Now we entered Sita Ramam world.
The cold was biting. The Himalayas stood silent, but Lieutenant Ram was restless.
Amidst a white storm, he lay wrapped in a blanket, eyes heavy with exhaustion. But sleep didn't bring peace.
Instead, it brought her.
A girl her forehead bleeding, her eyes slowly closing, lips whispering a name… his name.
"Ram…"
Blood trailing down her temple. Her eyes... slowly shutting.
It felt so real.
"Lieutenant Ram!" came a sharp call from his superior.
Ram straightened, nodded, and prepared to move.
But the dream didn't leave him. It followed him like a shadow.
Who was she? Why did her pain feel like his?
Later that day, during a surprise skirmish at the border, Ram fought with precision. Calm. Controlled.
But deep inside, chaos brewed.
As bullets flew, fragments of that vision flashed through his mind. That girl's face.
Her sorrow. Her silence.
Back at the base, letters from admirers poured in thanks to a recent interview.
Ram brushed most aside with a polite smile, until he noticed one letter, marked with delicate handwriting.
From someone named Sita.
He opened it slowly. Her words were poetic, confident, playful yet profound.
Every sentence felt strangely... familiar.
Like someone had whispered them into his ear long ago. He smiled.
For the first time in weeks, a moment of warmth pierced through his storming mind.
That night, Ram dreamt again.
Only this time, he wasn't watching a girl die.
He was with her.
They were walking through the ruins of a fort.
Sita in a blue dress, teasing him about his moustache. He laughed.
They sat under a mango tree. She laid her head on his shoulder. His hand wrapped around hers.
It was perfect. And painfully familiar.
He woke up, heart pounding, whispering her name: Sita...