The Black Dove
by Igor Orlov
The Wedding
The young couple was preparing for their wedding. Ahead of them lay an ocean of family life.
He wanted to give her something unforgettable. She wanted a celebration they would remember forever. She bloomed at celebrations—the way a peony blooms in June, opening slowly, then all at once.
Someone told him about an unusual entertainer. A man who hosted weddings in a way no one else did. At the end of his program, he gave the family a dove. A white one. Fragrant. One that lived a very long time.
The entertainer was a busy man. But the couple was lucky—a window opened on their wedding day.
He was magnificent. Sensitive. Original. He charmed every guest. The hall smelled of lilies and warm bread. Somewhere near midnight, he performed his final act.
He spoke quietly—not to the room, but to the couple. About family. About the dove. About the soul of a family, bright and full of love. He said this dove would live with them for years, reflecting everything that happened in their home. And if the family lived in love, the dove would turn from white to gold.
Then he released the bird. It flew straight to the bride.
She laughed—a small, bright sound. The dove landed on her wrist, and she felt its tiny heartbeat.
“Oh,” she whispered. “How lovely.”
“Yes,” her husband said. “For you. For us.”
The dove was snow-white and beautiful and carried an extraordinary fragrance—like honey and something older, something like church incense. They had no doubt it would thrive. He came from a warm family, where people stood by each other. She came from a family where things happened—but the family stayed together.
