Ram's fingers trembled as he unlocked his phone.
It was past 3 a.m., the kind of hour where even the city forgets to breathe.
The nightmare still clung to him
Sita crying in the dark,
calling his name,
and him… helpless.
He dialed her number without thinking.
Heartbeat loud.
Breath uneven.
Throat tight.
The call rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then—
"Hmm… Ram?"
Her sleepy voice floated through the line, soft and fragile.
He exhaled shakily, relief flooding his bones.
"You're okay," he whispered, almost to himself.
Sita sat up, rubbing her eyes.
Her room was dark except for a faint streetlight slipping in through the window.
"What happened?" she asked.
Her tone wasn't irritated.
It was concerned—warm—instantly awake.
Ram swallowed.
He didn't want his fear to sound childish.
"I… had a dream," he said.
"Good dream?" she teased gently.
"No," he admitted.
And his voice broke a little.
Sita's smile disappeared.
Fear crept into her tone.
"Ram… tell me."
He hesitated.
In the silence, she imagined the worst—
accident, illness, bad news.
"Ram?" Her voice trembled.
"You're scaring me."
Finally, he let it out.
"I saw you crying… alone… somewhere dark. You were calling my name."
A breath.
"And I couldn't reach you."
Sita froze.
Not because she was shocked.
But because she had cried that evening—silently, on her balcony, under a sky far away from him.
Her chest tightened.
Maybe the universe really did stitch souls in strange ways.
"Oh, Ram…" she whispered.
He closed his eyes at the tenderness in her voice.
He needed that softness—needed her—more than he could admit.
"Talk to me," she whispered.
"I'm here."
And he did.
Not about the nightmare.
Not about the loneliness.
But about small things—little stories, tiny jokes, random memories—
because talking to her made the fear loosen its claws around his heart.
Sita's Promise
"You know," she said softly, "I'm not going anywhere."
"I know," he whispered.
But he didn't sound convinced.
"Ram…" She took a deep breath.
"If something happened to me, you'd feel it. You always do. You don't need dreams to warn you."
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"Then why did I see that?"
"Because," she said gently, "you miss me too much."
He didn't deny it.
He couldn't.
The silence between them wasn't heavy anymore.
It was warm.
Comforting.
A blanket for wounded hearts.
When Fear Turns Into Laughter
"Okay, enough drama," she said suddenly.
"If you keep seeing nightmares because of me, I'll send you my photo every hour."
"That will give me more nightmares," he shot back.
She gasped.
"Eliminate yourself."
He chuckled—a sound she had been starving to hear.
"You look like a panda," he continued mercilessly.
"How am I supposed to sleep peacefully after seeing your dark circles?"
"I hate you," she muttered.
"Lies," he said.
"You love me so much that even your nightmares have me."
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling ear-to-ear.
This was them—
breaking tension with nonsense,
healing wounds with jokes,
turning fear into something lighter.
The Confession They Didn't Expect
After a long pause, Sita whispered softly,
"Ram?"
"Hmm?"
"Were you… really scared?"
He didn't answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was small—raw.
"Yes."
Sita felt her throat tighten.
She wanted to hug him.
Hold him.
Run her fingers through his hair the way she used to when he had bad days.
But she couldn't.
Distance had tied her hands.
"Ram… listen to me," she said, voice trembling slightly.
"I'm fine. I'm safe. Nothing will happen to me. I promise."
He didn't respond.
"Ram?" she called again, gently.
Finally, he whispered,
"I just… hate being far from you."
The line went silent.
Sita closed her eyes.
Her heart twisted painfully.
"I hate it too," she whispered.
More emotional than she intended.
"But we're doing this for a reason. You're building your future. I'm building mine."
"And one day," he completed softly,
"our futures will meet."
She nodded even though he couldn't see it.
"Yes… one day."
The Moment They Broke
For a while, neither said anything.
Then Sita asked quietly,
"Did you cry?"
Ram froze.
"No," he said too quickly.
"Ram…"
He sighed.
"A little."
Sita felt her eyes sting.
Not with sadness, but with the overwhelming urge to hold him.
"Idiot," she whispered lovingly.
"I'm right here. Always."
He smiled into the darkness.
Her voice was like warmth wrapped in softness.
His world felt alive again.
The Night That Became Morning
They didn't cut the call.
They talked.
About her classes.
His work.
What she cooked.
How he forgot to eat.
Random gossip.
Stupid jokes.
Even silence felt beautiful when they shared it.
Around 5 a.m., she yawned softly.
"Sleep," he said with a smile.
"You sound like a sleepy squirrel."
"Say one more word and I'll block you," she muttered.
He laughed.
It was the first real laugh since she left.
"Goodnight, Sita."
"Goodnight, Ram."
But neither disconnected.
They fell asleep with the call still running—
the soft sound of each other's breathing the only lullaby they needed.