I checked the room, my eyes drifting over the sea of guests, searching for her.

The maid of honour.

I didn't even know her name yet, but ever since I saw her walk down the aisle before the bride, something about her had caught my attention. I had noticed her again during the speeches—her wit, the way she had the crowd in the palm of her hand, making them laugh one moment and get emotional the next. 

She was different from the usual crowd at these kinds of weddings. Genuine. Sharp-tongued but with an unmistakable warmth underneath. Like she was part of this grand event but somehow separate from it, as if she was here for her best friend but not entirely lost in the fairytale of it all. And I—I was intrigued.

Now, I just had to find her.

The reception was in full swing. The dance floor was filling up with couples swaying under the dim glow of the chandeliers, laughter echoing through the grand ballroom. The scent of cake and champagne lingered in the air, blending with the faint notes of the live band's melody. 

Waiters weaved through the crowd with trays of sparkling drinks, and the paparazzi stationed near the entrance were still snapping away, eager to capture every moment of the wedding of the season. 

I had a strange curiosity, an urge to know more about her. I finally caught a glimpse of her—she was at the corner of the room near the food table, enjoying a slice of cake like she hadn't eaten in days.

I smirked to myself.

She was different. While most of the guests were busy twirling on the dance floor, sipping expensive champagne, or making small talk, she had chosen to stand in the corner, lost in her own world. There was something refreshingly unbothered about her.

And just as I was about to head in her direction—

"Sup dude!"

I flinched as a hand clamped down on my shoulder, nearly tipping a glass from the nearest table.

A familiar laugh erupted behind me, and I turned my head to see none other than Aaron—Samuel's younger brother, grinning like an idiot.

"Really, dude?" I muttered, shaking my head. "How old are you?"

He shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Old enough to know you're standing here like a creep instead of actually talking to her."

"Talking to who?" I said while trying to be nonchalant.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, come on, don't play dumb. You've been eyeing the maid of honour all night." He teased, "She's intriguing, isn't she? And before you ask—yes, I did you a favor earlier by clarifying she wasn't the bride. You're welcome."

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head, and said in a sarcastic tone. "Thanks for that, really."

Aaron grinned. "Anyway, if you're planning to talk to her, now's your chance." He tilted his head toward the food table. "She's standing alone. Not surrounded by a flock of bridesmaids, no overprotective friends in sight, no hawkeye parents. This is a golden opportunity."

I glanced back toward her. She had just finished her cake, completely unaware of the fact that she had unknowingly become the most interesting part of my night.

Aaron smirked. "Well, lucky for you, I can confirm she's single."

I rolled my eyes. "Great. Thanks for the intel, Sherlock. Now, do I owe you a consulting fee, or is this part of your unpaid matchmaking service?"

Aaron chuckled. "Nah, no fee. Consider it a wedding gift. My generosity knows no bounds."

I shook my head, exhaling. "Generosity, sure. I'd call it unnecessary meddling."

He grinned. "Anyway, don't overthink it. She's cool. Probably won't bite."

I shot him a flat look. "That's very reassuring."

"Look, worst case scenario? She ignores you. Best case? You get to dance with a pretty girl tonight." Aaron nudged me. "Just use your rizz."

I let out a short laugh. "Right. That always works."

Then he pushed me a bit forward. I hesitated for a second. Then, exhaling, I walked towards her and stopped my steps as I reached a comfortable distance.

"Um...hey," I said.

She turned her head toward me, her eyes slightly widening in recognition before narrowing with curiosity.

"Hey," she replied, setting her used napkin aside.

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but my brain short-circuited.

"I... uh... I... um—"

Smooth, Vihaan. Real smooth.

She tilted her head slightly, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips like she was trying not to laugh. "You're Vihaan Jain, right?"

I blinked. Okay—wait. What?

"How do you know my name?" I asked, genuinely surprised.

She raised an eyebrow, way too nonchalant as if she weren't the reason for my fluttering heart. "You're a fitness influencer, right?"

I paused, still processing. "...How do you know that?"

She gave me a little shrug. "I've seen a few of your reels on my Instagram feed. I even follow you."

My mouth opened again. No words came out. I had a moment of genuine existential panic about what I might've posted recently. Shirtless gym transitions? Cringe motivational quotes from 2019? A banana protein smoothie review? My five-year-old very ugly and skinny pre-glow-up posts? Please, god, don't tell me she saw all that. 

"You... you follow me?"

"Yeah," she said, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. "You're pretty hard to forget. Lots of dumbbells. Surprisingly funny captions. Samuel and your bromance."

I let out a short, almost disbelieving laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. "Wow. I genuinely don't know whether to feel flattered or mildly roasted."

She shrugged. "You should feel both."

"I'll add it to the list of things I feel tonight," I said, trying to play it cool even though I was pretty sure my heart was doing somersaults.

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What else is on the list?"

"Humiliation," I deadpanned. "Mild confusion. And... whatever the word is for when someone you've never met casually admits they follow you online and suddenly your whole digital footprint flashes before your eyes like a badly edited slideshow."

She laughed—a real one, head tilted back just slightly, eyes squinting in that adorable way that made me forget how to breathe.

"So," she said, still smiling, "what's next, Vihaan Jain? You gonna flex or ask me to do squats?"

