The sun rose gently, casting a golden hue across the sky — as if the heavens themselves were preparing for the most beautiful union.

Zoya’s house was no longer a home — it was a wedding palace. Strings of marigold and fairy lights danced in the wind, mehendi-stained hands worked in the kitchen, and excited chattering echoed through every hallway.

Inside her room, Zoya sat silently before the mirror.

The bride.

Today, she was the bride.

Her hands trembled slightly as Nida finished fixing her dupatta and whispered, “You look… breathtaking.”

Zoya blinked.

“I don’t feel real,” she whispered.

“You are. And you’re about to live the life you always dreamed of. You earned this, Zoya. All of it.”

---

Downstairs…

Aarfa was everywhere.

She managed decorators, yelled at the caterers for messing up the dessert table, and still found time to help Zoya’s mother match bangles with her saree.

“WHERE is the bride’s jhoomar?!”

“In the green box!”

“WHICH green box?! There are like SIX!”

Chaos.

But beautiful chaos.

Because this was the day they all waited for.

---

At Akif’s house…

The groom’s room was surprisingly quiet.

Akif stood in front of the mirror, dressed in a simple white kurta-pajama, hair slightly wet, and heart thumping like a drum.

Today wasn’t just any day.

Today… was his day.

Ayaan barged in, half dressed and laughing. “You look like someone punched your stomach. Bro, breathe.”

“I am breathing,” Akif muttered.

“You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m marrying Zoya.”

Ayaan grinned. “Exactly. So hold yourself together. You’re living every man’s dream.”

Akif smiled, soft and faraway.

“I just want to see her. Once. Before everything. Just one look.”

---

Back at the bride’s house…

Zoya finally changed into her Nikah outfit — a deep, elegant shade of blush pink and gold. It shimmered in the light, soft yet regal. Her eyes were kohl-rimmed, her lips soft rose, and her expression?

Terrified.

“You okay?” Aarfa whispered.

Zoya nodded. “I will be. Once I see him.”

---

The hallway was full of whispers.

Everyone ran around — uncles adjusting turbans, aunties fixing drapes, little cousins chasing each other with confetti guns.

Aarfa’s phone buzzed.

Akif:

"Is she okay? Did she eat? I don’t care if it’s her wedding, she better eat. Tell her I said so."

Aarfa chuckled.

“He’s gonna cry,” she mumbled and texted back.

Aarfa:

"She’s okay. Blushing. Breathing. Beautiful. You’ll cry."

---

Meanwhile… Zoya snuck out.

Yes.

In that giant outfit. Holding her skirt with one hand and her jhoomar with another, she tiptoed to the upstairs window that overlooked the street.

Because she knew.

She just knew he’d come early.

And he did.

Standing next to the car. Wearing that perfect white sherwani. Looking up at the window.

Zoya’s breath hitched.

Akif smiled.

And placed his hand over his heart.

Zoya covered her mouth with her fingers.

Nida, from behind: “Girl—your makeup!”

Zoya giggled. “It’s fine. It’s okay to cry happy tears today.”

---

Hours before the baraat…

The final touches were being done.

Nida curled Zoya’s lashes. Aarfa held her hand.

“You ready?” she asked.

Zoya blinked slowly.

“Yes. I’m ready.”

"Not to get married, but to steal his last name too?"

Zoya laughed through her tears.

"Yes."

---

Outside, Akif sat quietly in the car, eyes shut, whispering a dua. His mother kissed his forehead. His father placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You’ve made us proud," his father whispered. "And you’re about to make her proud too."

Akif exhaled.

The wind carried the scent of rosewater and sandalwood.

Everything was ready.

Just not quite begun.

And in the hearts of two souls, a storm of love, nerves, longing, and excitement waited to explode...

Because the next chapter would be when the Nikah begins.

---

“Mai tera, Mai Tera, Mai teraa, Mai Tera, Mai Tera samajh tu sunehra sawera me tera hooo..”

~Anniewrites🪐🌷