Rahul had completely forgotten the date.

Between work deadlines, baby tantrums, and late-night bottle shifts, "anniversary" had slipped through the cracks.

He rushed home, hoping to salvage it with flowers or maybe a late dinner…

But the house was dark.

No lights. No sound. No welcome smile.

He stepped in nervously, setting his bag down. Then—he noticed the trail of rose petals. Leading up the stairs. Soft instrumental music began to hum from above.

His heart raced.

On the bedroom door:
"Come in. You're already forgiven."

He pushed the door gently.

Candles lit every corner, casting golden shadows on the walls. The room smelled of jasmine and old memories.

And in the middle of it all, Rani stood—wrapped in a crimson saree, the same one she wore on their wedding night. Her eyes sparkled, lips curled into a teasing smile.

“You forgot, didn’t you?”
“I did,” he whispered, ashamed.
“But I didn’t,” she smiled. “And tonight... I wanted to remind you why we chose each other.”

He walked toward her slowly. Took her hands.

“I don’t deserve this.”

She touched his face.

“You don’t have to. You just have to show up… and love me like you always do. Even in the forgotten days.”

Then came the surprise.

A projector lit up the wall. A homemade video began—clips of their journey. Wedding snippets. Baby’s first steps. Laughing at 2 a.m. in the kitchen. Dancing barefoot. Crying. Holding hands in silence.

“These,” she said, “are our vows… just lived instead of spoken.”

He didn’t speak. He just held her. Tighter than usual. Longer than needed.

Later that night, as they slow-danced in candlelight, baby sleeping in the next room, Rahul whispered:

“Let’s grow old like this, Rani. You reminding me of love. Me falling in love with you… again and again.”

She rested her head on his chest.

“And again tomorrow.”