By the time Yugh and Asifa finally neared the region, night had fallen completely. A thick, dense fog had rolled in from the surrounding hills, swallowing the landscape and reducing visibility on the winding roads from the town center to the Manalo estate to near zero. Driving in such conditions was not just difficult; it was perilous. 🌫
Frustration mounting but tempered by practicality, Yugh made the only safe decision. "We can't go on like this. We'll hit something or get completely lost," he said, his voice tight. "We'll find a place to stay here for the night and leave at first light."
They booked two separate rooms at a small, quiet guesthouse on the outskirts. The delay was agonizing, but pushing through the fog would have been reckless. Their crucial mission, and the evidence they carried, had to wait for sunrise. 🔥
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Meanwhile, at the Manalo house and along the route to the church, the fog was nothing but a distant, unseen blanket. Indoors, the atmosphere was one of focused, joyful energy. Under the bright lights, family and friends worked in unison, putting the finishing touches on decorations. The pathway from the house was transformed into a lantern-lit guide, and the church itself was adorned with flowers and silks, every detail perfected for the morning's ceremony.
In one home, a desperate truth was forced to pause by the sheer weight of the night. In another, the final, beautiful illusions of a wedding were being diligently, happily assembled, completely unaware of the storm waiting just beyond the mist. 🌪