Some distances in marriage are not measured in steps, but in feelings unspoken— too deep to deny, too dangerous to confess.
~~~~~
Her powers are her actual self. Would it be a good decision to run from her true being?
Being human is not my reality—would it be right to live fake all my life? She Thinks.
She suddenly remembers the moment when she first time felt her powers: the rush of liberty, the burst of radiance and bliss, as if she had been searching her whole life for that missing piece and had finally found it. She had been an empty jar—hollow, weightless. Now she is filled, blooming, like a pot brimming with flowers.
It would be easy to remain an empty pot—no weight of soil, no burden of thorns. But then the pot would never serve its purpose. To be filled means to carry weight, to endure scratches and pricks. Yet only then does it fulfill what it was made for.
My powers are me, she concludes. To forget them would be to lose my lifeforce.
And she cannot forget Ayani, nor Kitbok.
"Mom… what do I do? I want to stop them. I want to remember everything," she pleads.
Her mother's voice comes calm but steady. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Ahmaya answers. "I want to fulfill my role as an Aokma."
Her mother smiles faintly. "Then wake up….wake up now."
The place starts to dissolve around her. Her mother's form starts to waver, thinning into mist.
"I am proud of you," her mother whispers as her form melts away.
Ahmaya gasps and opens her eyes. A hand just above her forehead —her uncle's hand. She grips it and tries to rise.
"She is awake," he murmurs in quiet a shock and forces her back against the bed, chanting words that sting her ears. Rage surges through her blood.
With sudden burst, she grabs his throat, her fingers tightening like steel. In one fluid motion she hurls him forward, slamming him against the wall. Still holding him by the neck, she lifts him off the ground. Her voice trembles with fire.
"Don't… do this," she warns. "I don't want to forget. I don't want to lose my powers."
Her uncle smirks and With a swift twist, he breaks free, pinning her down to the floor in a blur of force. The weight crushes her chest; Ahmaya groans in pain.
"So," he says coldly, "you do know how to use your powers."
He releases her, letting her cough.
Her grandmother, frozen in shock, stares at the girl. She had believed Ahmaya only knew of the Aokma—had only stumbled into the past by mistake. But now she can see with her own eyes: Ahmaya can wield her power.
The old woman's gaze shifts from the girl to the man, both caught in silence, an understanding that does not need words.
Her grandmother leaves the room. The man follows behind her, without a word.
.
1936
The air at house feels heavier after Gyanwati left.
Ayani's mother sits across from Madhav, her gaze steady, searching his face.
"Why was she here?" she asks at last.
Madhav exhales slowly, "To persuade me… to surrender my powers willingly, so she doesn't have to kill us."
Ayani's mother tilts her head, her voice firm yet tinged with something softer. "Gyanwati is still in love with you."
"No. She isn't." His eyes refuse to meet hers.
"She is," she insists. "You know her. She doesn't warn anyone. She directly kills. She traps. Yet she has warned you many times. Why else would she do that?"
"Whatever we had ended years ago." He replies.
"Things may end," she says quietly, "but I guess your feelings didn't end. She doesn't hurt us, she spares us more than once because she doesn't want to hurt you. You trust her….you guys have an unsaid trust between yourselves. And I am not blind, Madhav. Not just me but everyone can see it."
He leans forward. "This trust you speak of—this bond—means nothing to her ego. If we defy her, she won't hesitate to kill us."
A faint, bitter smile touches her lips. "She took our kin. She is slaughtering Aokmas across the world. She is after us… and still, when you speak her name, there is no hatred in your voice. Not even an inch."
Madhav looks at her, startled by the precision of her words. "What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying," she breathes, "that nothing she does, no cruelty of hers, can destroy the place she holds in your heart. We were married. We had a beautiful daughter. But I never received that place. I never received an affection so unshakable that even if I wronged you countless times, you would still not hate me."
"No—" he begins.
She cuts him off. "No matter how many times you deny it, you know. Your feelings for her have always been like a bridge between you and me—one I could never cross."
Madhav's lips part, but no words come. He wants to deny it, to tear down her accusation, but the truth weighs too heavily. Deep down, he realises —no matter what Gyanwati has done, his heart has never learned to hate her. Whenever he sees her face, something within him still softens. The sound of her name still gentles his eyes. And his wife—she noticed this too.