The moon hung low and golden in the inky sky, as if even the universe knew something magical was about to happen.

The festivities had finally ended — laughter, music, dhol beats, tears, and joy. Zoya had barely caught her breath through the entire day, her cheeks aching from smiling, her eyes soft from crying. The long-awaited nikah had taken place. The vows had been spoken. The papers signed. She was now Mrs. Akif Malik.

Her heartbeat hadn’t calmed since.

Now, the door to the bridal suite closed behind her with a soft thud.

The room was dim, warm with golden fairy lights strung across the walls. Fragrance of rose petals mixed with sandalwood lingered in the air. The bed was a cloud of white silk and red roses. Her bangles clinked as she stood awkwardly in her heavy bridal attire, her hands shaking slightly, her heart racing in her chest.

Then, the door opened again.

Akif stepped in.

Gone was the loud, chaotic world outside. It was just them now.

His sherwani had been replaced with a simple black kurta, his hair slightly damp, his eyes softer than she’d ever seen them. Yet they held something else tonight — something deeper. Something that made her forget how to breathe.

He locked the door quietly.

Neither of them spoke.

Instead, he stepped forward slowly, like she was something fragile, something he didn’t want to scare. His hand reached up, fingers barely grazing the edge of her veil.

“May I?” he whispered.

Zoya’s eyes fluttered shut. She nodded.

He gently pulled the veil back, revealing her face — flushed, nervous, breathtaking. His breath hitched slightly, and a crooked, emotional smile tugged at his lips.

“You look like a dream,” he murmured.

Zoya’s lips parted, but she had no words. Only tears welled up in her eyes.

He noticed.

“No, no, don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll cry too, and then this night will turn into a sob-fest,” he chuckled, wiping the tear that dared escape her eye.

That broke the tension. She laughed softly, blinking the rest of the tears away.

They sat side by side on the bed.

Silence. Soft. Tender.

“Do you remember,” Akif began, voice low, “the first time I saw you?”

Zoya shook her head with a shy smile.

“You were hiding behind Aarfa’s back on the first day. Wearing that sky-blue kurti. You wouldn’t even look up properly.”

Her eyes widened. “You remember what I was wearing?”

“I remember everything about you.”

Zoya’s cheeks turned the color of her bridal lehenga.

His hand found hers. He laced their fingers together.

The air grew heavier. Breaths shorter. Eyes locked.

He leaned closer, brushing his lips against her forehead first. Then her cheek. Then hovering—barely—a heartbeat away from her lips.

“Zoya,” he whispered, voice hoarse, “if I do this, I’ll never be able to stop loving you more than I already do.”

She closed the distance, their lips brushing in a soft, warm kiss — a kiss that trembled with emotions too heavy to be named.

Their fingers trembled as he slowly removed her jewellery, piece by piece, like he was unwrapping his most precious gift. Her breath hitched every time his fingers brushed her skin. He whispered sweet things in her ear, forehead pressed to hers, hearts thundering together.

He didn't rush. He didn’t want to.

Every touch was slow. Every kiss meant something. Every moment carved into their souls.

They didn’t need anything more.

That night wasn’t about lust or burning desire — though the tension simmered like fire under skin. That night was about love. About finally finding home in each other’s arms.

And as they lay together under the soft canopy of roses and moonlight, Akif held her close, lips brushing her temple.

“Mine,” he whispered.

Zoya smiled through sleepy tears. “Always.”

---

Spicy? Naahhh (hehe) I'm sorry because I'm going to make it soft-romance! Not dark romance little pervs! I'm sorry again.😔