#rama raju x oc

[mahi-wayy]

𝐀𝐒𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐈𝐍 | ᴀ. ʀᴀᴍᴀ ʀᴀᴊᴜ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ : A. Rama Raju x Fem!Oc

ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ : RRR

ʟᴇɴɢᴛʜ : 1.9k

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴs : Traumatizing ram more than he already is, ssr levels of angst, ram going through it, death, torture, blood and violence.

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ : 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 he is perfectly fine.

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

_______________

Ram was fine, he really was. Everything was going okay, he was working for the Britishers and not letting go any opportunities for the promotion let slip from his hands. He was just waiting.

Waiting for that one incident that would bring him everytime he ever wanted to achieve.

Beating the punching bags until they tore, running till his legs almost gave out or staying up late reading was just for the use of excessive energy, so he sleeps soundly.

Babai just liked to worry over him for no reason. He was okay, it was not like he was having nightmares that scared him from even letting his eyes close until it's him passing out quite literally from exhaustion.

It wasn't like he had constant panic attacks when he entered his bedroom, like he was repeatedly falling asleep on his desk.

It was not like he was a grieving widower, a lover drowning in sorrows or a man haunted but the ghost of the woman he once loved.

Who was he kidding? Not himself for sure, he was a grieving widower, a lover drowning in his sorrow in record time and a man that was being haunted by the woman he has loved more than his life.

Siara, that one name brought him both the relief of letting everything go and also the pain of choking on your own blood.

Siara Raisaar- no- Mrs. Siara Rama Raju Raisaar. She was…everything, his friend, his lover, his wife, his partner in his mission, everything.

Her father has trusted her with him with her after he joined the British army purely based on the fact that his daughter was in love with Venkatarama Raju's son.

She told him often how his father visited them when he used to come to the city, way before he started training revolutionaries.

He used to love it, just sitting and listening to her talk about any or everything. She was his home, his heart, his everything.

God she was beautiful, Long dark as night hair, beautiful brown eyes always lined with kohl, her anklets always chiming in sync with her beautiful laughter as she ran across the house away from him, dressed in the most beautiful of saris. She was a beauty that would make a God nervous.

Maybe that's why he took her from him or was it his karma coming back for torturing all those innocent people who were his own? He hasn't decided who to blame just yet. It has just been a little over a month.

The wounds from her departure were still fresh and stinging, something that was slowly and surely driving him insane.

Why? Because he was the one who killed her and no not only metaphorically, he has shot his wife quite literally.

He still feels sick whenever the thought comes up in his mind, heaving in the nearest bathroom like no tomorrow and it happens more often than not because it was haunting him every living moment he spends these days.

He still remembers the afternoon he first saw her, he was on market duty that day, it had been only a year since he joined the force so it was pretty reasonable.

The unforgiving sun of June was in a particularly punishing mood as he sat under the makeshift shed and the constables actually did the real work.

He was about to go get something to drink when a fight broke out nearby, his instincts carried him towards the crowd which he easily pushed his way through only to have a man collide with him.

Ram had groaned softly as he regained his footing only to lose his breath, between the market, yelling out and kicking and slapping two grown men, was a woman.

A delicate, soft looking woman who clearly had enough strength and technique to smack around two men of that size.

It takes a minute before he reminds himself why he had been there in the first place, stepping forwards and physically separating the woman from the man.

“That's enough!!”

The place fell silent as he let the fire roar himself to life and command the crowd with a practised ease, he then turns to the people involved and inquiring with them results in finding what all the fuss is about.

Apparently, the man had stolen from her purse and made nasty comments when she confronted her about the matter.

Ram had been a little amused and immensely impressed with the fire that blazed in her eyes, like it was a reflection of his soul shining in her orbs.

He had to arrest her for a day in jail, mainly to keep her away from damaging the man more than she already had because that head wound was pretty nasty.

They ended up chatting late night since he was on night duty too that day. For the first time he has felt a little as they shared past stories, unknowingly opening themselves to each other.

They haven't realised when they started meeting, away from the eyes of people, sitting and talking for hours or just holding each other through bad days and exactly six months ago her father decided to hand his only and dearly loved daughter to him.

The wedding ceremony was really small, his babai and her parents were all the crowd per say at their wedding and they were happy. They were so happy.

That was probably the only mistake he made, being happy. He should have known better with the track record of his fate? he should have never smiled in her presence.

Maybe it would have kept her alive.

