M.
& S.

In the morning the dress is already there, upright on its stand, in the pink light of the curtains. A pearl-embroidered bodice, a vast skirt that catches the daylight. Around it, everything that will go with it: pearl-trimmed sandals, a necklace on its stand, a bottle of perfume and a ring in its box.

On his side, everything is lined up: polished shoes, the watch, the bow tie, the perfume. Then come other people’s gestures — hands fixing a cufflink, a henna-decorated hand pinning the boutonnière to the black lapel.

Her hands wear henna up to the wrists, like brown lace. We see them rest on the dress, let a careful hand fasten a bracelet, then close around a bouquet of white roses.

The ring slides onto her finger. Their hands look for each other, find each other, and don’t let go: one over the other, flat against his jacket, then gently around the back of his neck. You don’t need to see their faces to understand.

A white car is waiting, its bonnet covered in white flowers and greenery. Before they leave, their hands rest side by side on the bodywork, next to the bouquet.

In the evening, tradition takes over: the golden bowl, the henna placed in the palm of a hand, gold bracelets against green velvet. The tables are set, the sweets are waiting — the night can begin.