Love at First Heist

SEVENTEEN

The slanted chords of the golden hour formed small rainbows behind the ghostly mist of the fountain's cerulean valour while the yellow curtains and branches of wisteria hung overhead, and the glamorous, medieval styled chandeliers on which candlelight glistened. The small diyahs ( lamps ) floated on the surface of the cerulean pool, amidst the rose tinged alabaster lotuses, the golden gleam of the moroccan lamps staining it's glamorous silhouettes over the dull hues of a winter afternoon, giving life to the dholki ceremony.

Candle light-stands stood tall along the tables, with white lilies and yellow orchids aligned along the sides as the pathway lead to the traditional swing, carved out of luxurious teakood on which crawled the streaks of gardenias and jasmines, was covered in the tenderness of rose petals. The dholaak, Persian setar and other musical instruments laid on the velvet mat, glorifying the atmosphere in the traditional south asian exquisite.

It was utterly and undisputedly gorgeous.

Shehnaz thought as she watched the scene unfold from the window, while the ladies from the parlour worked on her attire. It was a kaftan styled ivory gown, embellished with yellow swarwaski crystals, sequins and zardozi, as the fabric clung to her silhouette like silk, with delicate hanging tassels hung around the sleeves.

Shehnaz had insisted on this dress specifically, enamoured with it's elegance in it's own unassuming nature, and in her wishes to feel comfortable, choosing not to reveal much of her skin— while despite the heaviness of the bodice's intricate embroideries, it had still appeared lighter than the lehengas at the bridal couture, and Shehnaz couldn't be any happier.

After all, she looked every bit of regal.

The amaranth coloured dupatta ( veil ) pinned on the back of her hair— styled in a loose effortless fishtail braids with baby's breath crawling upwards and sideways like odette's headpiece— flowed a foot behind her when she walked, and the matha patti passed down from Idris' mother was a swan lake inspired circlet, similar to her engagement ring, while the rest of her jewelries had been made out of pearls.

A knock then breaks Shehnaz out of her thoughts, as she turns towards the door. The entire house had been empty, with everyone in the poolside rehearsing their dance choreographies, causing her burrows to furrow. She excused herself, before hearing a soft meow from outside.

Even more confused, Shehnaz opened the door to reveal Arashi.

"Oh my god," she gasped, a breathy laugh bubbling out of her throat as she picked the calico feline up from the box as it purred. She noticed the envelope inside the box, as she smiled picking it up, "Idris.."

And then, someone clapped.

"Waah! Matlaab shohar ay toh saheli gai?"

Shehnaz's eyes widened as she heard the sound of her voice, as she turned around to meet the light umber eyes she'd always adored.

Shehnaz stared at her best friend in astonishment while she scoffed. Mahrukh Fahres— british, but she'd been a mixed child, her mother being a Dutch borne Pakistani and her father a Pashtun immigrant in England, she might've been the most gorgeous person Shehnaz had met in life.

With sharp almond shaped eyes that had quills of mahogany brown in them covered with lush charcoal eyelashes and her thick dark brows, she could simply be put as enchanting.

Shehnaz always said this, that if there was one lady who could get proposed to with Mr.Darcy's "You have bewitched me," without it sounding like comedic nonsense, it could only be her.

Before she knows it, Mahrukh is engulfed in a bone crushing embrace, "I'm so glad you're here," Shehnaz murmurs into her hair.

"Remember all those times you smacked me for being a hugger?" Mahrukh jokes, as Shehnaz laughs at the memories. Mahrukh smiles softly as she hugs the bride back, "So, the day is finally here huh?"