I woke up up with an unusually tight embrace around my waist. My mumma had decided to give me the sweetest wake up call mankind had ever seen. Like every other groggy morning, my fingers fumbled to find the frosty screen of my phone. Two seconds of painfully bright light in my sleep drawn eyes later, ta-da, the date flashed before me. 5th December, 2016.
The first half of my day was uneventful, but, undeniably, unexplainably grumpy. Right from my favorite ashford marble to my faultlessly soaked almonds, they all seemed to be asking me one question. How long till you let us go?
Fast forward to 5pm. Outfit fittings for my absolutely delightful bohemian function. I walked out of the changing room (or should I say, regal suite?), rather perplexed, that a flouncy skirt with accurate measure of zardozi embroidery could make me feel this elated. A substantial amount of sashaying and strutting later – I just COULDN’T WAIT to experience what would be the most ecstatic week of my life.
8pm. My phone flashes with a new text. ‘Baby, I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you.’