Rudra pov:

I was walking toward the car, my arms full—not just with the little box of chocolates I had bought for Naina, but with our son, cradled securely against my chest. He was giggling, his tiny hands patting my shoulder as I whispered sweet praises about his mom into his ear.

"Your mumma is the most beautiful woman, you know?" I told him. "She gets happy like a little girl whenever I bring her chocolates. Watch, she’ll smile right now."

And sure enough, as I lifted my eyes, there she was. Standing by the car, the early evening sunlight turning her smile into something angelic. He saree  pallu  danced a little in the breeze, and her hands, delicate and graceful, reached out toward us like she couldn’t wait to pull us into a hug.

I smiled back, a smile full of love, full of life, full of everything that made my world feel complete.

Then—

Boom.

A blast split the air.

I remember the heat first. A scorching wave that smacked against my face like a furnace flung open. I remember my ears ringing, my legs buckling as I stumbled backward, instinctively twisting my body to shield my son. He cried out, startled by the sudden explosion.

Then came the scream from my soul.

"NAINA!"

I saw it—God, I saw it with my eyes wide open and unable to shut.

Her body engulfed in flames. Her smile turned into a cry of agony. Her hands no longer reaching for us but flailing, trying to escape an inferno she hadn’t even seen coming. The car, the chocolates, the plans—we were just about to go to dinner. We were going to surprise her parents. It was going to be a good evening.

Instead, I was frozen.

My knees hit the road.

And the world went black.

—

I woke up with a gasp, as if those flames had crawled into my dreams again and tried to pull me under.

My chest rose and fell rapidly, my breaths harsh, broken. My eyes stung, hot tears threatening to spill like they always did. My hands trembled as I pushed the blanket off me. The weight on my chest wasn’t just the dream—it was the memory, alive, burning like fresh ash.

I sat up on the bed, my face already wet. My shoulders sagged forward as I buried my face in my palms.

“Why?”

The word came out hoarse. Raw.

Why… why her? Why that day?

I screamed it inside. I didn’t need to shout aloud anymore. The pain had become a language of silence.

I asked Him—yes, that God, the one everyone says listens to all. Then why didn’t He listen to me that day?

We went to His temple that morning. With hope in our hearts and smiles on our faces. Naina had insisted, “Let’s go thank Him. Life’s been good lately.”

How cruel.

If only we hadn’t gone… If only we had taken another road… If only…

I cursed that day. I cursed Him.

She would still be here.

Instead, I was left with this hollow ache, this unbearable void. A life without her.

A little boy who still didn’t understand why his mumma never came back.

A man with a heart that beat but didn’t live.

I sat there for what felt like forever. The air was still, the room dark except for the soft streetlight spilling through the curtains. The silence in the house was loud, pressing, familiar.

Until—

Knock knock.

A small sound. Gentle. Hesitant.

I didn’t move.

“Papa?”

That voice. Soft. Sleepy.

I looked up slowly.

The door creaked open just a little, and there he stood—my son. Barefoot, his hair a soft mess, his teddy bear hanging from one arm. His eyes, large and round, looked up at me with a concern no child should ever have to carry.

I wiped my face quickly, trying to smile. “What happened, champ? Had a bad dream?”

He shook his head. “I heard you…” He stepped closer, his voice quiet. “You were crying again, Papa.”

I swallowed hard. “Sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He walked over to the bed, climbed up, and without another word, he hugged me. His small arms wrapped around my waist. I held him close, my hand resting gently on his back.

“I miss mumma too,” he whispered.

My throat tightened. I couldn’t speak. I just pressed a kiss to his head and let the silence say everything.

We sat like that for a while.

“I saw her in my dream,” I said finally, my voice breaking. “She smiled at me. And then…”

He nodded. “She smiles in my dreams too.”

That simple sentence shattered me again. I squeezed him tighter, feeling like I was holding on to the only piece of her still left in this world.

“She used to sing to you at night,” I said. “You always calmed down with her lullabies.”

He looked up at me. “Can you sing it too?”

I hesitated.

My voice had long been a stranger to melody since she left.

But for him…

I began to hum. Off-key. Broken. But full of love.

He leaned against me, slowly closing his eyes.

“She said stars are angels, Papa. Is she one of them now?” he asked sleepily.

I stared at the ceiling.

“She is the brightest one,” I said. “The one who watches over you when you sleep.”

He smiled softly. “Then I’m not scared anymore.”

I blinked hard. “Good.”

His breathing slowed, and soon, he was asleep in my lap.

I leaned back against the headboard, running a hand through his hair, my heart aching but a little warmer.

The pain hadn’t gone. It never would.

But in that moment, holding him close, I felt something else.

A piece of her.

A piece of us.

Still here.

Still alive.

And maybe that was enough.

The calendar on the wall hadn’t changed in years.

