Life has a strange way of teaching lessons quietly, slowly, and without mercy.
When Sita left, the world didn't suddenly collapse for Ram.
No storms shattered the sky.
No tragedies knocked on his door.
Just silence.
A silence sharp enough to cut through bone. A silence that didn't shout, didn't rage—it just existed… and ate him from the inside.
For hours after dropping her at the airport, Ram kept waiting to feel something dramatic.
Maybe pain.
Maybe numbness.
Maybe relief.
Instead, he simply felt empty, like someone had scooped out a part of him and quietly walked away with it.
The First Morning Without Her
Ram woke up with a habit his hand stretching toward the right side of his bed.
Cold bedsheet.
Cold pillow.
Cold reality.
He blinked hard, swallowed the bitterness in his throat, and checked his phone.
No message. No missed calls.
His thumb hovered over her chat. He typed a hundred things:
Reached safely? Miss you. Are you okay? I love you.
Then erased all of them.
He didn't want to look desperate.
But he was.
He got out of bed and walked through his house like a ghost. Everything reminded him of her
the mug she always used,
the blanket she stole at night,
the soft sound of her footsteps that was now replaced by dead stillness.
Ram wasn't a man who cried easily, but that morning… he felt like his ribs were collapsing inward.
Sita's First Day Abroad
Across oceans, under a sky with a different shade of blue, Sita walked through her new city.
Crowded streets.
Foreign faces.
Different air.
Different world.
Everyone around her moved confidently, comfortably, as if they belonged here.
She felt like a misplaced piece in a thousand-piece puzzle.
Every smile she gave to strangers was borrowed.
Every laugh was forced.
Every breath felt heavier than the last.
And every heartbeat whispered the same name—
Ram…
She checked her phone repeatedly.
Nothing from him.
"And why would he?" she whispered to herself.
"He must be busy."
Then another voice inside her whispered softly:
Or maybe he's hurting too.
The First Call
That night, their phones finally rang.
Ram picked up on the first vibration.
Sita didn't even say hello at first—just listened to his breathing, shaky and tired.
"You reached?" he asked softly.
"Yes… just tired."
A pause.
Not awkward—just heavy.
"How is it there?" Ram asked, trying to fake brightness.
"Beautiful," she said.
Her voice said something else.
Loneliness dripped through every syllable.
"Good," he whispered.
Neither said how much they missed each other.
Neither had to.
Stubborn Hearts
They were both stubborn.
Sita wouldn't tell him how much she struggled with the new language.
Ram wouldn't tell her how empty his home felt without her.
Instead, they covered their cracks with jokes.
"You didn't text for five hours," she snapped once.
"I was busy changing my surname to Coffee," he replied.
"Since you don't love me, I'm marrying caffeine."
She groaned.
Then laughed.
Because he always found a way to turn her storms into rainbows.
Another day she said, "You slept without saying goodnight."
"Oh, sorry," he said dramatically.
"I went into coma. Doctor said too much cuteness damaged my brain."
"Shut up, Ram."
But she was smiling.
And he heard it.
Their fights lasted minutes.
Their laughter lasted hours.
And yet…
When the call ended, silence returned to both their worlds—soft, steady, and merciless.
Two Lives, One Missing Piece
Sita adapted slowly.
New streets.
New bus routes.
New faces she pretended not to be intimidated by.
She learned how to cook differently.
How to walk fast like the locals.
How to sleep with tears quietly falling so her roommate wouldn't notice.
But she didn't tell Ram that.
Because if she cried to him, he would leave everything—career, business, family expectations—and fly to her.
She wouldn't let him sacrifice himself for her.
Ram, on the other hand, buried himself in work.
Meetings.
Paperwork.
Responsibilities.
"One day, all this will be yours," his father used to say.
Ram took that "one day" seriously.
He worked late every night.
But no matter how busy he was, his heart stayed stuck in the past—in the moments when she used to wait for him at home.
Sometimes he opened the door expecting to hear her laugh.
Instead he walked into a silence that felt too big for one person.
Sometimes she came home after long, tiring days expecting him to be on her couch shouting at cricket highlights.
But loneliness opened the door instead.
They missed each other.
Deeply.
Painfully.
Silently.
But they hid behind,
"I'm fine."
"I'm okay."
"Don't worry."
Neither wanted the other to break.
The Night Everything Cracked
One night, Ram came home from a long day and collapsed on his bed.
For the first time in weeks, sleep didn't feel like a battle.
But in the middle of the night, he jerked awake—heart racing, breath choking.
A nightmare.
He saw Sita crying in darkness, calling his name—
her hands reaching out,
her eyes full of fear,
her voice breaking.
"Ram… Ram, please…"
He tried to reach her in the dream.
But something held him back.
No matter how hard he pushed, he couldn't get to her.
He woke up drenched in sweat, chest tight, breath uneven.
"Sita…?" he whispered into the darkness.
"Are you okay?"
His hands shook as he searched blindly for his phone.