I shook my head, dramatically offended. "No, I'm retired from the free gym advice life. I've evolved."

"Oh, really?"

"Absolutely," I said, then paused—just enough for dramatic effect. "These days, I ask pretty girls to dance instead."

That made her blink, just once. The banter melted ever-so-slightly, something softer slipping into her expression.

"Oh," she said quietly, just above the background hum of the music.

I offered a crooked smile, holding out my hand. "Would you like to dance with me?"

She looked at it for a moment—my outstretched hand, tough from years of weights and pull-ups, now trembling slightly because damn it, this felt like a moment I didn't want to mess up.

Then the band started playing Blue by Yung Kai—the violin version.

Something in the room shifted. Like someone had dimmed the lights just enough to make the moment feel more intimate. Like the world decided to hush for a second and listen.

Her gaze dropped to my hand, and then my face, for the tiniest moment, I thought maybe I'd overstepped. Maybe I should've stuck to protein jokes and banter. But then—

She placed her hand in mine.

"Only if you don't step on my feet," she murmured, the corners of her mouth twitching.

"No promises, Promises are meant to be broke," I replied, my voice softer than I intended.

Her eyes crinkled, a tiny smile blooming like the slow rise of a sun. "That's a terrible motto."

"It's an honest one," I said, guiding her gently toward the dance floor. "And I'm nothing if not painfully honest."

"I can tell," she said, stepping closer as we found a small pocket of space between the glittering of twirling gowns and half-drunken couples. "Especially when you short-circuited earlier like a broken Alexa."

"Wow," I laughed, placing one hand on her waist, the other still holding her hand. "Already roasting me in public? Are you always this mean on first dances?"

"Only to influencers who post flex selfies and call it 'Monday motivation.'"

"Low blow," I whispered, but I couldn't stop grinning. "Next you'll say you unfollowed me mid-convo."

She leaned in ever so slightly. "Not yet. But the night's still young."

The violin notes flowed like warm honey, wrapping around us. Our bodies moved in sync—not perfectly, but comfortably, like two people figuring out a rhythm that wasn't taught but felt.

Our feet moved in an easy rhythm—sway, step, sway—our fingers still laced as if letting go might disrupt the delicate magic humming between us. I hadn't even realised I was smiling until my cheeks started to ache a little. And for once, I didn't care who was watching. Not the photographers, not the gossiping guests, not even Samuel, who I was sure would tease me along with Aaron, endlessly later.

This moment felt...quiet. Like when you're sitting in a parked car during a storm, and everything outside is a disaster, but inside—just peace.

"I never caught your name," I said finally, leaning in slightly to make my voice heard over the music. "I've been calling you 'anonymous-pretty-girl-who-also-apparently-follows-me' in my head this whole time."

She raised her eyebrows, amused. "That's oddly specific."

"It's accurate," I countered, smiling. "So? You gonna tell me, or should I just keep calling you that forever?"

She laughed under her breath, her gaze flicking down for a beat before lifting again. "It's Nav—"

"Navya! Here you are!"

The voice sliced through the music like a badly timed commercial break. A bridesmaid in a pastel blue, overly frilly dress appeared out of nowhere, her heels clacking furiously against the marble floor like she was storming the dance floor with the fury of a thousand bouquet tosses.

Navya turned slightly, blinking in surprise. "Tanya?"

"I've been looking everywhere for you," That bridesmaid huffed dramatically, completely ignoring me like I was background decoration. "You're supposed to be with the rest of us! Come on!"

"But, Tanya—" Navya started, voice soft with protest.

Tanya clearly didn't care. She grabbed Navya's hand like a mom dragging a kid from a candy aisle and tugged her gently—but firmly—away from me.

I took an involuntary step forward. "Wait, we were just—"

Tanya didn't even glance back. "She'll catch up later," she said hastily, like I was some temporary distraction Navya had picked up between lectures.

I stood there, hand still in the air like a rejected prom date, heart thumping in a mix of confusion, disappointment, and an emotion I couldn't quite name yet.

Navya.

So that was her name.

And I had a feeling it wouldn't be the last time I would say it. Not by a long mile.

I stood there for a beat too long, hand still warm where hers had been, the violin fading behind me like an afterthought. The moment had ended, ripped away like pages from a book mid-chapter. Everyone else kept dancing, laughing, twirling under fairy lights like nothing had just cracked open inside my chest.

I exhaled, stuffing my hands into my pockets, feeling... stupid. I backed off the dance floor, weaving through couples and cocktail tables until I was near the far wall, where the lighting was low and nobody would ask why I looked like someone who just got ghosted in 4K.

Pulling out my phone, I unlocked it with muscle memory and tapped open Instagram.

Because yes. I had to know.

Because she said, "I follow you," like it was nothing, but now I needed that something. A username. A profile. A clue.

I tapped on my profile.
Clicked Followers.
And started scrolling.

Scroll. Scroll. Scroll.

Hundreds of names. Gym bros. Wellness brands. Aunties and Gay Uncles who comment "So handsome beta" under shirtless reels.

Where are you, Navya?

I slowed down, thumb hovering over each unfamiliar name like it might hold her. I kept scrolling.

Please don't be one of those people with no profile pic and a username like @moonxwater_3829.

And then—

@navya_fineaswine

Finally, found it.