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🎀The Miya's Diaries » On Weddings, White Wine and Promises Made at Sunset

It wasn't my wedding. But I swear, for one second up there at the altar, in that dress so unapologetically backless it made Hannah cover me every 5 seconds, I almost believed it was.

He-Ran and Man tied the knot in Rio de Janeiro, beneath a sky that looked suspiciously photoshopped. I was there. Draped in violet, sculpted and dramatic, dressed like I had a vendetta to settle — but only with fashion. No regrets. The dress did what it had to do. So did I.

The ceremony was beautiful. Truly. Some people fake the tears — not He-Ran. She cried in cinematic slow motion, lashes trembling, nose somehow still perfect. Man looked like a Disney prince who accidentally wandered into an indie film. Together, they're that kind of couple who'd argue over board games and then write a love song about it. Adorable. Disgusting. Ideal.

Then came the food. Listen, I may have come for the vows, but I stayed for the buffet. And the after-party? Let's just say never underestimate the emotional power of a dancefloor filled with old school friends, open wine bottles, and humidity-proof glitter.

There was a moment, somewhere between a group karaoke disaster and a very serious debate over whether Cupid should be danced in heels, where I just... paused. I looked at them. And I thought: maybe this kind of love really exists, the kind that doesn't need to be loud to be loud, because it already lives in the quiet.

And me? I was happy. Genuinely. Because watching a friend find that kind of love, it's like believing by proximity. Even if you pretend not to. Even if your own heart is, quite frankly, on aeroplane mode.

Congratulations, now officially Mr and Mrs Pepper.
And if you two ever fight, call me. I'll bring the wine.