There are weddings you photograph. And then there are weddings that photograph you right back — that demand something from you as a storyteller, that push you to rise to the occasion because the occasion itself is extraordinary.

Feras and Delia’s was the latter.

Delia descended that staircase and the room held its breath. Not politely. Completely. The kind of silence that only happens when something genuinely beautiful is happening and every person in the room knows it simultaneously.

Feras waited at the bottom. He had been composed all day. He was not composed anymore.

What followed was a celebration as grand as the love behind it — chandeliers, flowers, family from near and far, a dance floor that never emptied, and two people at the centre of it all who never stopped looking at each other like they still couldn’t believe their luck.

Some nights you drive home from a wedding and think: I am so glad I do this job.

This was one of those nights.