It was the final night of their Valentine's honeymoon in Paris. Outside, the Eiffel Tower sparkled against the deep blue sky, its lights flickering like stars in motion. Inside their honeymoon suite, warmth lingered in the form of dim lighting, soft music from a nearby Bluetooth speaker, and the scent of roses Aryan had bought earlier.

The day had been magical. Disneyland had been chaotic fun — Diana screamed on the rollercoaster while Aryan clutched the safety bar like his life depended on it. She had taken endless selfies, giggling as she posed with Mickey Mouse and dragged him into souvenir shops. The evening was calmer. A Paris Fashion Week show followed by a rooftop dinner, and now, here they were, back in their room.

Diana had changed into a soft satin nightdress — lavender, like her favorite color, and Aryan was in his usual joggers and T-shirt. They had just finished sipping hot chocolate, winding down for the night. Diana padded across the room barefoot, her long hair cascading over her shoulders, and plopped herself onto the bed. Then without warning, she shifted and laid her head on Aryan's lap, sprawling comfortably across the bed.

He looked down at her, surprised but not displeased. She looked up with a soft smirk.

"You know what?" she said, playing with the hem of his shirt.

"What?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

"You have a sexy voice," she said matter-of-factly. "I want to hear you sing."

Aryan choked on his breath. "What?"

"Sing for me," she said, her smile cheeky but her eyes sincere. "Come on, Aryan. Just one song."

"No," he shook his head adamantly. "I don't sing."

"Oh, please," she groaned, tugging at his hand dramatically. "I've heard you hum in the shower. You can totally sing."

"That's humming. Not singing. And definitely not in front of you."

Diana pouted. "But why? Your voice is deep and smooth — it's unfair that you keep it hidden from the world."

Aryan chuckled, shaking his head as he looked away.

She pinched his thigh, making him yelp. "Please? Pretty please?"

He looked back at her — those eyes, those playful eyes that turned tender every now and then, like now. She wasn't making fun. She wasn't trying to embarrass him. She genuinely wanted to hear him sing.

Aryan sighed in defeat. "Fine. One song."

Diana's face lit up. "Yay!"

"But," he warned, "no teasing."

"I promise," she said, crossing her fingers. "No teasing."

He took a deep breath, fingers slipping into her hair gently, and began to softly sing the song that had been stuck in his head since the first time he saw her smile after moving in:

"Khoobsurat ho tum itna bata doon
Main tumse mohabbat karta hoon..."

Diana's smile faded into something more still, more heartfelt.

".Khoobsurati par teri
Khud ko maine qurban kiya
Muskura ke dekha tu ne
Deevaane par ehsaan kiya.."

His voice was soft, like velvet laced with vulnerability. Each word, each lyric, he sang like he meant it — and he did. Aryan never thought he'd be the man who could say such things aloud, but with her, everything was different.

"Dhoop bhi tere roop ke
Sone pe qurban hui hai
Teri rangat pe khud
Holi ki rut hairaan hui hai

Tujhko chalte dekha
Tujhko chalte dekha
Tab hirnon ne seekha chalna..."

Diana blinked, her eyes misty. He kept running his fingers through her hair as he sang, eyes fixed on her face — her lashes, her small nose, her parted lips.

"Tujhe hi sunke koyal ko
Sur ki pehchaan hui hai
Tujh se dil lagaye jo
Urdu naa bhi aaye toh
Shakhs vo shayari karne lagta ha..."

By the time he finished the last line, silence blanketed the room. He wasn't sure if he should've sung the whole thing. He glanced down.

Diana was still staring up at him, stunned.

"That was..." she whispered. "That was beautiful."

He blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Really?"

She nodded slowly. "You meant every word, didn't you?"

Aryan didn't reply — his eyes said it all.

Diana sat up slowly and cupped his face in her hands. "No one has ever made me feel so... cherished before."

Aryan placed his hands over hers. "No one ever deserved to be cherished more."

She leaned forward and kissed him — slow, deep, and tender.

When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against his. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," he said, his voice barely audible.

For a long moment, they stayed there in each other's embrace, silent except for the faint city sounds in the distance and their own breathing.

Later that night, after she'd fallen asleep, curled up against him, Aryan lay awake for a few extra minutes, thinking. Life had taken an unexpected turn — marriage, love, romance — and yet, it felt like this was always where he was meant to be.

He had once dreaded love. Now, he was drowning in it, and he wouldn't change a thing.