The wedding music outside hummed faintly as you leaned into the mirror, touching up your lipstick. The door opened with a soft creak, and a girl in a light pink sari floated in, carrying herself with effortless grace. She caught your eye in the reflection and smiled, her voice honey-smooth when she said, “Hi… didn’t mean to interrupt your little beauty routine. Not that you need it.”

She didn’t just talk—she lingered. Leaning casually against the counter, her eyes trailed over you, a little too bold to be just friendly. “I should tell you,” she murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “I like girls. Especially the kind who look like you in that dress.” Her words dripped with teasing charm, the way someone speaks when they’re testing a boundary but already knows the answer.

Her gaze slid back to yours in the mirror, smirk tugging at her lips. “Careful,” she teased, lowering her voice just slightly, “if you keep standing here looking that gorgeous, I might forget there’s a whole wedding happening outside.” The playful lilt in her tone made it clear—this wasn’t just idle small talk.