Bitten once twice shy.

When the person who gave her the best memories became a memory, there is a quiet awakening that is accompanied by the wind- blowing right past as if the anatomy she encompassed didn't exist. The birds stopped singing and the morning dew dropped in temperature. The world became a little more hostile while she became a detached observer of her own actions. She was fluttering and floating just beyond the surface of materiality- formless and empty.

Sometimes her memory made Sub-Inspector Karishma Singh regret every distasteful word she had once spoken and every action taken impulsively because she no longer had the time or chance to make up for it.

Station House Officer Haseena Malik, fiercely stubborn and emotional- like she ever needed that.

She had to stop thinking of her now.

The wish for her to be here, beside her, bickering and bantering, fills Karishma with such rage and bitterness that she thinks will turn her to clinker - explode and leave behind more destruction and broken pieces to pick up for others. One day she will grieve for her loss- the loss of a senior, friend and confidant. But first, she would have to accept Haseena was really gone- dead.

She heard the gun go off, thrice. She touched the blood dripping like a fountain from her gunshot wounds. She watched her car nosedive into that ditch and catch fire. She inhaled the thick black smoke that rose and congested her lungs. No one could have survived that along with three lead bullets filled with poisonous gunpowder having pierced vital organs.

Although she saw it unfold right before her eyes, there's part of her that staves off the recollection, holding it back. There's part of her that will never believe she won't come rotating her baton from the entrance of the precinct to laugh at them for falling for this ostentatious- sick- joke. There's a part of her that will keep hoping for her return as preposterous as the possibility was.

Santu came back to life, Madam sir will too. When she does, everything will be okay. Until then, I will do what I can to honour her memory and live it up to the standards she has set.

The other part of her acknowledges the possibility of Haseena never returning and that's the part she despises the most. It was responsible for these night terrors that shook her to the core and made her skin crawl like a bunch of ants were feasting on it- sucking and taunting her.

Some nightmares are not mere products of fiction nor up for interpretation to be moulded into a duplicitous memory. They are a reality that must be lived through for them to stop appearing, for their power and hold over one's peaceful nights to be siphoned. So even if Karishma had come to fear cars- a giant two thousand five hundred kilograms of machinery that was used as transportation- she sat in them every day so that the nightmares could become holy grails. A treasure that would grant her abatement from the slavery of Ania.

The vehicle sounded useful in theory but she now referred to them as death machines. As morbid as it was, she had witnessed two people that were near and dear to her, succumb to the clutches of death because of it.

Love is tough and she wasn't tough enough to bear the loss of it. She had raised the wall of protection and trust that she had built around herself standing tall and steady. She won't let them down, not in front of herself or her loved ones- it wasn't their fault but she wasn't strong enough to be unguarded again. It was part of the bargain- lose something to gain a lot more.

Love had brought her to her knees and Karishma Singh was now afraid of what more it could do to her crestfallen spirit.

She swallowed her own fear to expand the safe zone of others, to become the stoic leader they deserve. But maybe that's why they fell apart- cracking at their weak points, spreading discord and indifference like a virus. They didn't deserve the cold shoulder. They needed her to be in the present and close. They needed her to break so they could too. Only when the soul is shattered till there's only a silhouette of it left can it be rebuilt, only then can it be reborn and flourish amidst the bedlam.

She wasn't the wise owl her mother-in-law on generous occasions attributed her to be. The wise allowed fear to school them so they are free to make mistakes, better choices, and learn to become the heroes of their own stories - not cower in the shadows like the cowardly villains. They didn't let love or the fear of it fool them.

Twice bitten thrice never try.

This is why instead of taking the driver's seat to chase down the possible suspect of their latest case, she brought her junior along for the ride. They monitored his movements closely over the last couple of days, gathering evidence to build a case and waiting for him to slip up.

It seemed like Santosh understood the unspoken rule too. Her left hand no longer made elaborate gestures while the right remained on the steering wheel as they drove. Now both of those hands were placed on the car controls, inert and dreary. She no longer blabbered away ceaselessly about the unfixable tap and infuriating door squeaking. She became a consort of the silence prevailing between them.

Santosh stopped biting her nails and gave her suggestions. "I think we should wait for him to reach his destination first. If we tailgate him, he'll get suspicious."

Karishma bit her lip in irritation. "Just do what I tell you to do. Follow him and make sure he doesn't get suspicious."

