The private dinner setup was breathtaking.

Set on a quiet rooftop in the heart of the city, the entire space was lit by hundreds of fairy lights strung across delicate white canopies. A low table stood in the center with plush cushions on either side, surrounded by a ring of candles and rose petals. Gentle instrumental music played in the background — not too loud, just soft enough to blend with the evening breeze.

Diana stepped onto the rooftop in her red satin slit dress, her heels clicking lightly against the floor. Her thigh chain glinted gold under the lights, dancing with every step. Aryan, already standing by the table, nearly lost his breath when he saw her.

"You look like a goddess," he whispered, walking up to her.

She grinned, twirling once just to make his heart stutter. "Only for my pookie husband."

He blushed, chuckling. "You're never letting that nickname die, are you?"

"Never," she smirked, slipping her hand into his. "It's too cute. Like you."

They sat down across from each other, and a waiter brought in the first course — truffle pasta for her and herbed mushroom risotto for him. Diana took a bite and moaned in approval.

"Okay, this is divine."

Aryan smiled, pouring her a little wine. "Only the best for my queen."

She paused, eyes softening. "You've changed so much, Aryan."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"When we first met, you were this shy, serious, innocent man who barely touched me."

"I was scared I'd do something wrong," he admitted with a sheepish grin.

"And now," she continued, leaning forward with a teasing smirk, "you romance me under the dining table, steal kisses in the kitchen when your mom turns around, and give me thigh chains as gifts."

He laughed, nodding. "You make me brave. You taught me how to love loudly."

Diana reached across the table and held his hand. "And you taught me how to be vulnerable... how to let someone in. To trust love again."

They ate slowly, savoring the food and each other's company. Between bites, they shared memories — their first Paris kiss, Diana's fashion internship day with Arya, Aryan's 'drunk grape juice' kitchen escapade, their honeymoon confessions, and the early morning breakfasts she burned but he still praised.

"I still remember when you said 'I love you' half-asleep," Aryan teased.

"I remember you almost fainting when I walked out in a towel," she fired back, laughing.

"You dropped it on purpose."

"Maybe."

They talked until the plates were cleared and dessert arrived — molten chocolate lava cake with strawberries and vanilla ice cream.

Diana fed Aryan the first bite, deliberately slow. He hummed in delight.

"I've decided something," she said as he finished chewing.

"Oh?"

"I want to go back to Paris... with you. Next year. Same hotel. Same view."

He grinned. "Just the two of us?"

"And maybe," she added softly, brushing her thumb over his fingers, "a little one, too."

Aryan blinked.

"You mean...?"

"I'm not pregnant," she chuckled. "Not yet. But I've been thinking... I want a family. With you. When we're ready."

Aryan stared at her, overwhelmed. Then he reached across and cupped her face, pulling her close for a tender kiss. "I want that too. A hundred times over."

They leaned into each other, letting the city lights wrap around them like a warm blanket.

As the night deepened, Aryan stood and extended a hand. "Dance with me?"

"There's no music."

"There's always music in my head when you're around."

She rolled her eyes fondly and took his hand.

He pulled her into his arms, slow and close, swaying gently under the stars. The fairy lights above cast golden glows on their skin as Diana rested her head on his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart.

"We made it," she whispered.

"We did."

"One year down."

"A lifetime to go."

They danced in silence, just feeling each other, no longer needing words.

Six Months Later

The house smelled of lavender and vanilla.

Diana had insisted on having scented candles everywhere. She claimed it was for "ambience," but Aryan knew she just liked things that reminded her of her old Paris bedroom.

He walked in holding a brown paper bag, freshly picked up from her favorite café. The house was quiet, except for a soft hum of music coming from the bedroom.

"Diana?" he called out, setting the bag on the counter.

"In here!" her voice sang out.

He followed the sound to find her sitting cross-legged on their bed, sketching in her notebook. She was wearing his old college T-shirt — one that hung off her shoulder — and her glasses were perched on her nose. Her hair was in a bun, and she had a pencil between her teeth.

Aryan paused at the doorway, heart swelling. Somehow, after everything, she still managed to make him fall in love again every single day.

She looked up and grinned. "Hey, pookie."

He groaned. "Still?"

"Forever."

He walked over and kissed her forehead. "I got you your mocha and that almond croissant you love."

"You are my hero."

As she opened the bag excitedly, Aryan noticed a few new designs in her sketchpad — one in particular caught his eye.

It was a tiny lehenga — with intricate patterns and a bow on the waistband.

"Is this for a client?"

"No," she said, chewing on the croissant. "Just... wishful thinking."

Aryan gently took the pad and sat beside her.

"We're really doing this, aren't we?"

"Soon," she smiled. "But for now... we're still building. And loving. And making memories."

He nodded, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. "I can't wait."

Neither of them noticed Arya peeking in from the hallway, grinning at her hopelessly-in-love brother and his chaotic wife.

She whispered, "Love goals," to herself and tiptoed away.

Two Years Later

A tiny cry filled the hospital room.

Aryan stood frozen, staring at the nurse holding a wriggling bundle of pink. Diana, sweaty and exhausted, was smiling tearfully from the bed.

The nurse walked over and gently placed the baby in Aryan's arms.

"It's a girl," she whispered.

He looked down, eyes wide. "Hi," he breathed. "I'm your... I'm your papa."

The baby yawned, a tiny fist curling around his finger.

Diana reached up, touching his shoulder. "We did it."

Aryan turned, kneeling beside her and kissing her forehead. "You did it. I'm so proud of you."

She smiled weakly. "What should we name her?"

He looked down at the tiny face again. "How about... Avya?"

"Avya Mahlotra," Diana repeated. "Bold. Pretty. Just like her mama."

"And innocent and soft," Aryan added, "just like her papa."

They laughed, tears falling freely now, as the little girl blinked up at the world she had just entered — a world full of stories, love, laughter... and her parents' never-ending romance.

***

A new photo frame sat on their bedroom wall.

It was a collage: their wedding, their Paris honeymoon, Aryan's wine mishap, Diana in her high-slit dress, the temple morning, Arya's first internship day, and finally... the photo of Aryan holding baby Avya, beaming with tears in his eyes.

Beneath the frame were words Diana had chosen herself:

"Arranged by fate. Sealed by love. Forever by choice."

And somewhere, in the early morning quiet, Aryan turned in his sleep, pulling Diana — now the mother of his child — closer to his chest, whispering in his dream:

"I love you, my bold, crazy, beautiful wife."

She didn't hear him.

But she felt it.

Every day.

Always.