CHAPTER XXXI
A Night Too Still to Sleep
As I stepped into my room, a hush wrapped itself around me — the kind that only settles when the day has ended and the world begins to dream. The room was cloaked in shadows, save for a solitary table lamp still glowing dimly in the corner, casting a pool of golden warmth onto the floor. Everything felt still, too still.
I walked quietly to the switch and turned on the main light, bathing the room in brightness. But the light didn't ease the strange feeling in my chest — the way my heart felt both full and painfully hollow.
And then I turned… toward the bed.
There she was.
My wife. My Sita.
Asleep.
Even in sleep, she was a vision — her nightdress slipping slightly over her shoulder, her legs partly curled, her hair wild and flowing across the pillow like untamed poetry. I could see her lips parted slightly, her chest rising and falling in a calm rhythm that stirred something so raw inside me.
She looked so peaceful.
So… unreachable.
I stood there in silence, torn between adoration and longing.
God… why?
Why had the universe kept her away from me for so long?
Why had she been allowed to fall in love with someone else before I even entered her story?
A small part of me ached with jealousy — not of that person, but of the time, the memories, the version of her I never got to meet. I had arrived late in the story, and now I was trying to write love into the margins of a book that already had a few chapters written.
If things had been different… maybe I would have curled up beside her without hesitation, wrapped my arms around her waist, and whispered dreams into her ear until morning. Maybe I would've kissed the curve of her shoulder, traced stars on her back, and held her like she was my entire world — because, truthfully, she was.
But no.
I wasn't a man. And that made things… complicated.
People always assume boundaries when two girls are married — they think it's just companionship, nothing more. But love? Desire? They exist here too. And with Sita… they exist in overwhelming, aching silence.
And even if I were a man, I would still need her permission — because love is never about taking. It's about offering.
And I could never do anything without her wanting it too.
So I walked to the bed slowly and lay down, careful not to disturb her sleep, careful not to cross a line she hadn't invited me past. Our faces were turned toward each other now. Just inches apart.
I could smell her faint floral scent — jasmine, maybe. Or rose. It was subtle but enough to make my heart race.
I closed my eyes, trying to will myself to sleep.
But I couldn't.
Minutes dragged on. The silence grew heavier. My thoughts louder.
Was it this unfamiliar bed? The new surroundings? Or was it just the truth — that I couldn't stop thinking about her?
I opened my eyes again and found myself staring at her soft features once more. Her hair framed her face like a halo. She looked so close… and yet so far.
I reached for the table lamp, tempted to switch it back on — just to look at her more clearly. Just to memorize every detail. But I stopped myself.
I didn't want to wake her.
So instead, I got up, pulled the warm blanket tightly around myself, and walked to the window. The air was cold — sharp, almost biting — and the silence outside was even deeper than the one inside me.
I opened the window gently, careful not to make a sound, and sat down beside it, folding the blanket around my legs. The wind kissed my cheeks, and above, the moon hung low and glowing — a silent, silver witness to all the things I couldn't say aloud.
I gazed up at it, whispering quiet wishes into the dark sky.
And then—
A scream.
Loud. Sharp. Blood-curdling.
It pierced the air like shattered glass.
I froze.
Every nerve in my body jolted awake. My breath hitched. My heart pounded violently against my ribs.
Then — I panicked.
In that split second of fear, my body jerked back, and I lost my balance. I stumbled, slipping from the narrow ledge of the window.
And before I could even scream myself—
I fell.
Down, down, down.
Right into the icy depths of the pond that sat silently outside our house.
The cold hit me like a wall of knives. Water rushed into my ears, muffling everything. My arms flailed, my legs kicked, but the chill was paralyzing. My breath caught in my throat, my heart thrashed wildly.
The world spun. Time slowed.
All I could feel was the water swallowing me whole… pulling me deeper.
And yet — in those terrifying seconds, as darkness clouded my senses — my last thought wasn't fear.
It was Sita.
Her sleeping face, untouched by the chaos.
Her calm breathing, still oblivious to my fall.
Would she wake up? Would she come for me? Would she know?
I didn't know the answers.
All I knew was that I was sinking… fast.
And the silence now wasn't peaceful anymore.
It was suffocating.
A deep, biting cold started to creep into my bones.
At first, it was just a shiver — but then it grew, spreading through my limbs like frost on fragile glass. My fingers went numb. My legs felt heavy, almost lifeless. I tried to move, to kick, to fight the darkness that was closing in — but my body refused to respond. The water had wrapped itself around me like a cruel embrace, and I was drowning.
I didn't want to give up… but I was slipping — fast.
Everything blurred.
Time twisted.
And just when I felt I couldn't hold on any longer… someone reached me.
Someone warm.
Gentle.
Firm hands gripped my waist and pulled me upward — not with panic, but with a calm urgency that felt oddly safe. Through the cold, through the terror, I felt a strange comfort in their touch, like my body recognized the presence before my mind did.
They held me as if I was something fragile, precious — like I mattered.
I couldn't open my eyes. My eyelashes were heavy, soaked. My lungs burned. Water had already found its way into my nose, into my mouth. Breathing was impossible now. Everything was slowing down… becoming quiet.
But through the muffled storm in my head, I heard it — a voice.
Distant, yet so close.
"There's shouting inside the house!" the voice said. Urgent. Frantic.
The words rang in my ears, distorted, like an echo underwater.
Chaos.
I could feel it even from here — the noise, the movement, the panic. People had noticed. They knew I was gone.
And still, I couldn't move.
I couldn't cry out.
My eyes refused to open, and the weight pressing down on my chest was unbearable.
But I was no longer alone.
The person holding me didn't let go.
They cradled me against their body, shielding me from the cold wind, from the terror, from the noise. I wanted to speak. I wanted to say thank you… or even just whisper their name.
But all I could do was sink into the warmth of their embrace, into the blurry boundary between unconsciousness and safety — between the fear of dying and the hope of being saved.
I was slipping again… but this time, it didn't feel like drowning.
It felt like being carried toward something I didn't yet understand — a turning point, a second chance.
And just before everything faded completely…
I remember thinking:
Who saved me?
Why did it feel like… love?
To be continue....