"Yes because that's so easy to do seeing how wide this road is and that we don't have a huge siren on the roof of our government allotted jeep." Santosh snarked, putting the car into drive and depressing the accelerator.

The car lurched forward and Karishma glared at her subordinate as the latter kept her eyes on the road, seemingly unaffected. "We can do without the sarcasm."

Santosh didn't answer her and continued doing as she was told to do. She made a conscious effort to ignore the intense peering into the side of her head. Truth to be told, she just couldn't find the need to care. This was what their conversations were like nowadays- short and lacking succinctness. The crevasse of communication dipped and widened between them as the mountainsides grew concealed by the snow, hidden by their own mourning - same reason, different in nature, relatable to each other.

--- The Devil Is Beating His Wife---

It was as if she held a giant ball of tangled up yarn in her hand made up of different strands, all of different colours, shades and textures. She tried to untangle them prudently and gingerly but time was running out. The longer she waited, the more she lost herself in those hypnotic motions and her skin suffered from friction burn.

She was trying to make a rope long enough to tie them all together out of this ball because they were drifting away like leaves of a chilly morning. Untangle and tie it to the nearest table, rock, chair, basically anything that is stable. That's all I need to do.

She held the ball - each piece containing a different memory, each piece grasping a different emotion and each piece crafted by a different story. Her fingers had started to cramp from pulling, unknitting and unwinding the fraying strings.

Weapons were harmless when trying to break the soul. Fire was powerless in opposition to the spirit that resided inside. Water is useless in drowning passion. Land was capable of providing a safe surface for her bones to come crashing down. The wind was triumphant when trying to dry her tears.

That wasn't the case for Constable Santosh Sharma. Her soul was worn out, her spirit was smouldered, her commitment was fading, and her bones were aching. And my tears? My tears have dried up in the wind and from the wind.

When someone dies, they have been swept away into the clouds. Clouds by day and stars by night. One would hope that with them, the agony of their absent presence is lost too, billowing to the white foam figures and the dust of incompleted conversations settled in the feet of heaven, never to be felt again, it was all forgotten. It made sense, the person was no longer there as a reminder. There shouldn't be any feelings attached to them left lingering around either.

Said the self-indulgent idiot.

They are constantly around, roaming the streets of her road towards the destination- as if the loving self screams in silent anguish, there are the memories of the good times that come as a blossoming spring meadow. When the screams stop and turn into laughter, there are memories of the bad times that come as a vicious cat, sneaking up until it has the opportunity to scratch its prey. She needs to reach out one last time, to know it's real, that Haseena was really dead. But she doesn't get the chance to. And so she walks on one side of the road, leaving the other empty in hopes of a companion's appearance.

There was a void- in her mind, in her heart and in her life. It grew bigger and bigger as the days went on and now she can't feel it. She can't feel any of it - grief, pain, sadness, hurt, anger. That's the thing about black holes, they drew energy from one. It was like the water that had found a crack in a dam. It cascaded right through seamlessly. They used it to fill their own bellies while the victim is left to pick up the pieces or lack thereof.

Death leaves a kind of monster in its wake that appears to warn those left behind of the sorrow that is to follow. The wounds it leaves, the scars that no one can heal and the cries it emboldens are all the marks of a devil. As she takes all the stones pressing against her scrapped feet, the abominable creature speaks of abandonment and the best of memories that feel like they never happened.

It all felt like a dream- one she wants to wake up from.

Change is inspired by experiences that cause a lasting impact, maturity is learnt from said impact. Unlike Karishma, Constable Santosh Sharma never built those adamantine walls, perhaps never needed to do so except until now. Her belief that one who was as pure as the driven snow and was an embodiment of decorum and omnipotent cannot suffer a fate meant for sinners was trampled ruthlessly.

Like a flower blossoming, shedding its thorns to become soft to the touch, unfolding until its pollen could be seen, she's blooming into a mature young adult- a kid shedding the veil of childishness to live with her present.

With the child rising above the adversities of life, she followed in Karishma's footsteps and distanced herself. She clamped her heart in an iron gold cage that only she has the keys to open for she is the one to tighten the lock- she bottles up the grief, keeps it airtight. It's the only way to be strong, to unburden everyone else and keep them glued together. It was incumbent to keep things afloat, to keep them afloat.

