Wedding affairs

The office had been exhausting today, yet Zara didn't let it show. She had mastered the art of smiling—smiling when she didn't want to, smiling when it wasn't necessary, smiling when the world seemed to crumble around her. And now, as she stepped into the house, her ever-present smile greeted the lively atmosphere.

The moment she entered, Miss Wahida (Zarif's mother) called out to her, excitement evident in her voice.

"Zara, you're just in time! We're all going to Beenish's wedding—it's a destination wedding, three days long.

"Who is Beenish?", Zara asked.

"Oh sorry, look at me I'm so forgetful. Beenish is my best friend Naziba's daughter.She is a very lovely child just like you,I'm sure you'll get along well. We'll leave early in the morning. Start packing whatever you need."

Zara nodded, offering her usual polite smile. "Of course, Auntie."

The entire house was buzzing with preparations. Relatives were discussing outfits, gifts, and last-minute details. But Zara didn't engage much. She excused herself and went to her room, ready to pack her things.

As she entered, a thin cloud of smoke drifted in the air. Standing on the balcony, with a cigarette between his fingers, was Zarif. His broad shoulders were tense, his expression unreadable as he exhaled the lingering smoke into the cool night breeze.

Zara disliked the smell of cigarettes. It made her stomach churn, but as always, she said nothing. She simply smiled as if it didn't bother her and went straight to her closet.

"We have to leave early tomorrow," she said while carefully folding her clothes into her suitcase. "You should start packing too."

Zarif turned his head slightly, looking at her through the haze of smoke. He watched her delicate movements—the way she folded each piece of clothing with precision, the way she calmly placed things in order as if she had already done this a hundred times. There was something oddly graceful about her actions.

Without another word, he flicked the cigarette away, crushing it under his shoe. Then, he went to his side of the room and began packing as well.

—

The next morning arrived sooner than expected. It was still dark outside when everyone piled into the cars, their luggage stacked neatly in the trunks. The drive to the wedding destination was long, but when they finally arrived, the family of the bride welcomed them warmly. Zara could feel the warmth in their words, in their smiles, but she also noticed something else.

Hostility.

A pair of sharp eyes bore into her.

The younger sister of the bride, Huda.

Her demeanor was cold toward Zara, but it was an entirely different story when it came to Zarif. Huda was practically glued to his side, her voice overly sweet whenever she spoke to him, her laughter lingering a little too long. She found every excuse to touch his arm, to start a conversation, to place herself in his line of sight.

Zara noticed, of course, but as always, she smiled.

Zarif, however, barely acknowledged Huda. His eyes, his mind, his entire being seemed preoccupied with someone else—someone who didn't even spare him a second glance.

—

The wedding preparations were in full swing. Everyone had been given tasks to ensure everything went smoothly. Miss Wahida, of course, assigned both Zarif and Zara to handle the floral decorations.

Zara, being her usual self, took the task seriously. She carefully arranged the flowers, adjusting the delicate petals and ensuring everything was perfectly in place. The soft fragrance of roses and jasmine filled the air as she worked.

Zarif, on the other hand, barely moved. He had been given the same task, yet all he did was stand there, watching her.

She was breathtaking.

The way the sunlight kissed her skin, the way the wind played with the strands of her hair, the way her hands moved so gracefully—it was mesmerizing.

And then it happened.

A gust of wind sent a flurry of petals flying into her face. Startled, Zara squeezed her eyes shut, momentarily blinded. She reached up, trying to brush the petals away, but before she could, a gentle hand touched her hair.

Zarif.

He stepped closer, carefully plucking the petals from her hair, his fingers barely grazing her skin. Zara remained still, allowing him to do so.

In that moment, she looked almost… ethereal.

Zarif felt something stir within him, something he didn't want to name. But before he could dwell on it further, a sharp glare burned into his side.

Huda.

Her nails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists.

That woman.

That woman who had stolen Zarif from her.

Huda's blood boiled as she watched the scene unfold before her. Zara, the woman who didn't deserve him. The woman who had everything she ever wanted. The woman who had taken her place.

She wasn't going to stand by and let it happen.

No.

She had to do something.

And she did in fact do something....