Shaadi Crashers
"When Zara and Kamran both crash the same Pakistani wedding to avoid their families' rishta pressure, they find each other—and a connection more real than any arranged match."
Shaadi Crashers
"You're not on the guest list either, are you?"
Zara nearly choked on her samosa. The man beside her at the buffet was gorgeous—tall, dark-eyed, wearing a sherwani that probably cost more than her rent.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Your outfit is beautiful but generic—could fit any Pakistani wedding. You don't know anyone here. And you've been avoiding eye contact with the bride's mother like she's immigration police." He smiled. "Crasher to crasher, I respect the commitment."
Zara sighed. "My mother was driving me insane about rishtas. I needed an excuse to leave the house that didn't involve meeting 'suitable boys.'"
"Same. Except mine was my father, and the suitable options were daughters of his business partners." He extended his hand. "Kamran. Professional wedding escapist."
"Zara. Amateur, apparently."
They spent the evening together—talking, laughing, dodging aunties who might know their families.
"This is the most fun I've had at a wedding," Zara admitted during their third spin around the dance floor.
"Because there's no pressure." Kamran's hands were warm on her waist. "No family watching. No expectations. Just two strangers being themselves."
"Is this your usual approach? Crash weddings, charm women?"
"First time, actually. I saw you at the buffet and thought: 'She looks as miserable as I feel. Maybe we can be miserable together.'"
"How romantic."
"I try." His eyes softened. "You're easy to talk to, Zara. I don't usually—I'm not good at this. Connections. Real ones."
"Neither am I." She stepped closer. "Maybe we're both better at it than we think."
They ended up in the hotel garden, away from the noise.
"I should go," Zara said, not moving. "My mother will send search parties."
"Mine too." Kamran didn't move either. "But I don't want tonight to end."
"What do you want?"
"Your number. A real date. Something that isn't—" He laughed. "Something that isn't crashing strangers' weddings."
"You think we'd work? In real life?"
"I think we're both here hiding from arranged matches because we want something real." He cupped her face. "I think we just found it."
She kissed him.
The hotel room was spontaneous—neither had planned it, but neither wanted to stop.
Kamran undressed her slowly, like she was a gift. "Tell me if—"
"Don't stop." She pulled him closer. "I want this. I want you."
He groaned against her neck, hands finding her curves. "You're incredible."
"Less flattery, more action."
He laughed and complied.
His mouth traced down her body, learning every response, every gasp. When he finally slid inside her, Zara cried out at the rightness of it.
"Meri jaan," he breathed, moving within her. "This is real. Tell me it's real."
"It's real." She wrapped around him. "Don't stop."
He didn't—not until they'd both shattered and reformed, tangled together in unfamiliar sheets.
"Our families are going to be furious," Zara said afterward. "Or delighted. I can't decide which is worse."
"Both." Kamran kissed her hair. "We'll tell them we met at a wedding. Technically true."
"Whose wedding?"
"Details." He grinned. "The important thing is: will you go on a real date with me? One where we're both supposed to be there?"
"I suppose. Since you're not a 'suitable boy' my mother picked."
"Oh, I'm very suitable. Harvard MBA, family business, excellent chai-making skills." He held her closer. "But more importantly: I make you laugh. And I intend to keep doing that."
They told their families they met "at a wedding"—which was true. The fact that neither had been invited remained their private joke.
The engagement six months later was at a wedding they were actually invited to.
Best-attended shaadi of the season.