This lifetime, fate brought you and Anamay together again. Falling for him was effortless. It was as if your souls had recognized each other across time and space. For him too, loving you was immediate, devoted, unwavering, and all-consuming.

But in this life, love came with new challenges. The world had changed, but some barriers remained. This time, it was caste.

You met while working at the same office. From the beginning, there was something magnetic about him. Anamay Sharma, disciplined, ambitious, sharp-eyed. Every move he made was purposeful, every word chosen with care. He spoke rarely but watched closely, and somehow, always seemed to know when you needed warmth, encouragement, or silence.

Despite his corporate finesse, there was softness in him that only you seemed to unlock. He fell for you hard.

Your laugh, your stubbornness, the way you challenged him, softened him, brought life into his otherwise disciplined world. And you, how could you not fall for a man who made your comfort his priority? Who surrendered to your every whim with a crooked smirk and a muttered "Pasandida mahila ke liye kuch bhi" every time you teased him? You were fire to his calm, poetry to his precision. And somehow, it worked.

After marriage, you left your job and moved into his family home, believing love would be enough to bridge all gaps. But reality was not so kind.

Their customs were different. Their expectations stricter. No matter how much you tried, how gently you adapted, it was never enough. Every effort you made was questioned. Every mistake remembered. Their smiles were brittle, their praise conditional. And your once-lively spirit, so full of light and mischief, began to dim under the weight of it all.

Anamay saw it. Every flicker of your hurt. Every forced smile. And he fought. Fiercely. Daily. His voice, once calm and composed, began to crack under the pressure of defending you from his own blood.

The breaking point came unexpectedly. His younger sister locked you in a room over something as absurd as borrowing her phone charger. When he found you, curled up on the edge of the bed, your eyes swollen, your hands trembling, something inside him broke. That night, without a second thought, he decided it was over.

He held you silently for a long time. Then, without a word, he stood up and started making calls.

Within two days, he found you both a new home. He packed what was yours himself, replacing anything that had been left behind. His parents pleaded, questioned, tried to guilt him. But he was on autopilot. His only concern was you.

The new apartment was filled with light, and it had peace. It had safety. And in time, it began to feel like home.

Life there wasn’t perfect. Some nights, you woke up startled, haunted by memories you couldn’t explain. Some mornings, you couldn’t bear to look in the mirror, afraid of seeing how much had been lost. But Anamay was there.

He learned to cook your favorite dishes, even when the rotis came out uneven. He sang to you in his deep, off-key voice until you laughed again. He never flinched when you cried. He held you like he would never let go.

And slowly, the cracks in your heart began to fill.

One evening, he returned home after a long day at work. His shirt was rolled at the sleeves, his tie loose, briefcase in hand. As he unlocked the door, the scent of warm, home-cooked food wrapped around him like an embrace. Soft light glowed from the kitchen, and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat.

He stepped into the kitchen to find you stirring a pot, your hair pulled up, cheeks flushed from the heat. You didn’t hear him at first.

Silently, he placed a bouquet of fresh roses on the counter and slipped his arms around your waist.

You gasped, startled, but when you turned. He chuckled, voice low, lips brushing your ear.

"Do you like it, meri jaan?" His words were soft, almost reverent. You turned in his arms, resting your head against his chest. The steady beat of his heart was your favorite sound in the world.