The air was crisp as we stepped into Zaya's villa, the warmth of the interior instantly enveloping us. Soft golden lights adorned the high ceilings, and the faint scent of cinnamon wafted through the air.
Zaya's grandmother had gone all out, decorating the villa with tasteful holiday ornaments and strings of delicate fairy lights that twinkled against the dim evening light.
It felt magical, cozy, and far more intimate than the wild parties I was used to on New Year's Eve.
Zaya walked beside me, her usual calm demeanor hiding the faintest hint of excitement I could see in her eyes.
She held a tray of champagne glasses, her movements smooth and precise as always. Watching her like this, so effortlessly elegant, made my chest tighten with a warmth I couldn't quite explain.
Her grandmother greeted us from the living room, where she sat on a plush armchair near the fireplace.