The city never slept, and neither did Rhea Kapoor.

Her apartment on the fifteenth floor of a Bandra high-rise offered a bird's-eye view of the chaotic beauty that was Mumbai - glittering lights, honking rickshaws, and the occasional siren wailing through the night. It was nearly midnight, but Rhea sat hunched over her sleek MacBook, surrounded by swatches of pastel satin, mood boards pinned with dried lavender, and two half-drunk cups of coffee. Her fingers moved at lightning speed across the keyboard as she responded to emails, confirmed a cake delivery, and sent final instructions to a decorator in Pune. Her mind, sharp and methodical, ticked off tasks like clockwork.

In another life, perhaps she would have been a writer, or a traveler, or even a chef like her mother once dreamed. But somewhere between her first college event and her first freelance wedding at twenty-two, Rhea had fallen in love - with the magic of weddings. The chaotic coordination, the beauty of personalized vows, the sound of families cheering during the pheras - it was intoxicating.

Now, at twenty-eight, she was one of the most sought-after wedding planners in Mumbai. Her Instagram page, @PlanWithRhea, was a curated masterpiece of marigold mandaps, beachside baraats, and smiling couples. Clients admired her efficiency. Vendors admired her fairness. Her assistants admired her drive. But admiration had its price.

She hadn't taken a holiday in almost two years. Her phone rarely left her hand, even during meals. Her dating life was... well, nonexistent. Every attempt at romance was lost to last-minute client calls and emergency decor disasters. The closest she had come to intimacy recently was her growing dependency on her chai delivery guy, who knew her exact sugar-to-cardamom ratio.

It wasn't that Rhea didn't long for something more - she did. But in the tightrope act of keeping her business afloat, she had silenced those whispers of desire. They felt indulgent, impractical.

That night, she rubbed her temples and leaned back against the soft cushions of her couch. The walls of her apartment were tastefully done: muted sage tones, vintage wedding photos from around the world, fairy lights twinkling softly on a corkboard filled with thank-you notes from clients. It should've felt cozy, fulfilling. But something was missing, and she could feel it more acutely with every passing day.

Ping.

Her phone lit up with a new email notification. The subject line read:

"URGENT: Destination Wedding Inquiry - Shimla | March 10 - 15"

Her tired eyes sharpened.

Shimla.

The name struck her like a windchime catching a sudden breeze. A thousand images danced in her mind - pine forests, snowfall, the scent of roasted peanuts near the Ridge, and a boy with mischievous eyes and paint-stained fingers.

Aarav.

She hadn't thought of him in years.

She clicked open the email. The client was a well-known business family in Delhi planning an intimate yet high-profile destination wedding at a luxury estate in Shimla. Budget? "No constraint." Guest list? "Only 100, but every one of them important." Timeline? "Two months from now."

It was exactly the kind of challenge she thrived on.

And yet, a strange flutter stirred in her chest. Shimla was more than just a location. It was a memory. A chapter from her childhood that had ended too abruptly.

Rhea set her laptop aside and walked toward the large window of her living room. Outside, the city shimmered under orange streetlights. She pressed her palm to the glass, the coolness grounding her.

Was it fate? Coincidence? Or just work?

A part of her wanted to decline - she had too many ongoing projects. Another part, the quiet voice that rarely got a say, whispered, Go. It's time.

She took a deep breath and walked back to her desk. Her fingers hesitated for a moment before typing the reply:

"I'd be honored to plan your wedding in Shimla. Let's schedule a call."

She hit send.

And just like that, the course of her life shifted.