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Morning sunlight poured gently into the house like blessings. The whole place buzzed with life—clinks of bangles, shimmer of jhumkas, smell of kebabs in the air, and laughter echoing from every corner. Uncles in kurta-pajamas shouted instructions while aunties balanced trays of food like pros. Eid had arrived—not just a festival, but a feeling. Magic in the air.
Mahi, who usually didn't fuss over clothes or makeup, stood in front of the mirror wearing a red lehenga she randomly picked last night. But now, as morning light touched the fabric, it looked like it was stitched from fire and roses. Her kajal hugged her eyes just right. A hint of red lipstick. That was it. Simple. Barely styled.
She walked out into the hall—
Silence.
All eyes turned.
Even the air paused to admire her.
Her cousins, dressed in imported Pakistani designer suits with elaborate embroidery and Swarovski shimmer, looked like dull imitations in comparison. Mahi didn't wear luxury—she was luxury. There was something raw, unfiltered, divine about her aura.
An aunt whispered, fanning herself,
"Our Mahi could give competition to the hoors of Jannat."
Laughter followed—until another voice dropped into the room like velvet thunder.
"She could beat the hoors devastatingly."
Mahi turned.
It was him. Soumik.
He stood at the hallway entrance, leaning slightly, the Eid sunlight hitting his white kurta just right. There were threads of silver in the fabric, subtle, but enough to glint with each breath he took. A silk dupatta was carelessly flung over one shoulder.
But it wasn't the clothes.
It was him.
His face. The calm. That slow smile.
He looked less like a boy and more like some divine being sent down for one day only.
Mahi just stood there.
Frozen. Blinking.
He walked over, closed the distance, gently took her hand and whispered:
"It's time to go, Princess. Everyone's waiting."
The grip of his hand felt like everything real in a world that suddenly blurred into bokeh.
Cut to outside—
Multiple cars were parked, decorated with ribbons and flowers. Today wasn't just Eid. It was a royal affair.
But—
All the seats were taken.
From one of the cars, Mahi's dad leaned out the window and shouted,
"Go with Soumik! He has a bike!"
Mahi turned to Soumik, narrowing her eyes.
"It's your fault. We got left behind."
Soumik gave her a teasing grin.
"Isn't it the perfect excuse for a motorcycle date?"
Mahi rolled her eyes.
"Huh. This guy…"
But inside? Butterflies were having a rave party.
Soumik wheeled out the beast—
A Harley Davidson.
Black, bold, chrome shining.
His grandfather's prized possession. A legend in their family. Bought just weeks before he passed, a gift he never got to ride himself. Now Soumik rode it like it was his birthright.
Mahi got on, sitting side-saddle at first, then instinctively wrapping one arm around him.
Vrrrooom.
The bike roared to life and cut through the morning chaos of Eid. People filled the streets in brand-new clothes, carrying sweets, exchanging hugs, offering "Eid Mubarak" with joy painted on their faces.
And then—
Everyone stared.
One couple walking behind them gasped.
"Arey yaar, look at them! God must've designed this jodi Himself!"
"Rab ne bana di jodi," the other replied with a grin.
Soumik chuckled.
Mahi hid her face behind his shoulder, cheeks redder than her lehenga.
The bike wasn't the only head-turner now.
They reached the venue.
Except—this wasn't just a restaurant.
This was something out of One Thousand and One Nights.
Golden pillars. Marble floors. A fountain that sparkled with rose petals. Oud perfumed the air. Live musicians strummed ancient strings. Dancers twirled with grace. Grand chandeliers made of glass and crystal hovered over endless tables of food—biryani, kebabs, dry fruits, sherbets in shining silver bowls.
This wasn't lunch.
This was a celebration thrown by a desert king.
Mahi stepped in, her lehenga brushing the mosaic floor. Soumik held the door like a knight entering the court with his queen.
Everything about this day felt like a dream…
And the best part?
It was just beginning.
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