Ay Hairathe~

Amidst the turmoil of independence, two people fall in love.

It was supposed to be peaceful. It was peaceful, up until now.

Amongst the screams of the crowd, he looked around. The world stood still for a moment, the policemen chasing people with sticks, the men trying to put up a fight, a child caught unnecessarily in the crossfire. The sky was red, the smoke was heavy. At a distance, he saw the Englishman, a hard smile etched on his face.

A stray newspaper fluttered and danced in the air before landing in front of him. With shaky fingers, he picked it up. On it, written in Hindi - August 8th, 1942. Do or Die: Karo ya Maro.

And Raghav had no intention of dying.

~

Rumi was not one to put herself in the crossfire. She would much rather watch from the sidelines, wringing her hands, calling for help but her voice eventually failing her.

She despised herself for it. Every step she took seemed to set her back a metre.

She was too scared to look anyone in the eye, much less hold a solid conversation. She could only wait for the time when she retired from life, sitting in a dimly lit room, dancing away into the night, pouring her mind out with art.