Dear Peter,

I hope you're not getting bored, and that's assuming that you're still reading these. I swear, there's a point to recalling every detail of our journey together. Just trust me, okay? I know that's asking a lot after what we've been through. After what I put you through. But, just trust me. Because every step that we took is important in understanding how we ended up where we did. 

I've always thought that weddings were so beautiful. Two people, in love, promising each other their lives. What could be more beautiful than that? 

Remember how naive I was?

In fact, you remember my book, don't you? I'd published it only two years before I met you. It was the story of Max and Hazel; it was the story of a magician―an illusionist, and a girl who fell not for his tricks and illusions, but for his heart. It was my prized possession, my baby, my heart. The story of Max and his Hazel embodied what I'd been: innocent, naive, and romantic. It was a huge part of me that you, for the longest time, never understood.

Anyway, I was a hopeless romantic. But you know that already.

***

I played nervously with the material of the satin blue dress. It hugged me at only my waist and then fell loosely around the rest of my frame. Its dark color resembled that of the sky seconds before the moon kidnaps the tiny bit of light that the sun forgets behind. Right before it all goes dark and all that remains are tiny specks of white that form constellation after constellation, writing stories across the night sky.

It's my favorite dress, but it wasn't my favorite until that night.

Zoya was sitting beside me, almost shaking with excitement.

"I can't believe we're going to Peter Grayson's sister's wedding!" she exclaimed, grabbing my arm.

Zoya was beyond excited when I told her that we were invited to this wedding. She wanted to know all about my meeting with you and Charlie, and when I told her that I'd befriended your best friend, she was both shocked and amused.

"So, you said Peter's actually kind of an ass?" Zoya asked, adjusting the neckline of her light pink dress. The color looked beautiful on her tan skin and with her long and thick brown hair. Zoya's mom was from Pakistan and her father was American. She was always so gorgeous, but so unaware of her own beauty.

She didn't sound intimidated. She wasn't. Zoya was fierce. I knew that if you pulled any of your rude antics tonight, you would get an earful from her.

"He was so cold during lunch that day. Charlie said not to take it personally, but I really just want to know what his issue is."

She sighed.

"Lucy, I understand that, but don't hurt yourself. You can't always fix everyone. And not everyone wants to be fixed."

She gave me a knowing look. We'd been through this before. I can't help it, Peter. Mom always told me I was too optimistic for my own good. She said it was perfectly fine to remain bright but what was brightness without the dark? It was a balance. A crucial one. But I knew that there was good in everyone. All my life, I tried to make it shine in even the darkest of places. 

And that, Peter, was my fatal flaw.

"I'm not trying to fix him," I said, sounding more like I was trying to convince myself than her, "I just want to know his story. You know, for my Literature project..."

We both knew how weak the lie was, but neither one of us acknowledged it.

Zoya smiled. 

"Just don't get hurt," she warned, her hands reaching up to adjust the orchid I'd tucked behind my right ear. 

Plenty of people found it strange and childish that I'd sometimes wear a flower in my hair. It was something that my grandmother always did. It was her signature style. Every day, she'd coordinate a flower that matched her outfit to wear in her hair. She'd always bring me one, too, so we'd match. Until the day that Nana died, she would keep a flower of some sort tucked behind her ear. And when I wore one, I felt like I had a part of her with me wherever I went. 

So when I was doing something and I needed Nana and her support, I'd wear a flower. 

Once the cab lurched to a stop, Zoya gave my hand a squeeze. We stepped out into the breezy evening, arm in arm. 

I hadn't spoken to Charlie since he texted me the details of the wedding. All he told me was the address and to be there at 5p.m., and that he'd be at the entrance, waiting for us.

The church was grand. The building itself looked old, but it had a certain beauty to it. It seemed like it was alive, with so many stories to tell. We were a bit early, but I saw that the doors were open and people were walking in. 

It only took me a few seconds to spot Charlie. He was running around, greeting guests and directing them on where to go. 

"Where's this Charlie?" Zoya asked, her eyes scanning the venue.

I didn't have to answer her question, because as soon as he saw us, he began walking over, a huge grin gracing his face.

Zoya elbowed me, "Holy crap, Lucy, you forgot to mention how cute he was."

I guess it was true. Charlie was shorter than you, but still pretty tall. His eyes were bright and so was his smile, with dimples framing each side. He was definitely handsome. But he wasn't you.