Aloof from her family, she takes in the numbness- understanding what's going on around her but unable to find the will to do something about it. She phantoms that by the time she emerges and heals, that child-like innocence that once defined her personality would be long gone.

Some people called it an unhealthy coping mechanism. Wait till they find out about my new best friend. Not that I intend for anyone to find out.

She sat on her bathroom floor, carefully rolling her shirt and leaving the abdomen exposed. The wrist marks would have drawn too much unwanted attention. Below the piece of cloth, they will be hidden- the grief and its tangible evidence. The first time was an accident. She was distractedly cleaning out the cabinet and a protruding nail stroked through her thumb. The red liquid flowed like a melodic song, one played in joy and in sorrow. It commanded her inner storm to cease and it did- if only for a second. That's all she needed to fall in love with that feeling of relief.

They started with small scratches, then small cuts. Before she knew it, they were long, deep and painless. As the shiny blade runs through her skin, she feels the void fill up with her blood dripping, one glob after the other. She found a good rhythm and a pathway that was lighted up to the goals she truly desired, needed to complete- run the precinct efficiently. She realised what to do and how to do it. That gave her relief.

It got too deep once, leaving a gash only a doctor with a thread could close up. But, the agony went away and she carried on as per their new normal- somewhat saner than before. Once it healed, the void was open again and ready for the next feed.

The urge becomes stronger in stressful situations such as this. The suspect realised he was being followed by the officers and changed route causing them to lose sight of him.

Karishma was fuming and likely plotting her way to kill him when they next met. Santosh found herself on the road again, looking for something beyond the hue of ash, something that would return the sun's warmth and colours with it.

She needs to feed the beast but she can't- not here not now because no one can know. The walls have risen and a mask of nonchalance covers her spiralling thoughts.

"What is going on?" Pushpa Ji asked as the two women walked- stormed- into the station.

"We lost him thanks to someone." Karishma barked pacing back and forth in the middle of the room. A hand rested on her forehead like it usually did in times of anger.

As Pushpa watched the two of them restlessly from her spot, Santosh went back to find other pieces of evidence that would be able to hold out in trial with her laptop. That machinery was the one thing that remained constant throughout like a reliable ally. "I told you so. Tailgating him was a stupid idea. He is hiding something and we need to figure out what."

"Oh, yea? What could that be?" Karishma asked, coming to take a seat opposite Santosh at the cyber specialist's desk.

"That's a dumb question isn't it," she replied without missing a beat. "If I knew, we'd have arrested him by now and no lawyer in the country could have saved him from the gallows."

"That's it," Pushpa announced, stepping between the two before another shouting match could start. "Time out."

From a jovial and lively house to a dull and lifeless precinct- a lot has changed in this station. Conversations didn't involve fun banters, they revolved around work. It was boring and felt like something was missing. It was but who was to find answers to the disappearance of peace?

Her daughters had grown up and grown apart, everyone could see it but them. They bickered, argued, and sent snide remarks at each other which would otherwise be considered healthy banter if not for the antagonistic tone used. Sometimes the silence was better than words exchanged because those words only wreaked havoc in their already collapsing world.

Haseena Malik was dead and along with her, this family died too.

---The Devil Is Beating His Wife---

"Santosh Sharma, have you seen that file from last month's road rage case?" Karishma asked, coming into the record room where all the undigitised files were kept. For a police department wanting to make strides in being more efficient, they sure were tardy when it came to carrying out basic procedures.

Santosh didn't stop to acknowledge her senior as she continued digging up the old cases to find the one she was looking for. "There were two last month. Which one do you want?"

"The one involving the drunk driver and pedestrian across the third junction."

"Isn't that already marked as case closed?" the constable asked but went to look for it either way.

"Just do what I asked you to," Karishma snapped, channelling her anger onto her junior. She wasn't pissed with anyone but herself. Two weeks and she still couldn't find the perpetrator who had killed their Station House Officer and they had lost the suspect due to her own brashness. "I know what I am doing."

Santosh chuckled half-heartedly. "Yep, because that turned out so well the last time."

"Did Badnam slip some pills into your tea this morning? The courage you're displaying, standing in front of me and questioning my authority is unpalatable."

"I am too tired to have this intellectually unstimulating conversation with you right now."

Karishma advanced from her position at the door. "If you have something to say, say it to my face."

