His second wife (#SaRaj)

1) After 7 years

Savi's eyes widened in horror as she watched, frozen, Ishan crumple to the ground. The sound of gunfire echoed through her mind, a haunting refrain. She tried to scream, to run to him, but her legs felt heavy, immovable.

"Ishan, no! Ishan!"

Her voice was trapped in her throat, silenced by terror. Helpless, she watched as Ishan's eyes locked onto hers, his gaze fading to black.

Everything blurred, colors bleeding together like watercolors in the rain. Sounds distorted, growing distant. Savi's world narrowed to a single, suffocating thought: Ishan.

Suddenly, she jolted awake, gasping. "Ishan, sir!"

Her yell echoed through the stillness, leaving her throat raw. Disoriented, Savi struggled to breathe, her chest heaving. The room spun, slowly stabilizing.

With shaking legs, she stood, staggering to the window. The sky transformed before her eyes, night's dark veil lifting to reveal the rising sun. Golden hues crept across the horizon, a new day born.

Savi's gaze dropped to the newspaper on the doorstep. She retrieved it, her hands trembling. The date leapt off the page:

October 4, 2024

Seven years. It had been seven years since Ishan's passing. Savi's eyes stung, but tears refused to fall. Instead, a numbness spread through her, a familiar ache.

"Seven years," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You've been gone for seven years."

Savi's eyes lingered on the date, memories flooding her mind. She recalled the laughter, the tears, and the whispers shared with Ishan. His absence still felt like an open wound, refusing to heal.

As she stood there, lost in thought, the morning light illuminated her face. The rays danced across her features, highlighting the subtle lines etched by time and sorrow.

With a quiet resolve, Savi folded the newspaper and stepped back into her apartment. She moved mechanically, her movements dictated by routine rather than purpose.

The silence enveloped her once more, a constant reminder of Ishan's absence. Savi's gaze drifted to a framed photograph on the mantle. Ishan's smile beamed back at her, frozen in time.

A faint, wistful smile touched her lips. "Good morning, Ishan," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Savi's daily ritual began: coffee, solitude, and memories. But today felt different. Today marked seven years. Seven years of grief, seven years of what-ifs.

As she poured coffee into a worn ceramic mug, her thoughts turned to the past. Memories of Ishan's laughter, his kindness, and their moments together.

Suddenly, Savi's eyes fell upon a small, forgotten box on the shelf. Ishan's handwritten note on the lid stirred a mix of emotions.

"Should I open it?" she wondered.

Savi's fingers trembled as she reached for the box. The note, written in Ishan's familiar handwriting, stirred a mix of emotions.

"For Savi, when the time is right."

She hesitated, wondering if she was ready. Seven years of grief had prepared her, yet uncertainty lingered.

With a gentle touch, Savi opened the box. Inside, a small, intricately designed locket lay nestled in velvet. A folded letter accompanied it.

Unfolding the letter, Savi's eyes welled up as she read Ishan's words:

"My dearest Savi,

I know I won't be here forever, but my love for you will transcend time. Wear this locket close to your heart, and remember: