The morning of the final day dawned bright and deceptively calm. Naila and Arjun woke to an apartment that seemed to breathe with history: the Legendary Gift still on its pedestal, the papier-mâché goat proudly perched in the living room, and all prior gifts—mugs, letters, sculptures, coasters, and envelopes—carefully placed according to their chosen categories. For a moment, they allowed themselves to savor the quiet. Then

The apartment had settled into what Naila began to call “ controlled chaos. ” The fabulous Gift dominated the living room, its atomic diorama landing the marriage in unnerving perfection, every detail reckoned for, every object eternalized. But as with all effects of extreme significance, peace was temporary. It arrived on a Thursday morning, delivered by a courier who looked noiselessly repentant. Naila opened the door and blinked. The package was enormous, high than the courier himself, and wrapped in metallic tableware paper that sounded to hum noiselessly. Arjun browsed over her shoulder. “ It’s big, ” he said. “ Yes, ” Naila

It was a Wednesday autumn, ordinary in every way, until the doorbell chimed and changed everything. Naila, perched on the lounge with a book, gave a conservative regard at Arjun. “ Who could it be? ” she murmured. Arjun signed. “ Another mug? Another shrine? Another philosophical quotation about marriage? ” They opened the door to find the delivery man holding a package that defied description. It was enormous, wrapped in glittery paper that ever managed to look both gleeful and intimidating. There was a note attached, scribbled in dramatic handwriting For the couple who has survived all differently, a gift good of legend. Naila and