The alarm rang at 5:00 AM.
For the first time in a long time… Ram didn't hate it.
The sound didn't feel like an enemy pulling him out of sleep.
It felt like an invitation.
He opened his eyes.
No nightmare this time.
No sweat.
No racing heart.
Just a quiet echo inside his mind:
"She is safe. Nothing will happen to her."
He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
Yesterday's dawn returned to him — the light on his forehead, the warmth, the voice calling him Rama, the strange comfort that wrapped around him like a blanket the world couldn't see.
He could've convinced himself it was just stress. Just exhaustion.
But something in him had shifted, and he knew it.
He swung his legs out of bed.
For once, he didn't pick up his phone first.
No notifications.
No social media.
No messages.
Just him.
And the sky waiting outside.
---
He stepped onto the balcony.
The air was cool, carrying the leftover chill of night. The world was still half-asleep. No full traffic yet. No school buses. No shouting neighbors.
Just a couple of early birds chirping somewhere in the distance.
The horizon still held onto its dark blue, but a thin line of orange had already begun forming — like a secret only early risers were allowed to witness.
Ram leaned on the railing.
He didn't know what he was expecting.
A voice again?
Light?
Some miracle?
Nothing happened.
No whisper.
No strange energy.
No divine moment.
Just a sunrise.
A slow, simple, beautiful sunrise.
But this time, Ram watched.
Really watched.
Not with the casual glance he used to give while scrolling on his phone.
This time, he stood still, breathing in the freshness, eye locked onto the sky as if it was telling him a story.
The orange deepened.
Clouds turned gold at the edges.
A soft pink slide into the higher layers.
The sky wasn't just changing colors.
It was waking up.
And so was he.
For a while, he forgot his problems.
Forgot work.
Forgot deadlines.
Forgot distance.
He remembered only one thing:
Peace.
That feeling from last night came back, not as strong, but steady enough to sit in his chest like a small, glowing lamp.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and—without planning to—whispered:
"Thank you… again."
No one answered.
But he didn't feel ignored.
He felt… heard.
---
That morning, Ram did something new.
He sat down on the floor of his room, crossed his legs awkwardly, and opened a meditation video on YouTube.
A calm female voice filled the air:
"Close your eyes.
Take a deep breath.
Inhale… exhale…"
He tried.
Inhale.
His chest lifted.
Exhale.
His mind immediately interrupted.
What if Sita hasn't landed yet? Did she eat? What if something happens in that country? What about your project deadline tomorrow? You're wasting time sitting here—
"Focus on your breath," the voice said again.
He tried.
He really did.
For about three minutes.
Then his leg went numb.
His back started hurting.
His thoughts refused to shut up.
He opened his eyes and groaned.
"This is nonsense," he muttered.
He was about to get up when a thought appeared:
Last night… you weren't worrying.
Last night… you were breathing.
He stared at the floor.
He didn't need an app, or a video, or a coach.
He just needed to do what his instincts had done on their own yesterday.
He closed his eyes again.
No phone.
No guiding voice.
Just the memory of that divine silence.
He inhaled.
Counted to four.
He exhaled.
Counted to six.
Inhale… 1, 2, 3, 4.
Exhale… 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.
His thoughts tried to jump in.
He gently pushed them aside.
Not now.
Later.
For five minutes, he did nothing but breathe.
He didn't become a monk.
He didn't float in the air.
He didn't suddenly hear angels.
But for five whole minutes…
He wasn't his fears.
He wasn't his worries.
He wasn't his past or his future.
He was just… there.
Present.
Alive.
---
Next came the jog.
Exercise and Ram were not friends.
He wasn't unfit, just… uninterested.
But something about moving, about letting his body release what his heart carried, suddenly felt necessary.
He pulled on an old t-shirt, track pants, and worn-out running shoes.
The streets were cool, fresh, and open. A few morning walkers passed by, headphones in, lost in their own small universes.
Ram didn't have a playlist.
He had something better.
Silence.
He started with a walk.
His footsteps echoed on the pavement.
Left. Right. Left. Right.
His mind tried to wander — bills, work, Sita, life — but his body started pulling his attention back.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Walk.
He tried a light jog.
At first, everything hurt.
His legs complained.
His lungs burned.
His throat felt dry.
"You're getting old," his brain teased.
But he didn't stop.
He ran past a park, past a tea stall opening for the day, past a sleepy dog curled in a corner.
His body found a rhythm.
Step. Step. Breath. Step.
With each exhale, it felt like something heavy left him — all those emotions with no place to go, now escaping through every drop of sweat.
By the time he slowed down, his t-shirt was damp, his hair messy, his breath heavy.
But his mind… felt light.
He smiled to himself.
"Not bad for a first day," he muttered.
---
Days turned into a pattern.
Wake up at 5.
Watch the sunrise.
Breathe.
Meditate — sometimes five minutes, sometimes ten.
Jog.
Shower.
Go to work.
The world didn't change.
Traffic still honked.
Bosses still nagged.
Emails still exploded at 9:30 AM sharp.
But he had changed.
