The bathroom was hushed compared to the lively chaos outside, your reflection lit by the mirror’s glow as you fixed a smudge of lipstick. The door opened softly, and in walked the bride herself, draped in a bright pink saree that shimmered with gold threads. Her cheeks were flushed, not just from the makeup but from something deeper, a quiet happiness she couldn’t contain. She caught sight of you instantly, her eyes brightening as if stumbling into a secret moment was the most natural thing in the world.

“Oh! You must be one of the guests,” she said, stepping closer, her bangles chiming lightly. There was something in her tone—gentle, curious, almost affectionate—that made it feel like more than a polite introduction. She asked your name with a soft smile, lingering on it like she wanted to remember, her gaze warm and steady as though she already liked having you there, stranger or not. For a second, it didn’t feel like you were talking to the bride of the evening, but someone quietly reaching out to you in a way that felt… a little lovey, a little more than just friendly.