"Lucy!" He brought me into an unexpected embrace. "I'm so glad you came."

He then turned to Zoya, and I saw his smile falter just a bit.

"Hey―I mean Hi, um," he rubbed the nape of his neck with one hand, trying to regain his composure. His cheeks turned a crimson red.

I was trying hard not to laugh. Charlie was so confident, so charming. And here he was, stuttering and stammering at the sight of Zoya. I couldn't blame him; she had that effect on people. She looked at me, pleading with her eyes, unsure of what to do.

Deciding to save him from his embarrassment, I cleared my throat.

"Charlie, this is my best friend, Zoya. Zoya, Charlie."

She stuck her hand out for him to shake, and I saw his eyes trail down to the engagement ring wrapped snugly around her finger. He shook his head, just long enough for me to notice, and took her hand.

"Lovely to meet you," he bowed slightly, making both of us laugh.

"You two look stunning," he remarked. Without giving us a chance to respond, he turned around and began walking towards the church.

And just like that, his confidence was back.

"C'mon in, ladies."

We stepped into the building, and oh it was so beautiful. I'm sure you remember.

The walls of the hall were decked in lights that led all the way up to the altar. The smooth and soft sound of jazz filled the air as people took their seats. But that's not what stood out most.

The venue was dusted with light purple orchids, the same shade as the one I wore behind my ear. They were everywhere. In vases scattered around the room, hung on walls, and adorning the altar.

And in the hair of the woman standing just behind the altar, out of sight of most people, speaking to another older woman as they walked towards the backdoors.

I'd never seen someone so happy. Her smile was wide, and you know how some people's eyes hold an immense amount of happiness? That's how Daisy's always were. She was bright. It was hard to believe that she was related to you.

Her dress was ivory, with a train a few feet long brushing the ground, and she held a veil in her hand.

But at that time, I was more focused on the fact that I was wearing the same flowers in my hair as the bride.  

Gasping lightly, I reached for the flower in my hair.

It was embarrassing, and I prayed that no one would notice.

Charlie and Zoya followed  my gaze and shared a look before turning to me, amusement dancing across both of their faces.

"Looks like you came prepared," Charlie laughed.

"If I'd known, I wouldn't have worn it!" I whispered.

I was about to take it out, when Charlie stopped me.

"Leave it," he said. "It looks nice. Besides, I know Daisy won't mind."

I looked at Zoya, and she nodded in agreement. I decided there wasn't any harm in leaving the flower there.

We took our seats next to Charlie. The wedding was small, intimate. We almost felt like intruders. It seemed as if it was just the two families and some close friends, yet, here we were, two complete strangers sitting among people who'd probably known each other their entire lives.

Charlie must've noted our concern.

"It's okay," he said, "you're more than welcome here."

Zoya and I relaxed a little. Well, I did. She was smiling so wide, you would've thought she was the one getting married that night.

The wistful look in her eyes made it so evident that she was thinking of how her own wedding was going to be. About how, in a matter of a month, she would be the one standing at the altar.  Her and David had been together for two years now.

Even though she always claimed that she was happy, a part of me always believed that Zoya loved David more than he loved her, but I'd never tell her that in fear of crushing her.

The wedding ceremony began soon after. I was confused. I didn't see you anywhere. Not up at the altar, where the groom stood with a couple of men by his side, and not in any of the seats. 

I turned to Charlie.

"Is Peter even here?" I whispered as quietly as I could manage. He only smiled and nodded his head towards the aisle as the ceremonial music for the bride's walk began playing. 

There you were, at the beginning of the aisle, with your arm linked to your sister's. 

You were giving her away.

So many questions, so many thoughts swirled like a tornado in my mind, but they were all muted when I saw the smile on your face.

You were so happy. For once, you looked alive. There were tears in your eyes and it was hard to believe that the man walking his sister down the aisle was the same one that was beating another boxer up a few weeks ago.

Your sister was so small, the difference between the two of you was almost comical. Just by the way that she clung to your arm as you walked towards the altar, I could tell that you two were close. That you cared for her. 

Beside me, Zoya was sniffling and trying her best to suppress her tears. We didn't even know you or Daisy or her husband, but the entire scene was so beautiful that it was hard not to cry. 

That was the first night that I saw another side of you. It's the first night that I saw so much humanity in you that it scared me. 

There was so much more to Peter Grayson than I had initially thought.