The day still haunts him and it forever will, cursed with remembering every single thing about the brutal death of the one person who dedicated her everything to him

It was a cloudy sky, not an anomaly in August, by the looks of it rain would have hit soon enough. He was contemplating letting Siara know he could get stuck when he heard the commotion.

Stepping outside he had to physically keep himself from reacting when the woman he was supposed to go back home to was being dragged by her hair.

He was frozen in place though, people around him knew they were married and he knew this was going to get messy, really quick.

It took him a few minutes to gather himself and ask around of what in the name of God was happening.

Turns out she has been seen hiding the maps of British armoury.

But those were his plan- his thoughts cut off when he fears a familiar voice screaming followed by cracking of a whip.

Ram had never felt his throat close up as it did that day, his body was refusing to let any oxygen pass through as the interrogation which really was just a excuse for britishers to torture another one of their people.

He was suspended the following day, under the suspicion of helping his wife which was not true, it was the other way around. The plans were his not hers, she was the one covering him not the other way around.

God knows what she has said to them but the possibility of him being the actual culprit was not under consideration.

A few weeks later he got the opportunity to actually see her and as much as Ram loved her, he wished he had never seen her like that, he wished he would have simply let her be his beautiful Siara in his memories.

She was more blood than skin, hands tied above her head, legs shackled to the floor. Her soft skin had scars all over it, from head to toe she was bleeding from several cuts and the bruises were uncountable.

Her head hung low, her hair obstructing his view of her face, she would have sensed his presence because she had reacted as soon as he had taken another step forward.

“Ram…?”

He swore he would have had a breakdown, he seriously would have started crying if not for the guards outside. Her usual soft and firm voice was scratchy and low, he barely had caught his own name.

“Yeah it's me.”

His voice has never trembled like it had that day and when he looked up he had no way of stopping his tears from running down his face.

The scar of her face was painful to even remember, it ran diagonally, covering her whole face and by the looks of it, it had been a result of being struck by a piece of glass.

“Th..the guard…talk…about y..you rejoining…”

Her words barely had made sense but Ram was well versed in the woman he loved, he had caught on easily that she had wanted to know about his rejoining.

“The governor had given me an offer, he wanted me to be the one to execute you, to show my loyalty.”

Ram had always hated those white bastards but this was some another level of being a scoundrel. The silence in that cell had been choking, just her chains rattling as her arms moved a little.

“You should do it.."

He had really thought that either he had gone insane or she had.

“What? You want me to kill you?”

“Not like I will survive anyways, these assholes are good at the torture. Just say yes, let something good come out of this.”

He had wanted to yell and cry and ask her why she had covered for him to begin with but he had known answers to them, Babai had told him.

The layout of armoury Ram had sketched was with Babai at that time, he was shifting the place of the maps like they usually did.

What usually didn't happen was Britishers crossing paths with them, Siara had seen the inevitable outcome, snatched the papers from Babai and made a run for it, making sure the officers followed her and not anyone else.

He had cried for hours on end when he got to know, he didn't know if he was grateful for her being in his life or if he was simply a curse in her life.

He met governor Scott next morning reluctantly, his emotions were fading, he was re entering his old shell and it was scary, as he agreed to execute the woman he loved.

The bastard made the preparations in hours, the white asshole was just looking to enjoy what had happened that day.

He still remembers very clearly, he had fired twice, once in her abdomen, one in her chest. Those were his orders, Scott had cackled and promoted him a little higher than his rank at that time.

With that he was left to carry his dead wife home, he let her blood seep in his new uniform, it was she who had made it possible for him to begin with.

Coming three weeks were just him crying himself to sleep, waking from nightmares filled with her screams and crying himself to sleep again.

He still has those nightmares, seeing her all bloody and injured staring at him with blank eyes, her screams, those two gunshots, her pyre on fire. Everything, it was all a big nightmare that was destined to haunt him forever.

Even after he drowned himself in work and training, sleep remained a far-fetched idea which only came to him when he passed out once in three days.

He had stopped trying after the third week of her death, she had once told him he looked peaceful in his sleep so somewhere this was his punishment he had given himself. He didn't deserve to be peaceful, not after what she did for him.

His fate had written him a rough, hard path with no comfort and happiness and while he had first questioned it, whatever happened with Siara had him accept it.

It was better that he stayed on that rough path without allowing anyone in, for their own sake.

