TARA : Beyond The Time ( Under Editing)

Nightmares

Feeling the intensity of Tara's distress in her unconscious state, I couldn't resist the impulse to provide comfort. Gently, I leaned over and wrapped my arms around her in a protective embrace, my touch aiming to offer solace in the midst of her troubled dreams.

"Tara," I whispered, my voice a soothing murmur, "you're safe. It's just a dream. I'm here with you."

As my arms enveloped her, Tara's restless mumblings began to subside. The subtle rise and fall of her chest eased, and the room, once filled with the echoes of her distress, gradually embraced a serene stillness.

In the embrace, a profound connection lingered—one that transcended the complexities of our roles and the uncertainties that surrounded us. My whispered reassurances became a mantra, a gentle reminder that she was not alone in the face of whatever haunted her dreams.

As the tension in her form slowly dissipated, Tara's eyes fluttered open. The room, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, held a shared vulnerability that demanded acknowledgment.

"Tara," I spoke tenderly, maintaining the embrace but allowing space for her to adjust to wakefulness. "You had a nightmare. It's over now. You're here with me."

Her gaze met mine, a mixture of confusion and relief. "Dhruv?" she questioned, her voice carrying the remnants of the dream's emotional residue.

I nodded, offering a reassuring smile. "Yes, it's me. You're safe."

Tara, still held in the embrace, took a moment to register her surroundings. The room, the flickering candles, and the warmth of our shared presence became the tangible reality that anchored her from the tumultuous dreamscape.

In that silent moment, the shared vulnerability of the night became a bridge, connecting us beyond the complexities of our roles. The embrace, born from an instinct to provide comfort, turned into a testament to the unspoken bond that unfolded in the quiet sanctuary of Tara's room.

As Tara's tear-filled eyes met mine, I felt a pang of empathy, recognizing the lingering impact of her distressing dream. I remained in the gentle embrace, creating a space for her to share the burdens that haunted her subconscious.

"Dhruv," she began, her voice quivering with emotion, "it was like I was trapped in a fire, surrounded by flames. I couldn't escape, and everything around me was lost. It felt so real, like I was reliving a nightmare."

I tightened the embrace, silently conveying my support and understanding. "You're safe now, Tara," I reassured her, my voice a steady anchor in the midst of her emotional storm. "It was just a dream, but I'm here for you. You don't have to face it alone."

Tara's tears flowed freely, each droplet a testament to the vulnerability she allowed herself to reveal. The room, once a haven of shared moments, transformed into a sanctuary for the unspoken fears that tormented her.

"I don't know why I dreamt of fire and loss," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it felt so real, Dhruv. I was scared, and I couldn't find a way out."

Gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, I offered a reassuring smile. "Dreams can be mysterious, Tara. Sometimes they carry echoes of our deepest fears. But remember, you're not alone in this. Whatever you're facing, we'll navigate it together."

As Tara continued to share the details of her haunting dream, the room became a sacred space where vulnerabilities were laid bare. The flickering candles bore witness to the shared understanding that transcended words, weaving a silent promise that, in the face of nightmares, there existed a refuge in each other's presence.

As the weight of Tara's emotional release began to settle, a calmness descended upon the room. We remained in the quiet embrace, the flickering candles casting a tranquil glow on our shared vulnerability.

Tara, her tear-stained eyes now reflecting a sense of serenity, suddenly shifted her gaze towards the window. The dusky hues of evening painted the sky, a canvas of transitioning colors.

"Dhruv," she inquired, her voice carrying a gentle curiosity, "how long have I been unconscious?"

I met her gaze, the honesty in my eyes mirroring the sincerity in my words. "It's evening now," I replied, "but the passage of time matters little. What's important is that you're out of danger , and I'm with you."

Tara, a subtle realization dawning in her eyes, hesitated for a moment before voicing a question that lingered in the air. "What about the celebrations? The festivities for our birthday..."

I gently interrupted, "Tara, those things can wait. Right now, the most important work is taking care of you. Nothing else matters more than ensuring you're well and safe."

A soft smile played on her lips as she absorbed the reassurance. "I appreciate your concern, Dhruv," Tara expressed, her voice a whisper of gratitude. "I didn't mean to disrupt everything."

I shook my head, emphasizing the sincerity of my words. "You haven't disrupted anything. Your well-being is my priority, Tara. The rest can wait."

"Why?" Tara questioned, her eyes searching mine for an answer that transcended the realm of spoken words. A delicate vulnerability lingered in the air, as if the weight of unspoken truths hung between us.

" it maybe our first and last birthday together," she mused, her voice carrying a bittersweet melody. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt suspended in a fragile moment.

"Tara, will you really go?" I asked, the words laced with a plea that resonated beyond the surface. "Can't you just stay here?"

The atmosphere seemed to thicken with unspoken desires, the charged energy between us palpable. In the flickering candlelight, our gazes locked—a silent exchange that spoke volumes.

But when I looked at her,  she was asleep again.

The room, now shrouded in the quietude of shared vulnerability, held the echoes of an unspoken connection. The flickering candles bore witness to the dance of emotions—the desire to seize the moment, the ache of an impending separation, and the tenderness that lingered in the unspoken spaces between us.

"I don't want to lose you," I confessed, the words carrying the weight of unfulfilled longing. "Not now, not ever."

As Tara slept, a gentle serenity enveloped her. The room, once filled with intense emotions, became a haven of shared secrets, guarded by the flickering flames that painted our silhouettes on the canvas of the night.