The guests have gone outside for sparklers or headed home. The band's packing up, the staff's starting cleanup, and suddenly it's just you two in this space that held so much joy minutes ago. Someone leaves one spotlight on. Maybe the DJ plays your song one more time, maybe you just sway in the silence. Your feet hurt, makeup's smudged, his tie's long gone, but this—this is the moment. No one's watching, no one's photographing, no one needs anything from you. Just two exhausted, elated people holding each other in an empty room that still echoes with laughter. You whisper about the ceremony fumble, laugh about your uncle's dance moves, marvel that you actually did it. The public performance is over. This dance is just for you—the period at the end of the best run-on sentence of your life. Tomorrow you'll be different people. Right now, in this empty, perfect space, you're exactly who you're supposed to be.