In another corner of the country,
Princess Noor Jahan known to some as Sita sat by her window in Hyderabad.
Ink-stained fingers gently clutched a letter she was writing.
"To my Dear Ram...!"
Addressed to Lieutenant Ram.
She didn't know him. Not really.
But something about him... called to her.
When she first wrote, it was out of curiosity.
The way he spoke in interviews, the way he carried himself with dignity something about him was comforting.
Familiar.
Like someone she'd known in another life.
She chuckled at the thought.
But lately, the dreams began.
At first, she ignored them.
She thought they were her imagination, maybe just the result of writing too many letters.
So, she decided that day to not write letter.
Sita sat in her royal chamber, the pen untouched.
She had promised herself she wouldn't write today.
Just like Ram, somewhere inside her, she too wanted to know was this connection real?
She stepped out into the palace gardens, trying to distract herself.
But all day, her thoughts betrayed her.
Everything reminded her of him.
His laugh. His voice. His handwriting, strong and sharp like a soldier's gait.
And that night, with no letter sent...
She dreamed.
They were together. Under a sky full of stars. He was painting something on her hand with a stick and mud. She giggled.
"What are you drawing?" she asked.
"Something permanent," he said.
The wind blew. She felt a chill, but his arms wrapped around her.
Sita woke up, breath caught in her throat.
This wasn't coincidence.
This wasn't imagination.
Two souls… were remembering.