What I promised to write to the story "He is my mirror" on behalf of Ram.
Nothing out of the ordinary happened today, just a simple day, Priya and I shared a meal. I went to the office and she said she would stay at home because there were no classes today and Sarah Dee didn't need help with orders. To be honest, I was surprised. Priya rarely rests, despite her outward calm, something is constantly boiling inside her. I have thoughts about her all the time, instead of work and during the same time.
"We need to go freshen up," I said aloud as usual, and went to the bathroom adjacent to the office.
I was about to open the faucet when something stopped me. No, not something, her invisibly tangible hand. Looked in the mirror. I decided once again to talk to myself, I have this habit, it has been for a long time, since childhood, I am too sociable and talkative for a man. After the death of the pope, this escalated. I began to communicate with myself at the mirror, trying to find answers to the endless questions in my head, trying to replace his presence.
I'm trying now, but...
I am no longer alone in the mirror, there are two of us. I see Priya in myself - her determination, straightforwardness, the spirit of carouse and rigidity, if it comes to something important, seemed to have flowed into my veins.
I began to like silence. Ram Kapoor and silence, just think!
Every night before bed, Priya and I share a few hours of silence. And I don't need anything else. It is so strange, but natural, as if it had always been.
And she becomes like me, as if reflecting - joking, laughing out loud, not watching what she drinks. How else to explain her unexpected drunken concerts and trying to trust, if not my influence? Before, only I could be so eccentric. And how cutely she makes her face!
Self-sufficient, independent teacher Priya, who can do everything without me. I am inseparable from her, with her I am free. I know that I can fly. I don't have to ask her to let me go. We are individuals connected by something I can't find a name for.
We lived different lives, but our hearts are broken the same way - she lost her living father, I happened to see my father's death. She gave herself to love and was betrayed, I gave love and was rejected.
She does not need to be asked to give the last drop of blood, I know that she already holds it for me, but I will give her mine.
Our mirror has folded into one of the different fragments of pain, but so understandable. Someday we will heal all the cracks in it to a single one and the mirror will become solid.
If it breaks again one day, we will die to see the next life. All that I will proclaim in her: "She is my mirror" and feel the touch of fingers on my hand, wherever we are, she is my mirror.
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
