If anyone had told me that morning that by evening Id be standing in a white shirt, clutching someone elses bouquet, with a stiff smile plastered across my face, swearing before a room of strangers to always support their union, Id have laughed, tapped my temple, and carried on making my porridge while gazing peacefully out at the quiet street. No omens, no eerie coincidencesjust an ordinary morning. But life, as it turns out, loves tossing surprises your way without warning, especially when youre in slippers, clutching a mug of tea.
It all began with a simple decision to pop into the registry office. Not for official businessno, the best hot dog stand in town happened to be just opposite, and Id gone there with the most harmless of intentions. The queue, the scent of fresh buns, fried sausages, and mustardeverything was as usual. Then, out of nowhere, a sleek black car decked with ribbons and roses pulled up, gleaming like something out of a film, and a noisy crowd spilled onto the pavement. Laughter, camera flashes, clouds of perfume, confettiit all swirled around me so suddenly, as if Id accidentally wandered onto the set of a jubilant music video.
Thats when one of the bridesmaids, in a shimmering emerald dress, seized my arm with the certainty of someone whod known me for years.
There he is! Our second witness!
I glanced behind mesurely she meant someone else. But no. All eyes were on me. Someone whistled; others clapped louder, and before I knew it, I was at the centre of attention, like an actor whod stumbled onto the wrong stage.
Wait, Im actually just I began, but it was too late. I was swept inside, handed a boutonnière, and positioned beside a tall bloke in a suit so crisp he might have been ironed into it, his expression caught between amusement and alarm.
Hold the bouquet, smile, the bridesmaid hissed, adjusting my boutonnière with the ease of someone who did this daily. The real witness is stuck in trafficyoure saving the day. Just dont blink too much, or youll look like an owl in the photos.
I meant to refuse. Truly. My mouth was already open when Mendelssohns Wedding March boomed through the hallgrand, echoing, impossibly loud. The doors swung open, and as if on cue, the entire procession surged forward. Me included, swept along as though Id forgotten my own role in a script everyone else knew by heart.
Honestly, it was one of the strangest scenes of my life. I stood beside the groom, who kept fussing with his sleeve and glancing at his watch as if terrified of being late to his own wedding, and the bride, who looked ready to burst into tears of joy and terror in equal measure. Shed sigh deeply, then bite her lip, her veil trembling with every breath. I didnt know their names. I wasnt even sure I was holding the bouquet rightwhich hand, what angle, or if I looked like a complete impostor.
When the registrar called the witnesses forward, I stepped up and it hit me: I was living a sitcom moment. All eyes on me. Cameras flashing. The photographer clicking away as if documenting history. And me, a man whod only come for a hot dog, was now part of a strangers weddingofficially, with a seal and fanfare.
The strangest part? No one noticed the switch. Not the groom, not the bride, not the aunties in the front row clutching tissues and damp-eyed smiles. I signed the register with confidence, posed for photos with the newlyweds, and then the emerald bridesmaid handed me a slice of cake and a glass of champagne as if it had all been planned from the start.
Cheers, you saved us! she said, grinning and giving me a wink. If you ever need a witness, just shout. Youre one of us now.
When I finally stepped outside, I had a bouquet in one hand, a napkin with the bridesmaids number in my pocket, the wedding march still ringing in my ears, and the dawning realisation that porridge was definitely off the menu. Instead of a quiet morning, Id been handed an impromptu celebration, a glass of bubbly, and the odd sensation of having starred in someone elses romantic comedycompletely by accident.