________

taglist : @vijayasena @voidsteffy @warnermeadowsgirl @mayakimayahai [let me know if you wanna be added]

[gauri-vishalakshi]

Prema Nadhi

Ram x OC, implied Ram x Sita (set before Ram and Bheem meet), implied developing RamBheem

Ram had loved once. Not the love he persistently attempted to convince himself he had for Sita, but the type of love that resembled the mighty Godavari. Subtly gentle yet fiercely passionate, peacefully serene yet ferociously destructive. He had been her fire and she had been his water, balancing his intensity with her calm and his creation with her destruction. While Ram had always felt more comfortable warming up by a campfire, she had always been in her element during their days by the riverside, throwing her head back and laughing as the little fish that flocked near the banks pressed kisses to her feet as she dipped them in the cool water. Whenever Ram had doubts about his purpose, she had always soothed it with sweet words of encouragement, as she shared Ram's hopes for a homeland that may one day be free.

Prema. How aptly she was named, his wonderful priyatama. Love incarnate she was indeed, dispensing love and care as if she had no shortage of it. Ram had often said he had fallen in love with Love itself, and though she had always laughed, only he knew how irrefutably true that was. Prema had been a doctor, a perfect choice of profession if he had ever seen one, and she showered love on all of her patients, no matter their race, religion, or caste. "Rama," she had complained to him on one of their quiet nights together (Prema had always refused to call him Ram or Raju, insisting that's what everyone called him; she wanted a name that she could keep and cherish only for herself), "I wish I could understand the minds of people who wish to crush others under their heel through constant torment and disparagement. What drives them to do so? Why is it that they feel the need to be so cruel to another person just like them?"

"Being a doctor opens one's eyes to problems such as these. No matter your caste, the color of your skin, or the god you worship, your bodies all work the same. A Brahmin doesn't have more physical brains that an "untouchable" has. A Hindu has no more hearts that a Muslim has. A light-skinned person has no more eyes than that of a darker-skinned one. When you live, your body works the same. And when you die, you die just like everyone else as your body stops its work and chooses to rest. What sadistic satisfaction does it bring when attempts to convince oneself that one is better simply because of some reason when everyone has the same body, simply different sizes, colors, and souls?"

Ram and Prema had had many conversations like this, and Prema had always expressed that she enjoyed that about Ram. How he encouraged her to express her thoughts and voice her opinions, rather than attempting to silence her. How he indulged in her intellectual musings, rather than telling her she was "just a woman". Ram had always thought that since love lasted forever, his Love would too. Alas, that was not what fate had in mind for them.

Everything had been going spectacularly. Ram had just been promoted, one step closer to achieving his dream, and Prema had been recognized as one of the top doctors in Delhi, the first woman to have been granted that felicitation. Ram and Prema were getting ready to get married with the blessings of both their families, when of course tragedy took that moment to strike.

While love is blissful, it is always flawed. Imperfect. So it was no surprise when Love herself was flawed. Prema cared, but sometimes she cared too much. She'd take the whole world under her protection, but she wouldn't hesitate to take their beatings for them, too. She was known as Premamma by all she treated, a kind figure that exuded warmth and affection. A lower-caste woman with delivery complications had shown up at a British hospital, the only nearby hospital within a radius of forty miles. Normally, even a Brahmin receiving treatment at an exclusively British facility would result in a punishment such as whipping, let alone someone from a lower caste. Prema, unable to turn away the woman in her hour of need, took her into the hospital to deliver her child. The baby, a boy, was born safely, and his mother survived without any issues, but once Lady Scott found out a lower-caste woman was getting treated at the same hospital she was, she immediately demanded her punishment: death. But Prema, foreseeing the woman's fate, sent her and her son away, and by doing so, unwittingly accepted her penalty. Prema was mistaken for the woman, shot, and killed a mere two days before her wedding. And not even a death notice, let alone an apology was sent to her family.

Ram had been devastated. For nothing lasts forever, not even love. Instead of marrying Prema, Ram had buried her. Instead of tying a mangalsutra around her neck, he had lit her pyre on fire. After her funeral, Prema's sister Pranitha had walked up to him, red-eyed. "Baava, this is akka's journal. I want you to keep it, and I hope that by doing so, you'll keep her." Ram had looked at her, shocked, as she pressed a smooth, bound book into his trembling hands. "Prani, why-I-I can't take this from you. You knew Pr-your akka far longer than I did." He stuttered out, unable to say her name, for then he would be reminded of the cataclysmic realization that even Love dies. "But you loved her far more than I ever could. Even though my akka is not physically here, as long as love remains in our hearts, our Love will always be there with us. You will always be my baava, even if you marry someone else, or forget about me completely, for I know your love of Love is eternal." Ram had taken the girl who he had come to love as a little sister into his arms as they both sobbed, mourning the loss of light and of Love.

