Nara woke before her alarm went off, long before morning light filtered through the gap in her bedroom curtains. She wasn't sure whether she'd actually fallen asleep the night before or had merely lain there with her eyes closed, replaying every word of the mysterious message in her head.
She reached for her phone with a hand that still felt stiff. The screen lit up, displaying 4:20 a.m. There were no new messages.
Last night's conversation was still there, as if challenging her to read it again: the photograph of a strange woman whose face was her own, the sentence about someone who would die, and the apology that sounded like regret from someone who had already lost.
She set the phone down, then sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wedding dress still hanging behind the closet door.
In a few hours, she would be wearing that dress in front of hundreds of wedding guests.
Nara walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside a little.
The streets below her apartment were still quiet, with only one or two vehicles passing by with their headlights on through the thin morning fog.
She rested her forehead against the cold glass, trying to calm her mind, still filled with the image of the woman in last night's photograph.
Could this really be her future self, ten years from now?
The question felt ridiculous the moment she asked herself.
Nara wasn't the kind of person who believed in things like time travel or predictions of the future.
All her life, she'd relied on data, facts, and logic to make every important decision—a habit she'd developed working as a financial analyst, where every number had to be accounted for.
Yet that same logic was now incapable of giving her an answer for what had happened the night before.
At seven that morning, Sena, her college best friend and the bridesmaid accompanying her that day, arrived at Nara's apartment carrying two cups of coffee and the wide smile that usually brightened her face every morning.
“You look pale,” Sena said as soon as the door opened, her tone turning more serious. “Didn't sleep well?”
Nara accepted one of the coffees, then sat down on the living room sofa.
She weighed whether she should tell Sena about what had happened the night before.
Throughout their seven years of friendship, Sena had always been the first person she trusted with things like this.
But this time, something made her hesitate—not because she didn't trust Sena, but because she herself still wasn't completely sure what had really happened.
“Something strange happened last night,” Nara finally said, her voice quiet. “I got a message from an unknown number.”
Sena raised an eyebrow. “What kind of message?”
Nara told her everything—the first message, the photograph of the strange woman who looked like her, and the final sentence that still echoed in her mind.
Sena listened intently, frowning now and then, but when Nara finished, her friend's expression softened into something reassuring.
“Nara,” Sena said, taking Nara's hand, “this has to be a prank from one of Raka's coworkers. You know how people like to play weird jokes before a wedding. Maybe this was some kind of over-the-top surprise.”
“But the photograph—”
“The photograph could have been edited, Nara. Technology can make anything look real these days.” Sena squeezed her hand tighter. “You've been waiting for this moment for seven years. Don't let some cheap joke ruin your day.”
Her words sounded reasonable.
Too reasonable, in fact, until Nara felt a little embarrassed for letting the message bother her all night.
She nodded slowly, trying to convince herself that Sena was right.
Sena then got up from the sofa and straightened the bridesmaid dress hanging near the door while continuing to chatter about the day's schedule, what time the wedding car would arrive, who would be greeting guests at the entrance, and how she'd already checked three times to make sure the bouquet would arrive on time.
Her cheerful voice usually managed to calm Nara whenever she felt nervous.
This time, too, the unease from the night before gradually began to fade, replaced by the practical bustle leading up to the big day.
“Besides,” Sena added as she picked up her small bag, “if there's really something wrong with Raka, I'll be the first person to tell you. You know that, right?”
Nara gave a small smile and nodded.
She trusted those words completely.
Sena had been part of her life since college, standing by her through her first breakup, the loss of her first job, and even her father's death five years ago. She had no reason to doubt her best friend's sincerity.
Yet deep in her heart, a small part of her still wondered: how could photo editing capture something as tiny as the faint scar on her left wrist—the scar she'd gotten in a childhood bicycle accident and had never posted on social media?
She decided not to mention it to Sena. Maybe she was simply too tired, thinking too much with the big day approaching.
At nine that morning, the bridal makeup began.
The small room on the upper floor of the reception hall had been transformed into a preparation room, filled with the scent of hairspray and fresh flowers that had just been delivered.
Nara's mother sat in the corner of the room, occasionally adjusting her own hijab while wiping away the tears of emotion that kept flowing whenever she looked at her daughter in front of the mirror.
“I'm so proud of you, sweetheart,” her mother said softly, her voice trembling. “I've always told you that Raka is a good match for you.”
Nara only smiled and said nothing as the makeup artist carefully worked on her face, applying a thin layer of foundation, shaping her eyebrows, and adding a touch of pink to her cheeks.
In the middle of the commotion, the phone she'd left on the vanity table vibrated once.
She glanced at it, her heart beating faster than it should have.
The same number.
“I knew you wouldn't listen to me. I didn't listen to myself back then either.”
Nara stared at the screen longer than she should have, until the makeup artist gently reminded her not to move so much. She put the phone back and covered it with a small cloth so it wouldn't be visible again, as if doing so could make the message stop haunting her.
But something inside her had changed since the night before.
A tiny crack, nearly invisible, had begun to appear in her own conviction—the certainty that had made her so sure marrying Raka was the rightest decision of her life.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face had been beautifully transformed by bridal makeup, but her eyes held something no amount of powder or lipstick could hide.
The same doubt as the night before.
Only this time, the doubt was no longer whispering.
It had begun to scream.