Every Friday, Mahdi came to the wedding hall alone. He wanted a wife. He had wanted one for years. But he never spoke to anyone. He set up folding chairs for other people's celebrations, then left before the dancing began. Tonight he stood inside the red brick pyramid where the weddings happened. His black suit was pressed. His gold crown caught the light. On paper, he looked like a man who owned the room. In truth, he owned nothing but his silence. A red rose sat on the table beside a glowing lamp. He had bought the rose that morning. He planned to give it to someone. Any Friday now, he told himself. He had told himself that for a year. Guests arrived over a rose-patterned carpet. A sign near the door read I LOVE YOU in bright letters. Mahdi watched a woman step through the crowd. She wore a red wedding dress. She was not a bride tonight. She was a guest, laughing with strangers, easy in her own skin. Jessica. Mahdi's hand went to the rose. His feet did not move. The old fear pinned him. He saw the whole failure play out. He would walk over, freeze, and say nothing. Then he would leave alone again, like every Friday before. He almost did leave. He turned toward the door. Then he stopped. He was tired of himself. The rose was already wilting at the edges. One more week and it would die in his hand, unopened, ungiven. He picked up the lamp instead of setting it down. He carried it and the rose across the floral carpet. The warm light moved with him. People glanced up. Jessica turned. "For you," Mahdi said. His voice shook. He held out the rose. "I set up these chairs every Friday. I've never once said hello to anyone." Jessica looked at the trembling flower. Then she looked at his face. "That's a strange first line," she said. She smiled and took the rose. "But I like honest better than smooth." Mahdi laughed. The sound surprised him. It was the first time he had laughed inside this hall. "Sit," she said, and pulled out a chair beside her. He sat. He did not leave before the dancing. He stayed, and they talked until the lamp burned low. Mahdi had broken the silence at last. But Jessica wore that red dress for a reason. Near the end of the night, she told him. She was engaged. The wedding was in three weeks. She had said yes to a man she was no longer sure she loved. Mahdi walked home along the worn stone path. He was not alone anymore. He had a name, a number, and a laugh he wanted to hear again. He also had three weeks, another man, and a wedding that was not his.

Mahdi called Jessica three days after the wedding hall. She answered on the second ring. Her voice was tired. She wanted to talk, but not where people watched. They agreed to meet somewhere quiet. She told him to walk past the pyramid, keep going, and look for a black and gold building with a sun and moon on its front. He had never noticed it before. He found it near dusk. The hall stood tall and dark, gold trim running down its columns. A carved sun and moon watched from above the doors. He had passed this street a hundred times. Tonight it felt new, like a door he had walked by all his life without seeing. Inside, the walls held framed pictures. One showed a man and a woman watching the sun rise together, their hands almost touching. Mahdi stopped in front of it. He wanted that. He wanted it with Jessica. The thought scared him more than the silence ever had. Jessica waited at a small table. She wore plain clothes, no red dress tonight. A black ankh hung at her neck. She turned it between her fingers as he sat. "You came," she said. "I wasn't sure you would." "I said I would." Mahdi kept his voice steady. "Why here?" "My fiance owns this place." She let the words drop. "He runs the Friday gatherings. The pyramid, this hall, all of it." Mahdi's stomach turned. The man he was trying to beat was the man who built the rooms where he stood. "I brought you here on purpose," Jessica said. "I wanted you to see what I'd be marrying into. The buildings. The money. The whole life waiting for me." She looked at the sunrise picture on the wall. "None of it feels like mine." Mahdi leaned forward. "Then don't marry him." "It's not that simple." She let go of the ankh. "Our families planned this for years. I can't just walk out. If I call it off, I need a reason people will accept." She met his eyes. "I need to know if you're real, Mahdi. Not a rose and one late night. Real." He understood then why she had led him here. She was testing him. She had shown him the other man's world, cold and grand, and waited to see if he would run. He did not run. "I set up chairs for other people's weddings for years," he said. "I never wanted any of them. I want this one. Ours." Jessica went quiet. A slow breath left her. "Two weeks now," she said. "Not three. He moved the date up." The number hit him like a fist. He had lost a week without knowing it. "Then we don't waste time," Mahdi said. She nodded once. For the first time, she looked at him like a way out, not a mistake. But somewhere in this same hall, her fiance kept a wedding on his calendar. And now the clock ran faster.