Before, work felt like a burden pressing on his shoulders, dragging him from one hour to the next.
Now…
He noticed little things.
He noticed how good the first sip of morning tea actually tasted when he wasn't checking his phone.
He noticed how the sunlight fell across his office desk, slicing through the dusty window, making tiny particles glow like floating stars.
He noticed that one colleague who always smiled and said, "Good morning, sir," even when he forgot to look up.
And slowly…
The knot in his chest loosened.
He still missed Sita.
That didn't change.
But the missing wasn't drowning him anymore.
He could miss her… and still breathe.
---
Every evening, just before entering the house, Ram stopped at the gate.
It started with one random day.
He saw a skinny, brown stray dog sleeping near the wall, ribs showing faintly through its fur.
The dog stood up nervously when Ram walked by, tail low, ears back, as if expecting to be kicked away.
Instead, Ram paused.
"You stay here every day?" he asked softly, even though he knew the dog wouldn't answer.
It tilted its head, uncertain.
Ram went inside, dropped his bag, and walked straight to the kitchen.
He took some leftover rice, a bit of curry, and some biscuits.
When he returned to the gate, the dog was still there, watching carefully.
Ram sat down on the small step outside, placed the food gently on the ground, and slid it a little closer.
The dog sniffed the air.
Hesitated.
Then slowly stepped forward, inch by inch, ready to run at any sudden movement.
Ram looked away, pretending not to care.
Within seconds, the dog dug into the food like it hadn't eaten in days.
Ram smiled.
"Eat slowly," he said. "No one's going to steal it from you."
Of course, the dog didn't listen.
But the wall between them cracked a little.
---
The next day, the dog was waiting.
Same spot.
Same hopeful eyes.
Ram's day had been rough.
A client had shouted.
A file got corrupted.
His boss dumped last-minute work on him.
By the time he reached home, his mood had dropped.
But the moment he saw that wagging tail, that tiny jump of joy from a creature who had nothing yet still greeted him like he was the best thing in the world…
His irritation melted.
"Ah, so you're still here," he said, a tired smile forming.
He put his bag inside, brought food again.
This time when he set it down, the dog walked up faster.
Not fully trusting.
But trusting a little more.
Day after day, the ritual continued.
Sometimes Ram spoke about his day.
Sometimes he spoke about Sita.
Sometimes he just sat quietly while the dog ate beside him.
He didn't name it.
Somehow, it felt like this soul had already lived many lives, with many names.
It didn't need another one.
But slowly, without realizing it, Ram began thinking of him as:
Friend.
---
Weeks passed like this.
Sunrises.
Breathing.
Running.
Work.
Stray dog.
Sleep.
The spirits still visited sometimes.
He would wake up at night, half-aware of faint shapes moving at the edge of his vision — a figure sitting in the corner of the room, a shadow by the door, a presence near the window.
But they didn't scare him anymore.
He watched them calmly, like you'd watch the night sky.
They never came close.
They never touched him.
They never spoke.
They were just… there.
Existing.
He wondered who they had been.
What they had lost.
What kept them from crossing over.
Sometimes, before falling back asleep, he whispered softly:
"Whoever you are… I hope you find peace too."
And slowly, the fear that once paralyzed him turned into something strangely beautiful:
Compassion.
---
One evening, as Ram was finishing his jog, his phone buzzed with a notification.
Old Ram would've checked it immediately.
New Ram finished his jog first.
He walked, cooled down, let his breathing settle, then finally checked his phone.
It was a random video suggestion.
A quote.
He read it out loud:
"When you stop running from your pain and start walking with it, your soul begins to heal."
He stared at the screen.
"Walking with it, huh…" he murmured.
He looked up at the sky, now painted in pink and orange.
"I think I've been doing that without knowing."
He smiled.
For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel like a victim of his pain.
He felt like a student of it.
---
Days kept passing.
Calmer.
Lighter.
Smoother.
People around him noticed subtle changes.
"You look fresher these days," a colleague said.
"You've become patient," his mother mentioned once on a call. "Earlier you used to get angry so quickly…"
His friends teased him:
"New skincare routine or new girlfriend?"
Ram just laughed and shrugged.
He didn't know how to explain that his new relationship wasn't with a person.
It was with himself.
With silence.
With the sky.
---
But peace, no matter how pure, isn't permanent.
Not in a world where destiny is quietly arranging explosions behind the scenes.
One night, after a long, ordinary day, Ram lay down to sleep.
The stray dog had eaten.
Work was done.
The sunrise had been beautiful.
His meditation had gone deeper than usual.
Everything felt… good.
Safe.
Balanced.
He turned off the light, pulled the blanket up, and closed his eyes with a soft, content sigh.
"I'm okay," he whispered into the dark.
Somewhere beyond the walls of his room, beyond the city, beyond the clouds…
Something listened.
And replied in a language no human could hear:
"Good.
Now you're ready."
Because peace is not the end of the story.
Sometimes…
Peace is just the preparation.
The calm before the storm.
The quiet breath before the universe whispers—
"Now, it begins."