Not the dates, no. They flipped as time moved on.

But that date—circled in red, every year without fail—stayed the same.
March 4th.
The day my life split in half.
The day Naina took her last breath.

Five years.

Five long years since the explosion.

Since I last saw her smile in real life.

The world around me had moved on—people got married, had children, built lives.
But I?

I paused.
Right there. In that moment.

I still kept her scarf in the drawer.
Still lit a candle on her birthday.
Still told Noor stories of the woman who once sang him to sleep.

People called it obsession.
I call it loyalty.

*********

I was sitting at the dining table, Noor in my lap as I gently fed him spoon by spoon. He swung his little legs playfully, resting his head against my chest, mumbling in between bites.

The silence of the morning was broken by a voice I’d been avoiding.

“Rudra,” my dad called out, his tone firm and deliberate.

I didn’t look up. I didn’t need to. I already knew what he was about to bring up. It had been a week now—every day, every meal, every silence—he kept trying to push the same conversation.

“Dad, I said no,” I replied flatly, still focused on the spoonful of mashed potato I was guiding to Noor’s mouth.

“But you haven’t even—”

“I said no,” I repeated, this time firmer, my eyes still not meeting his.

Noor blinked up at me with innocent curiosity. “Are you mad at Dadu?”

I sighed, brushing some food from the corner of his mouth with my thumb. “Hmm… yeah, a little,” I said, forcing a soft smile for Noor’s sake.

“Why?” he asked, tilting his head in that way he always did when something didn’t make sense to him.

“Because he keeps trying to convince me to do something I clearly can’t,” I replied, keeping my voice calm, for Noor. “And I don’t like being pushed.”

Dad took a step forward. “Rudra, I’ve arranged a meeting with her. Just meet once. That’s all I’m asking.”

“You can arrange as many meetings as you like,” I said coldly, still not looking up. “I’m not going.”

Noor shifted in my lap. I placed the bowl down, wiping his hands and face with a napkin.

“Okay, Noor, you sit here now,” I said gently, helping him down from my lap and onto the chair.

I finally looked up, meeting Dad’s eyes. There was a silent standoff in the space between us.

“I’m not ready, Dad,” I said, voice softer now but firm. “And honestly? I don’t want to ever ”

Dad didn’t respond. His eyes held disappointment, but I didn’t flinch.

Sometimes, the past doesn’t let you move forward just because others think it’s time.

And sometimes, saying “no” is the only way to protect what little peace you have left.

********



Rudra’s phone buzzed just as he stepped out the door. He answered without checking the name—he didn’t need to. His voice was cold, commanding.

“Bring him to the warehouse.”
There was a brief silence on the other end.
“Let’s make him confess.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He ended the call

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, Rudra walked to the car and got in, his expression unreadable.

The engine started, but his mind wasn’t on the road.

It was drifting—twisting with memories, with pain, with a promise that still burned inside him like a living flame.

I promised her I would never move on. That I’d raise Noor with all the love I had—for both of us. That I’d fill his days with enough warmth to make up for the cold her absence left behind.

I told her I’d never let another woman replace her. That no one would ever step into her shoes, sleep in her place, raise her son. That there would be no second chances—not for me.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles pale with pressure.

“No one can take her place. .”

They think marriage is the solution. That some woman walking into our lives can magically erase the pain. But they don’t get it.

There’s no space left to fill.

That gap—Naina’s gap—it’s not a room for rent.

His jaw clenched, and a bitter scoff escaped his lips.

"No one ever will.”

He pressed the gas harder. The road blurred under his tires, but the memories were sharp as ever.

Her laugh. Her scent. The way she’d gently scold him for forgetting to eat. The way she’d rock Noor to sleep, humming that lullaby only she could make sound like magic.

She was everywhere.

And now they wanted to bring someone else into that space?

To repaint over a memory that still bled like a fresh wound?

No.

Never.

He had made a promise, and he’d die before breaking it.

Let them push. Let them talk. Let them arrange meetings, show him pictures, praise some stranger’s “good nature.”

But his mind was made up.

His love hadn’t died with Naina. It had rooted itself deeper. Into his bones. Into Noor. Into every breath he still took.

He wasn’t lonely.

He was devoted.

And devotion didn’t look for replacements.

Let them push. Let them talk.
Let them show him pictures and say “it’s time.”

He had made a promise.

And he intended to keep it.

No one would take Naina’s place.
No one ever could.
No one ever would.

That’s what he believed with his whole heart.
That’s what he told himself every single day.

What he didn’t know…
Was that someone wasn’t coming to replace her.

She was coming to create a space of her own—slowly, quietly.
Not by stealing what once was.
But by becoming something else.

And when the time came…
It wouldn’t be force.
It wouldn’t be fate.
It would be him.

He would let her in