Following the epic drama of taking a nosedive alongside the groom onto the bridal carpet—which was immediately followed by five frantic wedding coordinators rushing forward to hoist Satya up and comfort Vanesha, who was on the verge of crying hysterically in the corner of the stage—Mira decided it was high time she made her exit before venue security called the local fire department or police precinct.

With the absolute final fragments of her dignity shattered into cosmic dust, Mira limped away from the bridal stage. Both of her shoes were now suffering the exact same fate: her right heel had popped off completely, while she had purposefully snapped the left one off with pure brute force behind a pillar just to balance out her height. As a result, she dragged her feet across the red carpet with the distinct posture of an injured penguin migrating for the winter.

Yet, before she managed to reach the ballroom exit, her eyes landed on a long table heavily guarded by event staff: the Wedding Souvenir Redemption Desk.

Atop the table sat dozens of neatly stacked cardboard boxes containing exclusive wedding favors—teak wood rice ladles engraved with the initials Satya & Vanesha, complete with rose gold satin ribbons that looked both elegant and practical for boarding-house kitchen needs.

Mira halted. She stared at the rows of souvenir boxes with eyes sparkling with unadulterated, vindictive vengeance.

"I’ve suffered physically and mentally since dawn, dressed up like a traveling circus clown, had my concrete helmet updo wrecked, gotten sate sauce dumped all over my face, nearly gotten tossed out by security, and just successfully sent the groom crashing onto the stage floor..." Mira muttered inwardly, clenching both fists with fierce determination. "At the very least, my trip home today has got to include a free wooden rice ladle to upgrade my kitchen tools!"

Gathering her remaining combat energy, Mira dragged her body forward, plowing straight through a cluster of fierce middle-aged women crowding the souvenir table.

Unfortunately, only a single souvenir box remained resting dead center on the wooden tray.

And at that exact microsecond from the opposite direction, the hand of a stout, middle-aged woman—her neck draped in a heavy, blindingly shiny ten-gram gold chain—slapped down squarely on top of that final box.

Slap! Their hands collided directly over the wooden ladle box.

Mira and the ten-gram-gold-chain lady whipped their heads up in unison, locking eyes in a hostile staredown charged with enough heavy-duty malice to singed wool within a ten-meter radius.

"Hey, watch it, miss! Coming in here trying to muscle out an elder! I've been waiting in this line since your obnoxious dangdut ringtone blasted across the room!" snapped the gold-chain woman fiercely, hauling the souvenir box toward herself with militant motherly strength.

Mira clamped down onto the opposite side of the box, refusing to yield an inch. The vein in her temples throbbed violently, rejecting any notion of surrendering her final spoils of war.

"Excuse me, ma'am! First come, first served, and my hand touched the left side of this box way before yours landed like a loan shark!" Mira snapped right back, ignoring the fact that her Super Saiyan antenna bangs were vibrating wildly from pure emotion. "This wooden ladle has been calling out my name all evening! Go find another souvenir, lady—there's still an empty cardboard box from the mineral water cases under the table!"

"How insolent can a young person get! You have zero respect for your elders!" the gold-chain woman shrieked, tugging at the wooden ladle box with all her might until the cardboard packaging threatened to split straight down the middle.

The tug-of-war match between a concrete-updo-wearing girl and a ten-gram-gold-chain matriarch was moments away from becoming the most entertaining free show in the room, had an elegant intervention not arrived out of nowhere.

A calm, tailored charcoal-gray suit sleeve wearing a brown leather watch suddenly slid smoothly between them. The hand calmly held up an identical extra souvenir box, placing it gently right on the table before the gold-chain champion.

"Pardon me, ma'am, but that center wooden ladle appears to have been specially reserved for the VIP committee. But not to worry, here is an extra backup souvenir box from my table, please feel free to take this one instead," offered a baritone voice that was steady and instantly soothing.

Mira and the gold-chain woman whipped their heads toward the source of the voice.

Standing beside them with a charming, subtle smile was Aris—the sharp legal consultant who had mocked Mira earlier at the VIP table. Aris looked down at the gold-chain woman with an air of effortless authority that immediately deflated her aggressive momentum.

"Oh... a... ah, well in that case! Thank you so much, handsome young man!" the gold-chain woman stammered awkwardly, snatching the backup souvenir box right out of Aris's hand and scurrying off into the crowd to save face.

The final wooden ladle souvenir box on the table was officially Mira’s without further resistance.

Mira stood paralyzed beside the table, staring down at the souvenir box in her hands before shifting her gaze to Aris, who now stood less than half a meter away. A fresh, crisp scent of cinnamon blended with clean mint drifted softly from Aris, cutting right through the lingering aromas of sate peanut sauce and lemon dish soap clinging to her gown.

"You..." Mira mumbled softly, feeling her cheeks flare up in a blazing crimson blush for the umpteenth time that day. "What are you doing here again? Are you here to laugh at me for losing a tug-of-war over a ladle with a militant mom?"

Aris smiled amusedly, sliding both hands into his suit trouser pockets. He cast a brief, sweeping glance over Mira's wonderfully chaotic appearance—the lopsided concrete updo, the Super Saiyan bangs, the Borneo-map baby pink gown, and her heelless feet.

"No, I'm not laughing at you," Aris answered softly, stepping a fraction closer. "I just happened to pass by and felt a twinge of pity watching a heroic wedding-crash warrior get physically battered just to secure a kitchen utensil."

Aris reached into his inner suit jacket pocket, pulled out another extra souvenir box—slightly larger than the wooden ladle box, wrapped in a luxurious rose gold satin ribbon—and extended it straight toward Mira's hands.

"And... to answer your underlying curiosity about why I'm still hanging around," Aris continued with a mysterious smile that sent Mira's heart into a chaotic tailspin, "this... is a special backup souvenir box from the VIP table that I intentionally held back for you, so that your trip home today doesn't just include a kitchen ladle, but also gives you a guaranteed excuse for us to cross paths again."

Mira stared blankly at the souvenir box resting in Aris's hands. Right in the middle of the most catastrophically unfortunate day in the entire history of human civilization, where every single plan underpinning her Operation Ex-BF Wedding Revenge had shattered into cosmic dust, Mira realized one absolute truth:

Sometimes, the most absurd love stories don'g begin with fairy tales—they kick off with a cursed wedding invitation, spilled sate sauce, a dangdut koplo ringtone, and a calm-eyed random guy with a soft spot for rescuing wooden kitchen ladles.