Morning arrived before either of them were ready for it.
Ram woke up first.
The phone lay beside him on the pillow, the call still active, Sita's soft breathing flowing through the speaker like a whisper from another world.
For a moment, he didn't move.
He kept his eyes closed, letting the sound of her existence calm every storm inside him.
Then, gently, he whispered,
"Sita…?"
No answer.
Only the steady rhythm of her breath.
A small smile touched his lips.
She must have fallen asleep hours ago.
Carefully, like handling something sacred, he disconnected the call and placed the phone on his chest.
The room was still dark.
The world silent.
His heart strangely full.
But when he sat up, the emptiness hit him like a slow punch.
Her side of the bed—though she never slept there—felt cold.
The chair where she used to throw her bag looked too still.
The air carried no trace of her perfume.
Distance was cruel.
It didn't show its fangs all at once.
It bit little by little —
in missing toothbrushes,
in untouched coffee mugs,
in the quiet corners where her laughter once lived.
Ram's Morning
He ran a hand through his hair and got out of bed, stretching stiff muscles.
His house felt unusually large.
Every step echoed.
Every sound felt too loud or too quiet — nothing in between.
He walked to the kitchen mechanically, poured coffee, and sat by the window.
People outside rushed with purpose.
Cars honked.
Vendors shouted.
Life moved.
But inside Ram's home, time felt slower.
He sipped his coffee and scrolled through old photos of them —
school competitions, college festivals, birthday surprises,
pictures where her smile glowed like a festival of its own.
He paused when he reached a selfie taken under a streetlight.
Her head on his shoulder.
His arm around her.
Her eyes half-closed from laughter.
He stared at it for a long time.
He didn't notice the coffee had turned cold.
Sita's Morning
On the other side of the world, Sita woke up with sunlight slipping through blinds.
Her phone was still in her hand.
The call had ended.
A tiny pang of sadness pricked her chest, but she smiled remembering his sleepy "Goodnight, Sita."
She freshened up and stepped out into the crisp morning air of a foreign city.
Tall buildings, unfamiliar faces, signs in a language she was still learning — everything felt overwhelming, but she walked with purpose.
She reached her workplace, greeted by warm smiles she wasn't yet used to.
New colleagues.
New tasks.
New challenges.
But even as she focused, tiny fragments of Ram drifted into her mind —
his laugh,
his dramatic complaints,
his stupid jokes,
his protective tone whenever she sounded tired.
Every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped.
But most notifications were emails or schedule reminders.
Not him.
He was probably asleep.
She tried to remind herself time zones existed.
Still…
Her fingers twitched toward the phone every few minutes.
Distance was teaching her patience —
the slow, painful, necessary kind.
When Missing Turns Heavy
Hours passed.
Work kept her distracted, but during lunch, loneliness slipped into the seat beside her.
She sat on a bench outside the building, watching people eat in groups, laughing, chatting, complaining.
She liked her solitude.
But today —
it felt like a hole in her chest.
She picked up her phone.
No messages.
Not even a meme.
Not even a "Did you eat?" from him —
a question he used to ask religiously.
For a second, her mind twisted into an anxious knot.
What if he was upset?
What if he felt she was drifting away?
What if the nightmare had shaken him more than he admitted?
She shook her head.
"No," she whispered to herself.
"Ram may be dramatic, but he talks. He doesn't hide."
Still, that silence…
It made her heart itch.
Ram's Afternoon
Back in India, Ram finally got up from the couch when his phone buzzed.
It was Sita.
A single message:
"Reached work. Don't forget to eat."
He smiled.
"I won't," he typed back.
He paused.
The urge to tell her he missed her so much it hurt was strong.
But he swallowed it.
She was alone in a new place, adapting, surviving.
He didn't want his emotions to become her burden.
So instead he wrote:
"Your sleepy voice at 3 a.m. was cute. Sounded like a baby squirrel."
Her reply came instantly.
"Block yourself immediately."
He laughed — the kind of laugh that warmed his chest.
He replied with a heart emoji.
Then stared at it for five seconds, wondering if it was too small for what he felt.
Sita's Restlessness
As daylight dimmed, Sita walked back home with tired legs but an even more tired heart.
The apartment was peaceful, but peace felt like loneliness when the person you love wasn't there.
She changed, made tea, and sat by the window.
Her thoughts drifted.
How did he spend his morning?
Did he eat?
Why was the call weighing so heavily on her?
Why did his nightmare feel like a warning?
Her eyes dropped to the mug in her hand.
"It's just distance," she whispered.
"We can handle this."
But the crack in her voice told a different story.
Ram's Evening Storm
Meanwhile, Ram returned from his meetings late, exhausted.
As he entered his silent house again, something twisted inside him.
He threw his bag on the table, loosened his shirt, and sat heavily on the sofa.
A strange heaviness spread through his chest —
the kind that comes when someone tries too hard to stay strong.
He stared at his ceiling.
What was he doing?
Working.
Running.
Pushing himself.
For what?
For a future.
A future with her.
But at this moment,
right now,
the future felt far away.
Too far.
He closed his eyes and whispered,
"Sita… I miss you."
Those words broke him open.
His throat tightened.
His eyes stung.
He didn't wipe the tears when they finally rolled down — slowly, silently.
Sita's Call
At that exact moment, his phone buzzed.
Sita.
"Ram?"
Her voice was soft, hesitant.
He sniffed quickly.
"Hmm?"
"Are you… okay?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
Silence spoke for him.
Sita's heart clenched.
She knew.
She felt it.
"Ram," she whispered,
"talk to me."
He swallowed.
His voice cracked when he spoke.
"I'm trying, Sita. I really am. But some days… it just hits harder."
Her eyes filled instantly.
Because she felt the same.
Every day.
Every hour.
"Ram…" she whispered, "you can tell me. You don't have to hide."
"I'm not hiding… I'm just holding things together because you're alone there. If I tell you everything I feel, you'll break."
She shook her head fiercely, tears spilling.
"Ram… I won't break. I only break when you hide things."
His breath shuddered.
And for a moment, both were quiet, crying softly on two ends of the world neither could cross.
Healing in Words
After a long silence, she whispered,
"Ram… you're allowed to miss me."
He exhaled shakily.
"And you?" he asked.
She didn't even pretend.
"I miss you every second."
Just like that, the heaviness loosened.
Not gone.
But lighter.
Because love didn't need solutions.
Sometimes it just needed confession.
The Promise of Night
They talked for hours.
About their fears.
Their hopes.
The ache that lived quietly inside them.
And the strength they found in each other's voices.
By the time night settled fully, they were calmer.
Not healed.
But held.
Before hanging up, Sita whispered,
"Ram… no matter where I am, you're still my home."
He closed his eyes, letting those words stitch his heart back together.
"And you," he whispered back,
"are the reason I'm building one."
They fell asleep with quiet smiles —
not because distance hurt less,
but because they remembered why they were enduring it.