The cool Parisian air hit Diana's cheeks as she stood near the terminal exit, arms folded as she waited. Her white dress fluttered slightly in the wind, paired with a smart blazer that barely guarded her against the winter chill. Still, she looked radiant, as if she had stepped off a magazine cover—heels clicking on the pavement, lips glossed in rose pink, her mangalsutra nestled subtly under her neckline, and the faint red of sindoor at the parting of her soft waves of hair.

Despite being married, she still looked every bit like a bold, modern girl on a romantic getaway.

Aryan, on the other hand, emerged from immigration looking... well, a little less glamorous. Tired from the flight, dragging two suitcases behind him, and clad in a simple blue T-shirt and jeans, he looked like a man who had just barely made it through the chaos of an international airport during Valentine's week.

She spotted him before he spotted her and gave a small wave. Aryan's eyes found hers almost instantly—like she was the only fixed point in the crowd—and something about the way she smiled made his tiredness vanish.

"I see British privilege helped you skip immigration," he said, amused, dropping the bags beside her.

She smirked, slipping her arm into his. "You married royalty, darling. Comes with perks."

He chuckled, adjusting her blazer collar slightly as the wind blew her hair across her face. "You look like a movie heroine."

"I know," she said with an easy shrug. "You look like a software engineer late for a meeting."

"Ouch."

"Shall we?" she asked, tugging his hand as the cab pulled up.

The ride through Paris was everything Diana had missed—cobblestone streets, old cafés, buildings with wrought iron balconies, and the unmistakable romance that danced through the air. Aryan tried not to gawk like a tourist, but the way she narrated each landmark with excitement, like a tour guide of her past, made it difficult not to be fascinated.

"This is where I went to school," she said, pointing out of the window.

"You grew up here," Aryan said, eyes softening. "Feels strange to think about it. You're so... Indian now."

"Thank my mum. She never let me forget my roots. But this—" she paused as they turned a corner and the Eiffel Tower peeked into view "—this was always my home."

The cab finally halted in front of a gorgeous boutique hotel, just blocks away from the Eiffel Tower. Aryan had pulled every string he could to get this booking during Valentine's week. The exterior was understated but elegant, with warm lights glowing from behind lace-curtained windows.

As they stepped into the lobby, the concierge greeted them warmly, "Monsieur and Madame Malhotra, bienvenue."

Diana giggled at the title. "Madame Malhotra sounds so fancy. I love it."

"I still can't believe that's your legal name now," Aryan murmured as they took the elevator up to their suite.

She winked. "Too late to back out now."

When the doors opened, Diana audibly gasped.

The honeymoon suite was breathtaking. Soft white and rose-gold décor accented every surface. A heart-shaped floral arrangement greeted them on the king-sized bed. Fairy lights framed the windows that overlooked the Eiffel Tower, which glowed in the distance like a dream. Rose petals lined the floor, candles flickered on the side tables, and a bottle of champagne stood chilling in an ice bucket.

Aryan's eyes darted to her, watching her reaction more than the room. She turned to him slowly.

"You planned this?"

He nodded, slightly nervous.

She didn't say anything—just flung her arms around his neck.

"You're ruining your makeup," he murmured, holding her close.

"I don't care," she whispered.

***

Diana walked into the suite slowly, her fingers trailing across the rose petals on the table and the edge of the bedspread. The view of the Eiffel Tower glittering beyond the large window looked like something out of a romantic movie, and she found herself momentarily speechless.

Aryan stood behind her, hands tucked into his jeans pockets, awkward but content. He had worked hard for this, and her glowing reaction made it worth it.

"I can't believe you managed to pull this off," she said, turning to him.

"It wasn't easy. Valentine's week in Paris is like a war zone for hotel bookings."

"Was it expensive?"

"Does it matter?"

She smiled and walked back to him. "You're full of surprises."

"I had to keep up with my dramatic wife," he teased.

Diana leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "You're learning."

He blinked, slightly stunned by the casual affection. He still wasn't fully used to this side of her—how open she could be, how her love came in both fire and softness.

The hotel staff had already placed their luggage inside, and Diana opened her suitcase, pulling out a light cardigan and some slippers.

"Are you tired?" Aryan asked, watching her move with ease around the room.

She glanced over her shoulder. "I've waited my entire life to come back to Paris with someone who matters. Do you think I'm going to sleep right now?"

He smiled. "Where to, tour guide?"

"I was thinking we walk. Grab some coffee. Maybe share a crepe on the street like every hopeless romantic film insists."

"Crepes I can do. French walking pace—I'll try."

Wrapped in her cardigan and with her arm through Aryan's, Diana led him through the narrow Parisian lanes that felt familiar beneath her heels. Aryan, meanwhile, was trying not to trip on the cobbled streets or bump into couples taking selfies every few steps.

