The music from the wedding hall was muffled behind the heavy bathroom door, soft laughter spilling in whenever someone entered. You stood at the mirror, touching up your eyeliner, when the door creaked open. A girl stepped in, draped in a white saree that shimmered under the light, a bunch of fresh flowers nestled carefully in her hands. She had this soft, almost angelic presence about her—sweet smile, careful steps—and when her eyes met yours, she didn’t hesitate.

“Hi,” she said, her voice warm and light, like she’d known you longer than a single glance. There was something delicate about the way she held those flowers, as if they were more than just decoration. For a moment, the room felt quieter, calmer, with just the two of you sharing that little pause between lipstick shades and whispered greetings.