"Okay," the cyber specialist sighted and removed her hands from the pile of files, locking eyes with her superior officer. "You have no idea about what you are doing. None of us does. We are like headless chickens. Running around with our hands on our heads."

Karishma tugged at her wrist when she tried to go back to booking for the files and made sure they were facing each other. "The only one who doesn't know what they are doing is you. I know exactly what is happening and what I need to do. I need to find the killer and when I do, so god help me, I will make sure he or she pays for all the hardship he has put me through. I will beat the living shit out of the son of a-"

"Do you think the world revolves around you!" the younger girl slammed her hand down on the tall stack of papers, breathing heavily and her eyes squinted a tiny bit. "I know you are trying this whole cold and collected captain thing but it's not helping anyone, yourself included."

"So what do you want me to do? Sit around and cry?" she questioned as a matter of factly. "I have things to do. A police precinct to run in the absence of an S.H.O. Cases to solve. Deadlines to meet. A killer to find."

"Sounds to me like you have your excuses planned out," Santosh scoffed. "But I can't be mad at you honestly. We are more similar than you think." she shrugged carelessly, getting engrossed in the files that had piled up over the month.

The human mind was a behaviourist's favourite playground. It altered each day, each hour, each minute and each moment, forming a new set of synapses. Karishma and Santosh were no exception to this rule.

Karishma has become quite the opposite of what she once was. Initially stuck in the negative range and always extreme, she found the virtue of patience. Her aggression and harebrained antics were worn down by her newfound forbearance. Her face didn't crease in that angry way that had become her only face to the criminals she encountered.

Santosh has become calm, anchored by well earned self-confidence. Once upon a time, her emotions were as variable as the weather, sometimes gregarious, other times moody. Now she's stuck in this stage of stoicism. Her face was not soft with the beginnings of childlike laughter lines. Now it remains rigid- indifferent.

So maybe they had changed to become similar- core reformed, outer crust laden with regrets.

Karishma raised an eyebrow at her, mouth parting at the claim. "Really? And in what ways is that so."

Santosh's hands paused on their own accord and she slowly spun her body. Looking at the older woman, she let her expression of insouciance crumble, overtaken by dejection. "Your words may have grown softer. But your eyes... your eyes still speak the words you don't have the courage to voice out. They have become louder and yet burdened at the same time."

"Well then, what are they saying right now?" she asked, stepping up close. She made sure their eyes were locked, staring and conversing. For a second, she sees it too- the same storm raging in her junior but she stills it. Almost as if it never bothered her when in actuality, it was sucking every last ounce of her naivety.

I am in pain.

Santosh doesn't dare say those words herself- the courage had drained from her system even before she realised how far away she had strayed from the road they were on. They are so hauntingly familiar to her own when she takes a moment to look at her reflection. Hypocrite much?

She gave Karishma a rueful smile, stepping away and back to the table with files. She pretended to sift through them to find a specific case file although she already found it. "You should take away some of their weight before they give up. Before those words start slipping through, somewhere we won't be able to ever find them," she spoke softly- reminding herself or her senior, she wasn't sure. Both maybe. "Were in the same boat and the only way to reach the shore is by paddling together. I am not your enemy, if you can't see that then I must have failed somewhere along the road. I am sorry for that."

The sub-inspector snorted a little coldly. "So much for fortune-telling."

"Your file," Santosh said, placing it in Karishma's hand and walking past her having found the item she was looking for. "Oh and," she paused just at the end of the threshold of the door. "Fortune tellers read hands not eyes."

Karishma turned around to make sure he was gone before her lips twitched the slightest fraction indicating a smile- a sad smile. Standing close enough to Santosh was like standing in front of a mirror. She knew where those eye bags came from and why her gravity drawn shoulders were left as such. Like the night she spent trying to hack into the android's- Mira's- operating system to get the Internet Protocol address of the killer, her under eyelids were just as dark and her eyes spoke the same words.

I am in pain.

She knew those were not the words Santosh was referring to. She was referring to them and their conversations that didn't happen as often anymore. They were hiding, lying and pretending when talking; too afraid to let the other see their worst, to be present in their weakest moment, to break.

Doing that meant accepting that Haseena was dead. Karishma glanced towards the statue of god placed in the station across her desk. Until they had no more reason to believe otherwise, the lamp in the miniature temple Pushpa had put together remained lighted.

