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The next morning, the sun rose over the calm ocean as I stood by the window, watching the serene view. Tomorrow, we're finally going home, but today is special-we're going to finalize the wedding date, and I can't help but feel excited.
I got up from the bed, went through my usual morning routine, and headed for breakfast.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Cyra greeted me as always.
"Morning," I replied, though my mood wasn't as bright.
The moment I saw Abrar, the events of last night rushed back into my mind, and a wave of worry swept over me. Did he tell his brothers what happened? But why should I be scared? I didn't do anything wrong. Whatever.
We finished breakfast, exchanged a few polite words, and returned to our rooms. Tonight, the date will be set.
●●●
Night fell, and I was in my room, getting ready. I chose a simple dress, pairing it with the beautiful butterfly hair clip Cyra gave me. She says butterflies represent me, and in some ways, I agree.
After one last glance in the mirror, I walked towards the dining area. We didn't really need to, but the groom's grandmother, Dadi, was a tough woman, and no one dared say no to her.
I was sitting with my friends and Dadi when she started asking me questions.
"Beta, kya karti ho?" Dadi asked, her eyes studying me carefully. (What do you do my child) "I'm a professor," I answered politely.
She seemed sweet but carried an air of authority that made me nervous. I could feel her dominating presence in the room.
I was thinking about how to excuse myself when I suddenly remembered my bag. "Dadi, I'll just be back in a moment. I need to get something from my room," I said politely.
As I got up, I accidentally fumbled, and my ring slipped from my finger, rolling across the floor.
Before I could react, I heard a familiar voice from behind me.
"Butterfly," Abrar's voice rang out, soft but clear. "Your ring."
He bent down and picked it up, handing it to me with a small smile. I took it, trying to keep my composure.
"Thank you," I said quietly, avoiding his gaze, and turned to leave.
But before I could take another step, I heard his voice again. "You know, butterflies don't just fly away like that." His tone was soft, playful, yet his words held a hint of something deeper. "They always come back... to the flowers."
I froze at Abrar's words, my heart skipping a beat. Slowly, I turned to face him. His gaze was steady, a teasing glint in his eyes.
"Maybe butterflies don't always return to the flowers," I said softly, trying to keep my voice steady. "Sometimes they fly away to find something better."