They stopped at a corner café where Diana ordered two cappuccinos and a Nutella crepe. Aryan watched her speak fluent French with the vendor, his eyes wide in awe.

"Every time I think I've figured you out," he said, sipping his coffee, "you add another plot twist."

"That's what keeps it fun," she said, licking a bit of Nutella from her thumb.

He coughed and quickly looked away.

"You okay?" she asked with a grin.

"I'm fine," he muttered. "Just wasn't prepared for the Nutella action."

Diana burst into laughter. "You're too easy to scandalize, husband."

As they walked along the Seine, with the Eiffel Tower shimmering in the background, Aryan found himself slowly unwinding. Her hand was still looped through his, their steps syncing as if they had walked together like this for years.

"I used to come here a lot as a teenager," she said softly. "To think. Dream. Study sometimes. I used to sit right there—" she pointed to a stone bench "—and wonder what love would feel like."

"And?" he asked.

She looked at him. "You're not what I imagined. You're better."

Aryan's ears turned red, and he glanced down at their entwined hands. "You really mean that?"

She nodded. "You balance me out. I'm fire and drama, and you're... steady. Patient. Safe."

"You make it sound like I'm a first-aid kit," he chuckled.

"You kind of are," she said. "You're the calm I didn't know I needed."

Aryan squeezed her hand gently. "And you're the chaos I never knew I could handle."

They stood in silence for a moment, looking out at the river, the world quiet and still around them.

"Let's make a wish," Diana suddenly said, pulling out a coin and offering it to him.

"I thought people did that in Rome."

"Paris deserves a few wishes too."

Together, they tossed the coin into the water. Diana closed her eyes dramatically, and Aryan, without hesitation, mirrored her. Neither said their wish aloud, but when they opened their eyes, they were both smiling.

***

Later that evening, they returned to the hotel, tired but full of quiet joy. Diana slipped off her heels the moment they entered their suite, sighing in relief.

"You walked more in one evening than you probably have in years," she teased Aryan.

"I walked more in one evening than I've walked in my entire life," he corrected, flopping onto the bed. "Paris is beautiful, but my feet need therapy."

She laughed, sitting beside him and pulling his legs onto her lap. "Want me to massage your feet too?"

Aryan's eyes widened. "No! No, thank you. You've done enough by dragging me through your teenage haunts."

"Fine," she said with mock offense. "Your loss."

As she moved to unpack some essentials, Aryan looked around the suite. It had a soft romantic glow—warm lighting, satin sheets, delicate floral decorations, and a small card on the bedside table that read Joyeuse Saint-Valentin.

He got up and walked to the window. The Eiffel Tower sparkled again—it shimmered every hour—and he found himself mesmerized by the sight.

Diana came up behind him, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Beautiful, right?"

"Yes," he said, turning slightly to look at her. "Though the view inside the room is better."

She blinked. "Did you just flirt with me, Mr. Aryan Sharma?"

"I'm learning from the best."

She grinned, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "I like this version of you. Relaxed. Happy."

"I think I like him too," Aryan murmured.

They stood in silence for a moment, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the room and the city around them. Finally, Diana stepped back and opened the small fridge to find chocolate-covered strawberries and sparkling juice. She poured two glasses and handed one to Aryan.

"To Paris," she toasted.

"To us," he added.

They clinked glasses and took a sip. Diana then picked up a strawberry and held it up to his mouth. "You fed me laddoo. I feed you this. Equality."

Aryan chuckled and took a bite, the chocolate cracking softly under his teeth. "Mmm. Not bad."

"Just wait till tomorrow. I'll show you all my favorite childhood cafés and parks. We'll even visit my old school."

"Will they let me in?"

"Depends. Are you prepared to pretend you're a visiting professor in ethics and coding?"

He laughed aloud. "I think I can manage."

The next hour passed in comfortable chatter. Diana laid out her clothes for the next day—planning a cream trench coat over a burgundy dress—and Aryan, ever the simple man, decided to stick to jeans and a black sweater.

As they both changed into their nightwear and settled into bed, Diana turned off the lights, the Eiffel Tower's glow acting as their night lamp.

Aryan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Did you ever... think this would happen? Marriage. Honeymoon. All of it?"

Diana paused before answering. "I didn't think it would happen like this. Arranged. But with you... it makes sense now. You see through the chaos."

He reached over and took her hand. "You're a lot. But it's the best kind of 'a lot'."

She smiled in the dark. "You say the cutest things when you're not trying."

"Don't get used to it."

"Oh, I plan to."

They drifted into silence, the soft hum of the city outside soothing them both. Paris had just begun for them—not just as a city, but as a phase of their marriage where understanding, laughter, and shared dreams could finally take root.

As Diana shifted closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder, Aryan found himself thinking: maybe he wasn't the man who dreamed of a fairytale romance—but this felt pretty damn close.

And it had only just begun.