Six months had passed before Ram had found the nerve to open her journal. The last entry had been written on the day she died, May 7, 1919. It was written in her neat, detailed hand, and it was a poem. He had never known her as an author, only as an orator, but he proceeded to read the verse that was titled "Oh, Motherland".

Oh, my motherland

For you, I have shed blood, sweat, and tears

Ever devoted to you and your mighty cause

You are like the Mother Goddess incarnate,

Giving life to all that trod upon you

Providing sustenance for all beings without discrimination

You give us the hues of emerald and sapphire, oh motherland

Raising upon you your mighty sons the mountains that bear the weight of the sky

And your serene yet powerful daughters the rivers who thunder through the earth, bringing life along their path

It pains me, oh glorious motherland

To see you bound in the chains of foreigners

For if one has a mother, should they not know how to treat another’s?

Ram set down the journal, overwhelmed as tears gathered in his eyes. Perhaps she would've shared it with him, he mused, had she not been shot that day. Maybe she would've shared more such poems with him as his wife but alas, he was never destined to know. He was destined to always be alone, a fire without his water, and a Hate without his Love.

It was on one of his horse rides across "their" bridge when he saw the child in the water. On closer inspection, he realized to his mounting horror that the child in question was Premanth, the child whose life Prema had saved along with his mother's. Out of gratefulness, the woman had named her son after Prema. Ram felt a surging need to save the boy, the one that his Love had died to save. Across, on the opposite bank, he spotted a man trying to help the boy. He signaled to him, and together they saved Premanth. The surge of pride in Ram at his success quickly transformed into a sinking horror as he saw a familiar, thin, and compact leather book fall out of his pocket. He lunged for it frantically, but only managed to tear out the last page with the poem before the rest of the notebook fell away. Blinking back his tears, he caught the other man's arm, who howled in delight. Ram couldn't help but laugh through his tears, as the other man's happiness was contagious and his laugh was bubbly, just like Prema's. Have I found another water? Ram thought to himself. And how fitting is it that I find him over Love's favorite river, Prema Nadhi.

translation: Prema (Love; Telugu); Prema Nadhi (River of Love; Telugu)

A/N: ngl I'm nervous 'cause of my own poetry LOL. tagging some wonderful people @manwalaage @lil-stark @thewinchestergirl1208 @contemporarykafka @gauri-vishalakshi @maraudersfansassemble @itsfookingloosah @rambheem-is-real @adrakchutneyofficial @darlingletshurttonight @seherie @redirection04 @ramayantika @how-is-it-in-london pls do give me feedback!!

[mahi-wayy]

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐀 | ᴀ. ʀᴀᴍᴀ ʀᴀᴊᴜ

ᴘᴀɪʀɴɪɴɢ : A. Rama Raju x Fem!Oc

ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ : RRR

ʟᴇɴɢᴛʜ : 2.4k

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴs : ssr levels of angst, strained relationship, arguments, ram being a emotional mess but still trying his best like always.

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ : 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 ram tries his best but still fails to keep a promise.

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

_______________

Alluri Sitarama Raju was a busy man, an extremely complicated, dedicated and smart one too. 

He was a man of his word, a great son, an extraordinary officer, exceptionally intelligent, a great strategist, a great on field leader etc. etc. but what most people and very sadly he himself forgets often is that he was a husband too.

Married to his childhood friend and the only other person who knew about his past, other than Babai of course, Vadehi. 

Their tale was an interesting one; he first met Vadehi, he was barely twelve. He had accompanied Babai, who found him sitting by his mother's corpse motionless, to Delhi to live with him and fulfil his father's mission.

He was weird in people's eyes, a twelve year old who neither laughs nor plays with other boys, never smiles and is always studying, without a break. He attracted some really good amount of attention his way for the first few months. 

It was around the fifth month when he first met her, if asked Ram can still recollect the evening like it was yesterday, he was outside the house, waiting for Babai to get off his duty. 

Sitting on the steps with his legs pulled up and a book in hand, he really was not feeling interacting with anyone, like usual. That was when a ball hit his book knocking it off from his hands, he gave the young boys playing around a look, who apologised and he kicked the ball back.

Not even ten minutes back to reading, the ball hit his book again, he glares at them this time and kicks the ball back harder than before.

