Moments in time felt like a hoax. Nothing would ever last for a moment. Especially not pain. Especially not loss. Especially not the plight of life ending before it even began. Nothing would be merciful enough to last for just a moment.

That was how it was in life. The pricking of the soul, the brokenness of the heart, the burning agony of the spirit, nothing. Absolutely nothing lasted for just a moment. Instead, they became constants in life.

They became a companion that was more like a demon than a mate. Just how was one supposed to get over those moments that lasted a lifetime. sanaya wondered, just how long this pain would last. She sat on a stool outside their bungalow.

She could hear the wailing, the painful thuds of women beating their chests, various hands on her body, touching her, consoling her, cleaning her. Cleaning her of what? The marital status that she carried. She was waiting for this to finish so that she could run away from there.

"Putthar..." An old woman wailed, her eyes beaded up to look at her. She was beating her chest. It was almost as if she felt more pain than sanaya herself. Her open palm laid on her hairline, and it swept up harshly as she smudged the vermillion in her hair.

"Amma!" She called out to her mother. She quickly walked up to her. Her eyes were red from crying, she had a certain look of guilt and remorse in her eyes.

"Mera putthu!" She sobbed. "Yeh kitna dher chalega? Mujha ek call attend karni hain." She said, Her voice was so monotonous, it didn't hold an ounce of pain or emotion.

"Sana! Yeh tu kya bol rahi hain?" She seethed, looking around.

"Mujhe ek call attend karni hain." She seethed back.

"Tera khasam pada hua hain waha!" Her mother growled, just as another woman came forward and fisted her mangalsutra in her hands.

She tugged it apart, hard enough for it to split and the beads scattered all over the slabbed ground. She felt the shambles of her heart scatter with each bead that had fallen on the ground.

"Kaunsa khasam?" She raised a brow, watching them roll away from her. A few beads, just a few of them, rolled up till they touched the wooden logs that her dead husband laid on.

Her eyes pricked, they hurt from trying to stop the tears from flowing. She pushed the women away from herself, tugged the dupatta closer around her and got up. The men stared at her as she walked up to her husband's body.

She kneeled down right beside her, feeling her heart in her throat throb so heart that it was rendering her lifeless. "Gurmeet..." She whispered, cupping his face in both of her hands.

"Yeh tumhare liye nahi, tum jaante ho na?" She said softly, trying to keep the last few moments with him solemn.

"You were more a friend to me than a husband. Doh hi toh mahine hue the, Gummu. I'm not upset with you. Jo bhi mere mann mein hain, woh tumhare taraf nahi hain Gummu. Tum jaante ho na? We were supposed to get to know each other. I was ready for our life together to begin. Lekin khatam hogaya. Tum theek se jao, Gummu. Tumhare khilaaf kuch nahi hain. Iss waqt aur iss duniya ke khilaaf hain." She said, finally shedding the tears that she had held onto since the moment she had gotten that phone call. She bent over, resting her head on his lifeless chest. There was no sound, no thudding of his heart.

Because he was death. Her husband of two months, he was no more. She wanted to desperately tell him that the bitterness in her heart, the agony she felt, it wasn't because of him.

His soul needed to rest in peace. But the pain and distress, it was there. He was still her husband. It was towards her parents. And those people. It was towards all those people who had made a mockery out of what should have been a mourning.

It was towards those people who ended her life before it even began. She kissed his forehead, letting her tears touch his face. This was it. The end of her life, it was going away along with him.

Her life, it had ended. Even before it completely began, it ended.

Sidhant felt like he was floating. Like he was dead, yet breathing. His body was aching and numb, all at the same time. Every breath that he took felt like knives slitting his windpipe.

He wheezed and held onto his arm, pressing down onto the wound. He whimpered, visions of his mother's weeping face flashed behind his closed eyes.

"Maa!" He whimpered. "Mummy!" He chortled. His throat was drying, vehemently thirsting for a bit of water. "Sir! Sir! Please relax!" He heard a man's voice. His heard turned side to side.

The sound of the gun shots, the bombs going off, the blood everywhere. "Gurmeet!" He yelled, going breathless. "Sir! Please Relax! His vitals are dropping! He's panicking." He could hear.

There was a chaotic amalgamation of screaming, beeping of machines, beds being rolled in, and people going berserk. His mouth and nose was covered with something, his eyes shot open when he felt like someone blew fresh breath right into his mouth and nose and into his body. He was in a hospital room.

There were doctors everywhere. He wasn't no more in those holly trenches. He didn't have his assault rifle hanging off his shoulder. He wasn't in the mind numbing cold anymore.

"M...m... Mummy.... G... Gurmeet!" He gasped, pulling off the oxygen mask. "Sir! Please relax." Another nurse pleaded, pushing the oxygen mask back on. There was a pinch in his arm and his eyes closed, numbing him into a slumber.

He woke up again an hour later. Mostly because he felt a warm hand holding his. His heart was in his throat when he saw the silver hair, so beautiful, so precious, flowing over his arm.

Her face rested on it, her revered tears touched his arm. She was too precious to be crying for him. He moved his arm to let her know that he was awake.

"Sid!" She gasped, she shot up quickly. Her red eyes, the wrinkles on her aged face, her beautiful features covered with worry - it tightened his chest painfully. He lifted his hand up, or at least he thought. He pushed it up, and the he groaned with his arm didn't listen to the demand his mind made. His eyes widened and he let out a panicked yell.

"Mm! Mmmmm!" He screamed desperately. "Baba! Ruk ja meri jaan! Kuch nahi hua!" She said desperately, holding his face in both of her hands and stroking it comfortingly. "Mmmmm!" He yelled.

She gently pulled off his mask, and waited to see if he would be able to take it. "Maa!" He gasped. She didn't cry out loudly, she never did. Not even after his papa died.

"Tu theek haina, Sidhant? Theek haina mera baccha? Mai kya karungi tere bina, Sidhant!" She said desperately, hugging his head to her chest.

He was a grown man, and yet, his mother's chest was where he found comfort in that lonely and dark place.

"Maa... Kya hua?" He asked in a small voice. Too small for someone at his stature.

"Baba... They found you in the hallway. You and Gurmeet." She whispered, kissing his head.

"W... Whe...where is he maa?" He asked. He knew the answer. He knew that wretched answer.

"They sent his body back to his town." She said hesitantly.

"It should've been me. Maa mujhe hona tha waha pe. Maine bola usko. Maa uski wife... They've been married for less than two months. No no no no no no no no no. No maa. Please." He said, shaking violently, but she held him down, putting in all her strength.

"Nahi! Sidhant! Shut up!" She growled. She was just like him.

"Maa! He... He was so young! I lived enough!" He cried.

"Kismat hai! Math bol aise Sidhant! Please! Tu ne try kiya na baccha? You tried to save him no? Situation hi aisa tha baba. You can't fight what is destined." She said, crying. It crushed his soul, watching her cry.

He didn't know how to move past this. He didn't need anyone to tell him that his left side was numb, where he was shot - paralysed. The building they had raided for the terror groups, he and Gurmeet had become victims to.

He was so young, he was with Sidhant because they knew if anything happened, Sidhant would protect him. He was that good. He was that vigilant.

But life was such, even the battles that seem like a complete win became a loss. He lost a junior, a first level cadet, on his watch. He lost his ability. He lost everything. Absolutely everything. Guilt killed him. But the thing that killed him more... That he was still breathing as he died every second that his heart was beating him to life. And there was no death worse than this.

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How'sthe prologue?