Chapter Forty-Three: The Wedding in Bangladesh
(Ria's POV)
The morning sun poured through the windows, golden and bright, but I barely noticed. My heart was pounding, stomach fluttering with nerves and excitement. Today was it — my wedding day in Bangladesh.
Maya and Emma were buzzing around the room like caffeinated bees, helping me get ready. Maya fussed over my hair, twisting and braiding strands while Emma snapped candid photos.
"Threads, you have to smile for at least one picture without panicking," Maya said, grinning.
I laughed nervously. "I'm trying! There's so much happening! What if I trip? Or cry too much? Or…"
"Or fall into Miles' arms like a dramatic heroine," Emma finished, smirking.
I rolled my eyes, though my stomach fluttered at the thought. Miles had been beside me all morning, calm and steady, holding my hand, brushing stray hair behind my ear, whispering, "Threads… it's your day. You're mine, and nothing else matters."
The makeup team arrived, a whirlwind of brushes, powders, and sparkles. My face slowly transformed into a glowing, polished version of myself — soft golds and subtle pinks highlighting my features. The artist held up a mirror, and I almost didn't recognize the brown-skinned, noirette-haired baddie looking back at me.
"You look incredible," Miles whispered, voice low and possessive. He leaned down, brushing his lips gently against my temple. "Absolutely mine."
I felt my cheeks heat. "Stop saying that," I laughed nervously. "I'm already stressed."
He smirked. "You'll survive, Threads. Don't worry. I've got you."
Then came the dress. Traditional, rich silk with intricate gold embroidery, flowing like liquid elegance. I stepped into it and gasped. The fabric shimmered under the sunlight, the perfect balance of classic and regal. My veil was delicate, almost ethereal, falling around my shoulders.
Miles' jaw tightened slightly as he saw me. "Threads…" he breathed, voice husky, eyes dark with admiration and something deeper. "You're… breathtaking."
I bit my lip, a blush creeping across my cheeks. "Stop. You're going to make me cry."
"I wouldn't mind," he said softly, leaning to press his forehead to mine.
The venue was massive. Lanterns swayed gently, flowers lined the aisles, and the tables were overflowing with colorful arrangements. The banquet hall smelled like fresh jasmine, rose, and spices — a mix that made my stomach flip with anticipation. Cameras flashed everywhere, capturing every glittering detail. The family photographers were already moving around, snapping candid shots, group portraits, and dramatic angles of my dress and bouquet.
Miles guided me gently toward the entrance. "Threads… just breathe. Everything's perfect. You're perfect."
I nodded, squeezing his hand tightly. "I just… I can't believe this is real. All the planning, the flights, the chaos…"
"All worth it," he whispered, brushing his lips along my temple. "Because this is you. This is us."
The ceremony itself was a whirlwind of color, laughter, and ritual. My parents were beaming, my aunts fussing and sneaking snacks to Sofia, who was bouncing in excitement. My father's voice was steady, giving blessings, while my mother's eyes glistened with tears.
Miles stood beside me, regal and calm, occasionally whispering, "Threads… you look incredible. Absolutely mine."
I laughed softly. "Do you have to say that every minute?"
He smirked. "Every minute. You're mine. I'm not subtle, remember?"
After the rituals, we moved to the banquet. Tables groaned under the weight of food — biryani, korma, samosas, sweets, and desserts I couldn't even name. Sofia ran around, insisting I taste everything, while Maya and Emma documented every plate. Lia and Leo stayed close, offering support and commentary.
Miles leaned close as I reached for a piece of jalebi. "Threads… save me some, okay?"
I smiled, brushing my fingers against his. "You're impossible."
"And yet… you love me," he whispered, voice low, possessive, brushing his thumb across the back of my hand.
I laughed softly, feeling my heart flutter uncontrollably. "Unfortunately, yes."
Evening came, lanterns glowing and candles flickering across the massive hall. Music played softly, a mix of traditional and modern tunes. Miles held my hand, guiding me toward the dance floor. "Threads… just us for a minute," he whispered.
I melted into his arms, swaying to the music. The chaos faded. The family, the guests, the cameras — nothing mattered except us. His lips brushed mine in a soft, lingering kiss that made my heart hammer.
"Miles…" I whispered, breathless.
"Forever, Threads," he murmured, pulling me closer. "Always."