The third time he caught them in his peripheral, purposely setting up to hit the ball at him once again and this time he was going to hit back. He pretended to not notice one of the boys taking aim at him, his head to be specific, but the impact never came.

He looked up to check only to find the most interesting sight, all five of the boys were sitting on their knees and apologising as a girl grilled them with her words. She was young too, maybe a year or two older than him but not more than that. 

It was two more minutes before she turned to him and held one of her ear as if apologising on the boy's behalf.

Ram after a long time felt the corner of his lips twitch up in a small, subtle smile and it earned him a pleasantly surprised reaction from the girl who just waved at him and rushed off.

That was the first time he saw Vadehi, the niece of the newly moved neighbour, Balan Krishnamurthi, an Indian constable in the British force.

He was freshly transferred from Karnataka to Delhi and Vadehi didn't have a mother or father, as long as she could remember it was just Balan and her.

Ram found her tolerable, that's what he told himself in the beginning, they used to sit together and study, in silence. Since she was older not many boys or girls preferred playing with her, neither did she seem interested.

She was a little aloof much like himself but she did get into arguments once a week when the boys bother them. It was secretly entertaining for Ram to watch it, all of the boys just sitting and taking a tongue lashing from her.

She wanted to be a doctor, he remembers the sparkle in those beautiful brown orbs as she went on and on about her dreams.

But some dreams were meant to be shattered.

They were twenty and twenty two respectively when it happened, Ram had just come back from his exam for the police force to find an unusual amount of people standing around Vadehi's house.

While he was not fond of people or social interactions in any form or colour the way his stomach churned made him push through the crowd to come face to face with probably the most blood he has ever seen ever since that day in his village.

He could feel the nausea climbing up his throat as he looked at the dead figure Balan Krishnamurthi, the man was bleeding from a head injury and a stab wound in his abdomen. 

But what worried him more was the motionless figure sitting beside the body, Vadehi was being subjected to all sorts of comments as she just stared at her now dead uncle and it just made the trauma hit Ram harder than ever. 

He could see his mother and him in the scene in front of him and it was making him more and more anxious, his throat closing and stomach churning as he stepped towards the female.

Ram has no idea how situations like these were handled, it was usually Vadehi who took charge of things like this and gave him freedom to focus on one thing, that being his father's mission, at a time.

So when she flinches when he touches her shoulder, he flinches with her. He took a short breath before kneeling to her level while all she did was stare at him, the empty gaze slowly filling with emotions made it a little easier for him.

He forces a small sympathetic smile while cupping her face and the dam breaks, Vadehi just lunges forward clinging to him, crying like no tomorrow and it catches him off guard before his arms come to wrap around her figure.

That one incident and babai's decision to have her stay with them changed their lives, since everyone witnessed her crying and refusing to let go and then staying with him, alone for most of the day since babai had a duty to report to, people started talking.

The statements being passed around were offending and disgusting, people talk, both of them knew that but questioning a girl who has lost her only family three weeks ago was a new level of low.

With things getting a little out of hand and seeing how both of them struggled with it, Vankteshwarlu came up with the idea of their marriage and with a little convincing they got married exactly a month after.

In the present, it has been four years, four years of their marriage and four years of falling in love. Ram wasn't really sure when it happened but he started liking Vadehi a lot more than just a girl he grew up with and vice-versa.

The first few months were a little mechanical but the transition from friends to husband-wife was smooth after that, they never really realised when the relationship grew and turned into something more.

But the last year and past few months have been rough, Ram has been a little distant lately, he knows but things have been tough, very very tough. For example, last month was his fifth failed attempt at getting that promotion and as much as he expected this behaviour it's frustrating to no end.

He knew the whites won't favour him even for their life but why has his down God turned his back to him is beyond him. Why is he testing him like this again and again? What has he ever done to anyone? What is he doing wrong? 

All this inner turmoil was affecting his personal life, it started with him forgetting his own birthday, for which Vadehi prepared a rich family dinner, he entered home twelve in the night and by that time the babai had gone home and he had Vadehi asleep on the dining table with the food waiting for him.

She forgave him for it.

The next miss judgement happened on her birthday, he has promised to be home by seven but didn't make it till ten, leaving Vadehi alone, since babai was out of town too, in her own day.

He was able to earn forgiveness for that too somehow.

The third mistake and the first argument happened exactly a month ago, their fourth anniversary. 

She had again and again asked him if he would be able to make it till ten and he had agreed that he will but like the first time he couldn't, he came home at twelve and for the first time he had dinner alone.

