The shift had come slowly, like rot spreading behind wallpaper.

Over the past three months of their engagement, Aribba had changed. She became secretive, guarding her phone like a nuclear code. She would smile at nothing, a cruel, satisfied smirk that I recognized from our childhood—the look she wore when she had broken something of mine and blamed the cat.

Rafie, on the other hand, had deteriorated. The charming, vibrant man I had met six months ago was gone. In his place was a husk. He barely spoke. He flinched when Aribba touched him.

One night, three days before the rehearsal dinner, I found out why.

I had returned from a job interview late, drained and smelling of rain. The house was quiet, the heavy velvet drapes drawn against the night. As I passed the living room, I saw a glow.

Aribba had fallen asleep on the chaise lounge, an empty wine glass on the floor beside her. Her phone was resting on her chest, buzzing with a persistent, silent notification.

I shouldn’t have looked. I should have walked past, gone to the cramped room I shared with Mina, and slept. But instinct is a powerful thing. It pulled me toward her.