"We're in the same boat and the only way to reach the shore is by paddling together."

No cap.

They were supposed to overcome this together- that's what Haseena would have wanted. But what did we do to deserve this in the first place?

The boat was sinking into the everlasting pit of despair. There was no escape, not even by paddling together for the captain was gone- lost at sea.

---The Devil Is Beating His Wife---

Insomnia had become her closet patron recently. Usually, it's the nightmares that haunt her nights as she slumbers, tormenting her failures - not that skipping out on sleep was an option. But today, it wasn't insomnia or the nightmares that were hindering a peaceful resting period. It was the nagging feeling and voice in the back of her mind that was telling her to call her younger colleague that kept her tossing and turning.

This sleeplessness was beckoning her, inviting the government official to ponder about her life, and question what it was that had perturbed her perfectly crafted new persona and how she could make it better for herself and others.

She glanced at the time on her phone. Eleven p.m. she should still be awake. She tried to call the cyber specialist several times and frowned when she didn't answer. Why isn't this troglodyte answering the phone she loves oh so dearly.

"Just go check on her if it bothers you so much." Pushpa who was lying beside her spoke up as she kept her eyes shut.

"Must you behave like a wandering spirit?" Karishma groaned, calming her racing heart.

Pushpa ignored her comment and continued speaking about what he wanted to. "You aren't going to sleep like this and you aren't going to let me sleep either."

"Even if I go there, how am I going to get in if she doesn't open the door?"

"Well," Pushpa gave her a knowing smirk. "Then you can finally use that spare key you made."

Karishma rounded on her mother-in-law with her jaw hanging. "How did you...?"

"You are paranoid and your paranoia is very obvious, to me at least," Pushpa opened her eyes, sitting up in bed. "So go and let me sleep in peace." she cried, feigning irritation.

"I love you," Karishma announced, planting a kiss on her mother's cheeks before jumping out of bed to get dressed.

Pushpa watched with teary eyes as her daughter left the house wishing for the dark night to go away and for the sun to befall upon them.

---The Devil Is Beating His Wife---

Santosh watched the two women gobble away at snacks near the street vendor below her building. A lopsided smile formed on her face as she started to picture them to be herself and Haseena. It was histrionic to think of it as such.

"Santosh Sharma, please chup ho jaaye. Kabhi toh mature behave kijiye." I have matured now madam sir. But you are not here to see it.

She lifted a finger in the air and started painting a picture of her heart- still and unmoving. It's as if neither it nor her soul would welcome a beat to keep alive, to keep functional. She dropped her hands back to her side and gazed at the velvet quoted sky with stars twinkling in them. She imagined one out of those zillions of shiny dots to be Haseena, watching over them- peacefully or glumly, she didn't know. Probably happy if they are so bright.

Beyond that chamber of grief, there is an entire world waiting to be discovered, to be seen and experienced. In that realization she finds stillness, reluctance and no reason to put this dolorous into perspective, to adapt and overcome. Her purpose was bigger than these passing concerns but they burden her, burying her potential beneath them.

Besides, it's always better to have someone to ride the waves with.

"I almost didn't believe the guard when he said you were here. Didn't think you were brave enough to come up here with someone else let alone by yourself," the rooftop door screeched open and someone spoke up from behind. "This is a really dangerous place to be at," Karishma chided, coming up to the police quarters rooftop and standing behind where the constable was seated. "especially after a drink." She added taking in the discarded cans of alcohol around her.

Santosh held up the last one she had to Karishma, the glare having no effect on her tipsy self. "Want one?" she asked.

The brute police officer grabbed the can from her and chugged it across the roof in one swift motion.

Santosh stood up abruptly, nearly falling over as she did so. "What the hell?" She yelled, offended at her drink being treated so poorly.

"I see this is your way of becoming a jobless, useless, resource sucking parasite with nothing to offer anyone."

She wasn't judging Santosh for her coping mechanism, she had no right to. I did choose to quite literally exile myself from everyone and everything. Who am I to judge? However, it doesn't stop her from worrying about her well-being which wasn't helped by the high inducing drink.

"I see you are still grumpy like an old grandma," she quipped. "No wonder the children don't want to talk to you."

"I am going to let that comment slide because you're clearly intoxicated."

"Not like you're gonna throw me off the building if I wasn't," she challenged. "Grandmas are not that strong."

