor. As the acrid scent of burning tobacco wafted her way, Tovah’s nose crinkled in distaste. She pivoted, keeping her gaze anchored to the hallway, ensuring their clandestine moment remained just that.

  In the gentle ebb and flow of the evening, Tovah embraced her role as the guardian of the corridor with a quiet fervor.

  Determination pulsed within her, a silent oath to herself that she wouldn’t falter.

  Time and time again, she'd felt the weight of lowered expectations. The labels society pinned on her—young, autistic, foolish—weren’t just descriptors; they were heavy chains, pulling her down, defining her boundaries. Though, Tovah recognized their intention, they also stung with an unspoken judgment.

  Yet, even as those labels clung, she felt a certain triumph in this simple task. The empty corridor was a blessing, ensuring she didn't have to flex her newfound role too hard.

  As the silence stretched between them, Asher’s voice broke through, lightly teasing. “Surely, you're at least looking forward to the cake?”

  Her eyes sparkled at the thought. “Absolutely. Cake is a rare treat at home. Abba always lectures about the pitfalls of sugar. But, between you and me, I suspect it's mostly because he lacks the willpower to resist it.”

  Asher's laughter was rich and warm. “Ah, classic Ahmed. You know, I wasn’t sure he’d ever warm up to the idea of me proposing to Ruth. I always felt this...distance from him.”

  Tovah bit her lip, then confessed, “He’s a bit old-fashioned, in his ways. It’s not you, really. He'd probably have reservations about anyone Ruth brought home.”

  Nodding, Asher drew on his cigarette and lightly tapped its ash into the sink. “Maybe. But perceptions can be tricky things. We might wish for them to change, but reality seldom bends to our whims.”

  A wistful sigh escaped her. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it did?”

  With her ears finely tuned, she caught a change in the distant din. “The music’s crescendoing. They must be gearing up for something.”

  “Probably finalizing the playlist,” Asher mused, eyes lost in thought. “Weddings like this, they're intricate dances of coordination.”

  She giggled, “All I have to do is watch and applaud. I can’t imagine juggling the behind-the-scenes chaos.”