The air smelled faintly of marigolds and jasmine. Strings of fairy lights twinkled across the marble pillars of the venue, casting golden reflections in every direction. It was one of those rare evenings where the sky matched the mood—soft, warm, expectant.
Zara adjusted the folds of her pink saree, the embroidered fabric trailing behind her like a whisper. Her friends circled her, laughing and teasing Alia—the bride whose happiness lit up everything around her.
"Zara," one of them called, nudging her playfully, "you're going to steal the limelight in that saree."
Zara smiled lightly, brushing off the compliment. It wasn't about attention today. It was Alia's big day. But still, her presence didn't go unnoticed—there was a calm confidence in her that made people glance twice.
She didn't know yet that someone else would be watching too.
—---
Far across the city, in a tall glass tower etched with chrome and steel, Rayyan Mehra sat behind a sleek black desk in the heart of Rynx Headquarters. A glowing screen reflected off his sharp eyes as his fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard.
"Sir," a voice interrupted.
Rayyan looked up as Kabir, his long-suffering assistant, walked in holding a matte ivory envelope.
"A wedding?" Rayyan raised a brow.
"It's from the daughter of Mr. Siddiqui—Alia. You've partnered with her father on the Hybrid AI Research Project. The family's extended an invite. It's tonight."
Rayyan leaned back. "I have work. Send my regards."
Kabir didn't budge. "With all due respect, sir, your calendar says 'Review prototype' but that was done yesterday."
Rayyan sighed. "I'm not a fan of crowded functions."
"You don't have to be," Kabir said, a smile tugging at his lips. "You just have to be seen."
Rayyan stared at the envelope for a beat. He didn't care about appearances—but this wasn't just about the Siddiquis. Investors would be there. Partners. Future leverage.
"Fine," he muttered. "Fifteen minutes. I'm not staying long."
—---
When Rayyan entered the wedding venue, heads turned. Not because he wanted them to—but because his presence demanded it. He moved through the crowd with ease, polite but distant, making rounds with a glass of water in hand while others sipped champagne.
He wasn't here to celebrate. Just observe. Say a few hellos. Then vanish.
But then he saw her.
Across the garden, under the string lights, stood a girl in a soft pink saree, her back half-turned as she laughed at something her friend whispered. Her earrings danced gently when she moved. And something about her—the grace in her posture, the effortless charm—froze him.
He didn't know her name.
She didn't know she was being watched.
For a moment, Rayyan forgot why he was even here.
Zara turned slightly, sensing a gaze. Her eyes met his across the crowd—briefly, but unmistakably.
Neither smiled.
Neither looked away immediately.
But something passed between them.
An invisible thread, tugging gently, tying strangers together in a room full of noise.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
She turned back to her friends.
He looked away, clearing his throat, annoyed at himself for staring.
But deep down, both knew—
They would meet again.
And when they did, nothing would be the same.