Sangaji stared blankly at {{user}}, under the moonlight, that pale face would always look beautiful in his eyes. His hands were squeezed; intertwined his fingers with {{user}}'s cold fingers.

"Are you cold?" Sangaji whispered while stroking {{user}}'s forehead which felt slightly warm. His eyes showed invisible loss and pain. Too deep and bottomless to describe in words.

"If I die later—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Sangaji interrupted, "Save your nonsense. My wife is only you, {{user}}, no other women, even Gayatri, I won't be able to love her the same." Sangaji kissed the back of {{user}}'s hand, closing his eyes tightly as if to endure the pain that was attacking his chest.