**Diary Entry**
If someone had told me this morning that by evening Id be standing in a white shirt, clutching a strangers bouquet, forcing a smile, and vowing before a room of unfamiliar faces to “support their union forever,” I wouldve laughed, tapped my temple, and carried on making my porridge while gazing at the quiet courtyard outside. No warnings, no suspicious omensjust an ordinary morning. But life, as it turns out, loves tossing surprises your way, and it does so most dramatically when youre in slippers, clutching a mug of coffee.
It all started because I fancied popping into the registry office. Not for paperworkno, the best hot dog stand in town is just opposite, and Id gone with the most harmless intentions. The queue, the smell of fresh buns, fried sausages, and mustardeverything as usual. Then, out of nowhere, a sleek black car decked with ribbons and roses pulled up, gleaming like something from a film, and a noisy wedding party spilled out. Laughter, cheers, camera flashes, clouds of perfume, confettiit all swirled around me so suddenly, as if Id stumbled onto the set of a festive music video.
Thats when one of the bridesmaids, dressed in a shimmering emerald-green dress, grabbed my arm with the confidence of someone whod known me all her life:
“There he is! Our second witness!”
I even glanced behind memaybe they meant someone else. But no. All eyes were on me. Someone whistled, others clapped louder, and suddenly, I was the centre of attention, like an actor whod wandered onto the wrong stage.
“Wait, Im actually” I began, but it was too late. They dragged me inside, shoved a boutonnière into my hands, and positioned me beside a tall bloke in a suit so crisp it looked like hed been ironed into it. He seemed torn between amusement and alarm.
“Hold the bouquet, smile,” the green-clad bridesmaid hissed, adjusting my boutonnière as if she did this daily. “Our real witness is stuck in trafficyoure saving the day. Just dont blink too much, or youll look like an owl in the photos.”
I wanted to refuse. Honestly. My mouth was already open, but then*Pomp and Circumstance* blared through the hall, grand and echoing. The doors swung open, and as if on cue, the procession surged forward. Me included, swept along like Id always been part of the scriptjust one Id forgotten about.
Truth be told, it was one of the oddest moments of my life. Standing beside the groom, who kept tugging his sleeve and checking his watch like he might miss his own wedding, and the bride, who looked ready to burst into tearshalf joy, half terror. She kept biting her lip, her veil trembling with each breath. I didnt know their names. I wasnt even sure I was holding the bouquet rightwhich hand, at what angle, or if I looked like a complete imposter.
When the registrar called the witnesses forward, I stepped upand thats when it hit me: I was living a sitcom scene. Everyone was watching. Cameras flashed. The photographer clicked away like he was documenting history. And me, a man whod just wanted a hot dog, was now part of someone elses weddingofficially, with signatures and ceremonial music.
The most surreal part? No one noticed the switch. Not the groom, not the bride, not the aunties in the front row dabbing their eyes. I signed my name with confidence, posed for photos, and later, the green-clad bridesmaid handed me a slice of cake and a glass of champagne as if it had all been planned.
“Cheers, you saved us!” she said with a wink. “If you ever need a witness, just call. Youre one of us now.”
When I finally stepped outside, I had a bouquet in hand, a napkin with the bridesmaids number in my pocket, and the wedding march still ringing in my ears. My porridge plans were long gone. Instead of a quiet morning, Id been handed an impromptu celebration, a glass of bubbly, and the nagging feeling Id just played the lead in someone elses rom-com.
