The Wedding March burst from the speakers, and the chat room exploded. Bullet comments cascaded like waves—IDs, emojis, and blessings flooding the screen. Virtual fireworks blossomed overhead, candies and red envelopes fell like confetti, snatched up in a frenzy of clicking. The public chat scrolled madly with “Thanks, boss!”

“Quiet, everyone! First bow to heaven and earth!” Lotus typed in pink letters, peppered with mischievous emojis.

The avatars representing Autumn and Alex clumsily leaned toward each other, setting off a storm of messages:

Kiss! Kiss!

Honeymoon suite!

May you live in harmony for a hundred years!

The room became a carnival of flashing lights and fleeting joy. No echoes of vows, only the flicker of text. No meeting of gazes, only the collision of avatars. No lifelong promises, only a borrowed moment of revelry.

At the center of it all, Lotus directed the clamor, her playful lines holding the stage together like bright ribbons.

Mike stared at the screen, strangely hollow. Beneath the clamor, it felt like a papier-mâché temple fair—gaudy, fleeting, fragile. Watching Lotus bustle with such energy, he wondered: if she could truly be cherished like this, even just once, would it make her happy?

After nearly an hour, the revelry subsided. The room grew quiet, leaving only a few drifting emojis. Mike logged out, an emptiness spreading in his chest. He hesitated, fingers hovering over the keys. Then his phone rang.

“The wedding was lively,” he said lightly, trying to mask the weight in his voice. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself as the host.”

There was a pause, then Lotus laughed brightly.

“Oh, I told them I wasn’t cut out for it, but Autumn and Alex dragged me in. You know me—I can’t say no when someone calls. Doesn’t matter if I’m any good, I’ll keep the energy going.”

Mike chuckled. “Then how about we throw one too? Let them host for us this time.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” She cut him off with playful annoyance. “We’re too old for games like that. Just enjoy the show. Besides, Autumn’s a beauty. If you’re tempted, better ask Alex first before you start a family feud.”

Mike hesitated, lowering his voice. “But… your post—it sounded serious.”

“The post?” She laughed again, but softer. “That was just for fun. Did you really take it to heart? These posts are nothing—just ways to watch, to join the noise.”

Mike was silent for a moment before shifting the subject. “I came across an odd theory today. It said women have two mouths: one above, one below. Only when both are satisfied can a marriage survive. And some people say you need spiritual resonance on top of that.”

Lotus burst into laughter. “That must’ve come from a little girl who’s never married. Spiritual resonance? Sounds pretty, but it’s just utopia. When I first married, I believed in it too. But once you have kids? Everything changes. Work all day, take care of the baby all night—you’re too exhausted for anything. And when the kids grow up, your husband doesn’t bother anymore. Resonance? At best, it’s tinnitus.”

They both laughed at that.

“Later, we just started sleeping in separate rooms,” Lotus went on, her tone flat, almost detached. “We left it at that—pure friendship, maybe?”

“And you’re okay with that?” Mike frowned.

“Of course not.” Her laugh was sharp, edged. “One time he said I was as loose as a bucket drawing water. That was it—I never wanted to touch him again.”

She paused, then added breezily, “We’re AA anyway. I pay for my own meals, and the mortgage is split down the middle.”

Mike’s chest sank. He asked cautiously, “Is he seeing someone else?”

“Who cares?” Lotus scoffed. “I gave him one rule: don’t bring anything filthy back home, don’t endanger our daughter. Men stray—it’s what they do. As long as the neighbors don’t gossip, let him.”

“But it’ll come out eventually.”

“Of course. Last year, a friend saw a woman in his car. I asked, he denied it. We fought, nothing came of it. Sometimes he still touches me, but always with protection. So I tell myself—look after myself, not him. Enjoy each day as it comes. Singing and chatting in the room makes me happier than fighting with him ever did.”

Mike sighed. “So behind all those cheerful blessings, everyone has a story.”

“Exactly,” Lotus said. “Take Autumn, for example. Her husband’s ten years older. At first it was fine, but lately his health’s been failing. He kills the mood every time. Eventually they moved to separate rooms too. Smart women know where to find their fun—online. A little romance, even virtual, can be exciting. That’s what online love is about: the heartbeat.”

Her voice dropped, tinged with something softer: “The first time I met you, I was stunned. I went home with my legs still trembling. You shook me more than anyone I’ve ever met in that chat room.”

Mike’s breath caught. “Then why did you disappear?” His voice was urgent.

A silence lingered before she answered quietly: “Because I was afraid. Afraid that once I crossed that line, it wouldn’t just be pleasure anymore—it would turn into responsibility. And that could destroy everything I’ve managed to hold together.”

The words hung between them. Only their breaths filled the silence, heavy and fragile.

The fireworks in the chat room had long faded, but the flame in Mike’s chest burned hotter, steadier—more dangerous than any burst of light on a screen.