The female wasn't ready to hear a word he wanted to say, he still remembers the shouting match that happened in their bedroom.

“Vadehi! Vadehi listen to me- LISTEN TO ME!!” He had yelled, grabbing her arm and turning her to face him; she would have looked beautiful in the red anarkali and jewellery if her kohl lined eyes weren't full of angry tears.

“Listen to what huh? Listen to what Ram!? another duty calls explanation."

“Try to understand Vadehi, this is important to me.”

“I KNOW THAT DAMN IT!!"

That was the first time he has heard her yell like that.

“I know what you do and how and why it's important to you Ram, I am aware of it that's why I asked you didn't I, I asked you again and again if you would be able to make it, didn't I?”

Now truly had no answer, she had asked him and he did say he would. He looks up when his palms slip around his face.

“Listen to me Ram okay? I am not asking you to stop moving towards your goal or to stop this fight against these disgusting white men, no that's not what I am asking. All I want from you is to not forget me, don't leave me behind Ram, please.”

“I won't.”

He still doesn't believe that the cracking, shivering voice was his as he begged for her forgiveness and she just held him for that night.

Things almost went back to normal, he made sure to make an effort to not leave his wife behind, everything seemed to be going alright but like he has said before many times, his life doesn't like him being happy or normal.

She has reminded him, this morning, again and again that it was karva chauth and he has to make it in time or at least let her know if he can't and he once again has told her that he would.

But look at him now, standing in front of his own home, scared out of his mind. No matter what he did, he just couldn't bring himself to open the door and face his wife, who had not eaten or drank anything for his sake. 

He, who was coming back at three in the morning.

Extremely nervous and his stomach dropping he opened the door and his legs almost gave out on him. There she was, sitting in one of the chairs with a pooja ki thaal in her lap. The diya had gone out a long time back from the looks of it.

Her face was blank, he has seen her like this once before and it doesn't feel right at all.

Dressed in a beautiful red saree, her mangalsutra shining bright under the weakening moonlight, her hair half pulled back where a little messy from her resting her head against the chair, she looked extremely tired and then his eyes fell on the dining table.

It looked like a buffet and his heart dropped further as the guilt weighed on his shoulders.

He could feel a lump in his throat, how bad can he be to keep her waiting like this, how the hell did he lose track of time so easily, especially today of all days.

Ram says nothing, he lets his instincts guide him, dropping to the floor beside her feet, his forehead coming to rest against her knee, his palm holding one of her feet while the other guides her second feet to rest on his leg. 

He doesn't know what to say, he never does and in a situation like this he wasn't even sure if he even had a right to say something.

So he just sits, holding her feet like they were his life, like letting them go will take away his ability to breathe from him.

After what seems like eternity but we're only fifteen minutes, Vadehi moves. She brushes a hand through his hair and moves her feet away, standing up and pulling him with her.

She says nothing, just picks up the plate from the table and disappears inside. She comes back in less than ten minutes, the thal set again, a new diya illuminating her blank features.

She stops infront of him, both of them just starring at each other before she takes his hand with one of her own and walks outside to the porch. 

The moon is drifting behind the clouds but still shines brightly as she sets the thal down on a stool and covers her head before picking up the sieve, placing the diya in it before looking at the moon through it.

He feels a little sick when he stares at him through the fine net, he can read the disappointing hurt into those blank eyes but can't bring himself to say anything. 

“For this karva chauth, along with your long life I wish that every father gets a son like you and every country gets a soldier like you…” 

Her tone is disturbingly stable as she speaks, offering the water to the moon before turning to him and bending to touch his feet.

“But may not any woman gets a husband like you.” 

That broke his heart, into a million pieces.

He sees tears slowly filling her eyes before letting her veil slip from her head as she rushes inside, his feet takes him after her but all gets is the bedroom door being shut in his face.

It was okay, he made a mistake, he will take the consequences.

“Vadehi, I'm not deserving even for consideration of forgiveness but I am selfish, I am bad, I am weak. I will take anything you want, don't talk to me, don't wait for me, don't cook for me. Don't do anything I will take it all but please please don't leave me. I don't know what I will do without you please don't leave me.”

After years and years, Ram feels tears flowing down his cheeks as he begs for the woman to not leave him, he gets no verbal reponse, slowly sliding down the door as he sobbed. 

That night all that could be the audible sobs of a man scared to be left alone and the muffled sobs of a wife who was hurt and angry.

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