The rhythmic knock on the door echoed through the room, a sound that somehow managed to be both tentative and commanding. Zoya sat in front of her vanity table, her breath hitching as she heard it. She could feel the weight of the moment settling in, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering wildly. Hayat stood behind her, carefully weaving strands of her hair into an intricate pattern, while Sophia fussed with the pallu of her saree, pinning it just so.
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