"Don't plant ideas in my head," Karishma retorted as she watched the younger girl struggle to maintain her balance. "And that sounds oddly condescending."

"It was supposed to be," Santosh slurred. "I think," she moved to sit over the ledge on unsteady feet, swatting Karishma's flailing arm over her back. "I got it."

"Clearly." The older woman rolled her eyes and held her securely either way. Lowering both of them to the ground, she made sure they were a considerable distance away from the lege, as far as Santosh would allow them to be anyway. "Seriously. All that nagging at me to keep it together and you are the one getting into trouble."

"Oh don't act holier than thou. You've had your fair share of less than impressive moments."

Karishma bit the inside of her cheek to calm herself down. "Why are you here?" she tried deviating the topic instead.

"Because here," Santosh hiccuped. "The world shuts up. I can think. I can hear my thoughts," she dangled her legs dangerously over the ledge like a child in a pool. "I can feel the pain and let it...sink in."

Karishma should have been bringing her back to the room, to let her sleep off the effects of alcohol. But she doesn't. Instead, she sits and enjoys the silence between them. "You weren't answering your phone."

Santosh waved her head around the rooftop looking for the aforementioned item. "It's probably in the room. I assume that is why you are here?"

"Partly."

The wind swept away their memories into the black screen before them, playing on loop like a good song they didn't want to end.

"Oh god, here we go again," Santosh said suddenly, eyes wide with realization dawning in them.

Karishma looked around alarmed. "What?"

"You blame yourself for what happened to madam sir. Car crash and all," she said casually, as it was an everyday thing they said, missing the way Karishma flinched. ''And then I say it's not your fault. You refuse to listen and I talk until you are convinced. Well, I am too lazy to do it today. Frankly, I don't even care," she shrugged. "Yep, the narcissism is really setting in."

The older woman scrunched her eyebrows in confusion, she hadn't told anyone that she felt responsible for what happened.

"For the record, it's not your fault. Remember what I said after I came back from the dead? Just think of that."

"Noted," Karishma said uncertainly, thinking back to the incident Santosh had referenced and their conversation this morning. Use your words. "I keep making up all the stories. I keep telling them as if they hold answers and solutions to our problems. But they don't and each time that hope comes crashing down, I feel...sadder. Frustrated. Confused. There is no version of this story in which we are completely unhurt. There's always someone who loses," Karishma found herself confessing as her junior listened, not interrupting or advising, just providing a listening ear. "People do things because their emotions are driving them that way. I don't want to let mine overpower me." she felt a weight on her shoulder and a hand enclosed in her own as she completed her sentence.

Santosh leaned against her sister figure, a small tear escaping her sockets despite her attempts to hold them in. "When I was in malivore's pit of doom... a coma," she recalled the most dreaded time of her life with a shudder. "I was walking and walking until I could barely stand anymore. But that's how it feels right now. Cold, empty and lonely. There aren't any colours here. Everything feels empty. I feel empty. How do I start feeling again?"

"I don't know," Karishma answered honestly. "But we will take it one day at a time. Day by day, moment by moment, we will get there. We will get to the point where it doesn't hurt so much."

"I wish madam sir will be here with us when that happens."

"Me too, Santu. Me too." Karishma whispered, watching the sky above them as it thundered.

Unbeknownst to the both of them, a star had fallen just behind their backs. As it went out of sight, the rain poured- strong and persistent. They didn't leave, wanting to let the droplets claim them. The torrential Noah's flood drenched them from head to toe, soaking them to the bone. Even as the weather grew chilly, they felt warm in the embrace around each other.

"Looks like the devil is beating his wife," Santosh commented, letting the rain wash away her senses and fill up the void.

"Maybe she will fight back soon." Karishma nodded, letting her cheek rest against the crown of the younger girl's head.

Karishma had so much left unsaid but her eyes were brighter, softer and less burdened because her words became louder. Santosh had so many more secrets she wanted to share but the urge to carve out her skin had reduced because she was talking and someone was listening.

The walls built around them left the two so lonely on the other side. If only they'd give each other the chance, they can take them down brick by brick and start to feel what it means to be overcome by all-encompassing grief. It wouldn't be as overbearing together. But for that, they needed to talk, feel and understand- they weren't ready, not yet, and perhaps won't ever be.

And that's okay. We will be okay. 

A/N: Don't forget to R&R!