Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 76: Chapter 76

Wedding Night
The air was rich with spring — honeysuckle, moss, soft jasmine, the memory of rain. The forest hummed gently as Amy and Jack turned to face each other beneath the arch of woven vines. The crowd leaned forward as if the trees themselves were holding their breath.
The priest smiled. “Amy. Jack. The forest is watching. The stars bear witness. Speak your truths.”
Jack reached into his coat and unfolded a small piece of weathered paper.
“Amy,” he began, his voice quiet but sure, “before I knew your name, I knew your silence. And it wasn’t empty. It was layered. Brave. Laced with color no one bothered to see. You showed me how to listen with my hands. How to hold grief without fixing it. You made space for me. And now, I vow to never stop making space for you.”
Amy blinked fast, her hand gripping his.
“I vow,” he added, “to build a home where your laughter is always louder than the world’s judgment. Where your name is a poem and never an afterthought.”
A few guests sniffled. Dahlia wiped a tear quietly.
Amy pulled out her own small card, her handwriting precise and softly slanted.
“Jack,” she said, voice trembling, “I used to think love had to be earned. That I had to become invisible to be worthy. But then you looked at me like I was made of constellations. And you never looked away.”
He grinned, tears catching in the corners of his eyes.
“I vow to walk with you — through shadow and bloom,” Amy continued, “to challenge you with kindness, to make mischief with meaning, and to always leave room for dancing in the kitchen, even when we’re old.”
They exchanged rings — simple bands embedded with tiny wood carvings, grown and etched by Dahlia from the branches of a tree that had stood in the clearing for a hundred years.
“I now pronounce you bound by choice,” the priest said, “by roots and light and everything in between.”
A cheer went up. The forest seemed to breathe.
Amy pulled Jack close. Their kiss was gentle and firm — the kind that ends chapters and begins whole new books.
—
Chapter: Lanterns and Laughter
Reception – The Forest Pavilion
Long wooden tables, carved and moss-covered, were strung with firefly jars. Petals drifted lazily from the trees overhead. Candles floated in small bowls across a reflecting pool lit from beneath by Dahlia’s glowing lilies. Everything smelled like cedar, honey, and citrus.
The guests flooded in with chatter and laughter.
“Did you see the birds with the lanterns?” someone whispered.
“Do you think it was all real?” asked a wide-eyed cousin from the Smith side.
“That wasn’t choreography. That was sorcery.”
Elise, in a forest-green dress, spun under the lanterns with Orchid in her arms. “You’ve got the moss sparkling again,” she giggled.
Orchid puffed proudly. “I only spark it a little. Mira says too much makes the squirrels hyper.”
Nearby, Christian and Theo clinked glasses, watching Eliot dance with a beaming elderly woman who claimed she taught William how to bake tarts in 1951.
“This is officially the weirdest, most perfect wedding I’ve ever attended,” Christian said.
“Same,” Theo replied. “Also, I just caught a raccoon stealing crab cakes.”
At the bar, Blake Smith poured wine a little too liberally. “To my sister,” he declared loudly, “who somehow turned a forest into a cathedral.”
Daniel, standing next to him, added, “And to Jack, for marrying her before we figured out we’d never top this party.”
Laughter echoed as Jack led Amy in a soft, slow dance to the tune of a violin, backed by gentle drums and plucked mandolin strings played by forest musicians who had traveled from Nepal and South Africa — guests from Dahlia and Amy’s missions over the years.
Even Mira danced once — awkwardly and only after Derek pulled her to the floor. “One dance,” she muttered. “Two if no one’s filming.”
Eliot jumped on a makeshift stage at some point and led a raucous toast. “To the woman who braided my shoulder-length disaster into warrior braids and never asked for credit. To the man who learned how to moonwalk in a moss clearing to win her over. To Amy and Jack!”
The crowd erupted in cheers. Glasses clinked. Fireflies lit up in rhythm.
—
Later – The Edge of the Clearing
The party hummed behind them. Dahlia stood near the reflecting pool, sipping from a carved wooden cup. Her dress had grown vines that wrapped lightly around her arms, a subconscious bloom of contentment.
Markus appeared beside her, hands in his pockets.
“They’re happy,” she said softly.
“They’ve earned it.”
She glanced sideways. “You disappeared during the dancing.”
“I was talking to the priest. Just… asking questions.”
Her brow arched slightly.
Markus shrugged. “Just… curious. About ceremonies. Rituals. Rings.”
Dahlia blinked.
He turned to her, stepping closer. “I’m not rushing. But someday… that’ll be us.”
Her cup nearly slipped from her fingers.
“What?”
He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You didn’t think I came all this way just to be your co-healer, did you?”
She flushed — glowing slightly — cheeks warm like candlelight. “Markus…”
“I don’t need an answer now,” he said, voice gentle. “But when you’re ready to dream out loud, I’ll be there. Vines and all.”
—
Final Scene – Morning
The next day, the forest clearing was still. Candles burned low. Dahlia gathered petals from the path with Orchid, who sang softly as she worked.
Amy and Jack stood by a waiting van. Suitcases packed. Eyes sleepy. Smiles wide.
“Tell the moss I’ll miss it,” Amy said.
Dahlia laughed. “I’ll braid a piece into your hair when you’re back.”
Jack hugged Markus. “Take care of my sister-in-soul.”
“Always.”
And with one last kiss, hand in hand, Amy and Jack walked into the spring morning, toward their next adventure.
The forest whispered behind them.
And the petals fell, soft and bright, like blessings.