Albin had turned a private rooftop into a love letter: rose petals across the zellige, red roses in tall crystal vases, and a line of printed photos and notes from their story.
I stayed out of sight until he went down on one knee, between the fireplace and the palm trees. Suruchi hid her face in her hands, then let her head fall against his chest.
Afterwards, a quieter moment inside, in a white room of carved lattice, and one last photograph for the ring.
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