Ram was the kind of man people didn't simply notice — they felt him.
He walked as though every step carried sunlight. His laughter spilled into the world like a festival drum, bright and unstoppable, the kind that made strangers glance back and smile without knowing why.
College students remembered him:
"That guy who laughed with his whole chest."
"That boy whose energy made even a Monday feel like a celebration."
Neighbours often said that his smile could pull a drowning person out of their sadness.
Friends believed his laughter erased sorrow like it had no right to exist.
But to Sita Mahalakshmi…
he was something else entirely —
not energy, not noise, not brightness.
He was peace.
The peace she once prayed for in silence.
The calm she never thought she deserved.
The home she didn't know she was searching for.
Tonight mattered.
The sky hung low, breathing its quiet into the half-asleep city. A thin, unusual chill lingered in the air — the kind that arrives only on the nights when fate waits behind a corner, ready to rewrite a life.
Fourteen years.
A lifetime wrapped inside a number.
Fourteen years of loving the same girl with the same fire, the same innocence, the same heartbeat.
Since the shy brush of her fingers against his during a school competition.
Since glances became promises, and promises slowly became dreams whispered between two beating hearts.
To the world, Ram was energy.
To Sita, he was home.
He walked down the empty street humming old Telugu love songs under his breath. His backpack bounced softly behind him, filled with flowers, chocolates, and a small hand-wrapped gift — a ritual he never missed. Every anniversary, he surprised her. And every anniversary, she smiled like the universe had finally arranged itself correctly.
This night was supposed to be no different.
He reached her house, familiar like an old memory.
He didn't need to ring the bell.
Fourteen years was enough time to learn every corner of a person's world.
He climbed the balcony with the ease of someone who belonged there — someone whose fingerprints lived on those walls, whose footsteps the house recognized.
His heart thumped in excitement.
He imagined her shocked gasp.
Her playful punches.
Her laughter — always the cure to every unspoken pain.
The warm hug that erased everything else.
But the room was dark.
Not the soft darkness of sleep.
Not the silence of a late evening.
This darkness felt… wrong.
A lone jasmine-scented candle flickered on the bedside table, its flame trembling like even it was tired of holding itself together.
Sita sat on the edge of the bed, her back turned to him.
Still.
Silent.
Unmoving.
Ram grinned, thinking she was pretending.
He tiptoed toward her, mischief glowing in his eyes.
He covered her eyes gently.
"Guess who?" he whispered.
But the room did not respond.
No giggle.
No playful squeal.
No heartbeat of happiness.
Only silence…
a silence so heavy it felt like the air itself was holding its breath.
His smile softened into confusion.
He dropped his hands slowly.
Then he saw it.
Her shoulders — trembling.
Her breathing — broken.
Her entire body — fragile, like a bird hiding its wounds.
"Sita?" he whispered.
She turned.
And the world… simply broke.
Red.
Swollen.
Exhausted.
Her eyes looked like they had cried until tears felt meaningless. Her cheeks carried the faint tracks of pain that no one should ever have to witness.
The gift bag slipped out of his fingers.
It fell to the floor with a thud that felt louder than thunder.
"Sita… hey… what happened?" His voice shrank into a whisper.
She didn't speak.
She only staggered toward him and fell into his arms with a desperation that slapped his soul awake.
Not the soft embrace of love.
This was a collapse — the kind that came from fear, from helplessness, from a thousand unspoken storms.
Ram wrapped his arms around her instinctively, pulling her protectively into his chest.
"Hey… talk to me," he murmured. "What happened?"
She pulled back only enough to look at him.
Her lips shook.
Her breath trembled.
"Ram… I'm confused."
His brows knitted together. "Confused about what?"
Her voice cracked.
"I… got a job," she whispered, "abroad."
For the briefest second, joy shot through him.
Her dream.
Her years of sacrifice.
Her endless nights of working, praying, hoping.
"That's amazing, Sita! That's—"
But her tears did not stop.
His smile died before it could breathe fully.
"Sita… why are you crying?"
She pressed a hand to her mouth as if trying to hold her pain inside.
"If I go… I won't come back for two or three years."
Ram didn't feel heartbreak from the distance itself.
No.
His heart shattered because she believed distance could ruin them.
He lifted her face gently between his palms, wiping her tears with his thumbs.
"First," he whispered, voice steady despite the crack in his chest, "Happy 14th anniversary, my love."
Her eyes squeezed shut. More tears spilled.
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead softly.
"And second… why would you cry over the dream you fought your whole life for?"
"Because…" she sobbed, "I don't know how to live without you. I don't know a world where I don't see you every day. What if I can't survive there? What if something happens? What if you— what if you move on? What if you forget me?"
The last question stabbed him.
Ram smiled — not a joyful smile, but the kind made of broken pieces trying to stay whole.
"Forget you?" He shook his head slowly, painfully. "Sita… I could forget my own name before I forget you."
A weak, cracked laugh escaped her — the kind born from exhaustion, not joy.
He guided her to sit on the bed, then knelt in front of her like she was the only prayer he had ever believed in.
"Listen to me," he said, his voice steady even though his eyes trembled, "Distance can't end us. We'll fight, we'll cry, we'll miss each other until it hurts… but we will stay. We will stay."
She didn't answer.
Her tears simply continued to fall — helplessly, quietly.
Not because she didn't want to go.
But because she couldn't imagine leaving him behind.
Ram pulled her into his arms again.
"I'll take care of everything here," he whispered. "My father's company, our plans, our future… everything. You go show the world who you are."
Her body slowly sagged against him as her tears weakened. Fear, exhaustion, and love tangled together until she couldn't hold herself up anymore.
She fell asleep in his lap — the one place where she had always felt safest.
Ram didn't move.
Not an inch.
Not a breath too loud.
He watched her — the girl he had loved across fourteen years, every version of her, every flaw and fear — as if she were the last beautiful thing in existence.
And in that quiet, trembling darkness, he thought:
If love wants to fly, I will not clip its wings. I will become the sky it returns to.