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Word Count : 5228

Audio Theme :

Teri Fariyaad | Tum Bin II |

Or

Ek Dil Ek Jaan | Padmaavat |

Target : 120

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57 | An Awakening & The Prayer

"Calm down." She repeated, with a regained sense of confidence. "Calm down."

He shivered uncontrollably, rocking himself to comfort.

Hinduja unwound his arms from around his limbs with great difficulty. "Get up! Get up! Get up!" Then she quickly unclasped the bulletproof vest from around her torso and placed it on the floor along with the pistol, her phone, and the revolver.

Locking her right arm around his torso, she tried to help him up on his feet. "His head." He mumbled. "I can see it."

Turning his head away from that sight, she said, "Don't look there." She licked her lips. "Look at me."

And he did.

"Get up." Subconsciously, a sob escaped her lips. "Breathe. Please breathe. Breathe after me."

Mahadevan slowly got up from the floor, his eyes on her as she firmed her grip around his waist.

"Breathe after me." She took a deep breath in. "One."

He mirrored her action.

"Two." She breathed in again. He did too.

Gently, helping him towards the closet, she unbolted the door and got inside.

Then, making him sit on the diwan, she promptly opened the bathroom door and rushed back to his side.

"Please live." The tear streaks on his cheeks welcomed another set of their friends. "Don't die."

"I am alive." She whispered, caressing his face, while helping him to stand again. "Nothing has happened to me."

Walking in the direction of the bathroom, she helped him to enter inside.

In no time, she made him step inside the bathtub and sit in it. She then turned on the cold water faucet while setting off the showerhead above the bathtub, programming it at a lower temperature.

Ice-cold water graced his face and other parts of the body in a trice.

"Sit here." She wiped off her tears, pressing her lips against his forehead. "Breathe. I am coming in a minute." Saying so, she turned around.

Instead, she found herself stopping in her tracks due to a set of thick and long fingers holding her wrist in a gentle hold. "Don't go."

Turning around, she squatted down on the bathroom floor beside the bathtub. "I need to help you, and for that I need to go out of here for a minute. I swear."

"For the longest time, I didn't have it in me to look at his face." He replied instead, still in a trance, staring at the bathroom wall ahead. "Until I held him in my arms."

Hinduja gulped, scrunching her brows together, gazing at his earthy eyes. "Who?"

"Anirudh."

A short and breathy whisper fell on her ears as she felt her herself feeling numb again.

Mahadevan's facial expressions morphed to show his revulsion as he reposed back in the bathtub while still holding her hand. The cold water did seem to help a bit because the palpitations seemed to lessen down up to some degree. He was not shivering and sweating as vehemently as before.

"She touched me here." He placed his palm on his chest as another set of tears flushed down the corners of his eyes. "And here." He lifted his palms and placed them on his lips. "And here." Next, he placed his hand on his waist. "Everywhere."

The moment Hinduja saw him extending his hand towards his crotch, she felt herself sitting down on the floor with a thud, shutting her eyes close, and turning her head around as a fresh set of tears greeted her red cheeks as well.

"I was not in a state where I could move." He whispered. "But I could feel everything."

She sniffled, numb.

Despite the amount of sorrow that was weighing down on her shoulders, the number of questions that weighed down on her head, her mind didn't bestow any mercy on her at all.

"Shiv-Shivalika?" She fumbled out.

Suddenly, he started shuddering even more intensely. Hinduja's eyes widened. "No. No. No. Calm down."

"You thought that too, right?" He gulped, staring at her now. "I also thought that it was her." Inching his face closer to hers, he breathed out. "But it wasn't her."

The to-and-fro rocking movements of his body that seemed to have ceased for a few minutes came back in full force.

"Calm down." She cried out. "Please calm down. I am right here. No one is going to harm you. I am right here." She shifted closer, tilting her forehead against his.

When the to-and-fro motion didn't seem to stop even for a second, she was not left with any option other than leaving him in the bathroom and rushing directly to the kitchen downstairs despite his cries. Thankfully, no one was really around.

Collecting a slice of lemon, a small jar of salt, and a packet of chocolate from the fridge, she dashed directly towards the first floor. Running across the corridor, she finally landed in front of their bedroom and hurried inside, eventually crossing the closet to enter the bathroom.

And the sight that greeted her eyes reminded her of what real and pure fear felt like-the kind of fear that clutches your heart and squeezes it to death, the kind of fear that makes you bow in front of the supreme power and beg.

Hinduja Rao was a mortal after all, and despite all her claims, she had feared nothing more in her life than the sight that was in front of her in the bathroom.

Completely submerged in an overflowing bathtub full of cold water, her husband was lying in the bathtub with his eyes shut close, his black curls floating in the water.

"Dev!" A desperate scream escaped her lips as she zoomed towards the bathtub.

Keeping the salt and chocolate on the floor, she placed the lemon on the salt jar and then directly stepped inside the bathtub.

Tightly holding his shoulders, she pulled his upper body and head out of the water. "Dev!"

The moment his head surfaced out of the transparent fluid, he coughed out water vigorously.

She wailed. "Breathe! Please breathe!"

The outlines of his chest made some intense contraction and relaxation movements against his water-soaked yet bloodied white shirt as he started panting.

Arching his head against her chest, she mumbled, "Calm down. Breathe. I am right here. You are not alone." She mouthed. "You will never be alone."

"You left me just now." He whispered. "And I felt her touch again." He wound his arms around her. "Don't leave me, please."

"No, I am not leaving. I am not leaving." She murmured nonstop. "See, I am right here."

Taking a deep breath in, she announced softly. "Now we are going to play a game." She stroked the wet black curls on his head, gently patting his head. "Okay?"

He nodded, still shivering and sweating a little.

Extending her arm out of the bathtub, she grabbed the piece of lemon. "Open your mouth, please."

He did as she said, leaning against her, completely inside the bathtub, their wet bodies intertwined together.

She squeezed the lemon directly on his tongue making sure that the seeds didn't fall as well. As the drops of lemon juice landed on his tongue, she felt his body spasming as he closed his eyes, feeling the sour taste on his taste buds.

"How is it?" She encouraged him to answer.

He blinked his eyes twice. "Sour."

"Good." She smiled feebly, kissing his nose. "Just focus on that now-that sour taste. Don't think of anything else. Just focus on the taste."

Then she kept the lemon back on the packet of chocolate and fetched the jar of salt, opened it, and sprinkled a pinch of salt on his tongue.

He shut his eyes close again, feeling the extreme saltiness attack his taste buds.

"What do you feel?" She rubbed his back.

"So salty."

"Very good." She smiled again. Keeping the salt jar back at its initial locus, she picked up the chocolate this time. Tearing off the crimp, she broke a piece of chocolate and placed it on his tongue. "Feel it and chew."

He followed her instructions.

And instead of repelling this time, he portrayed a rather neutral expression. "Sweet."

She rubbed his back reassuringly. "Excellent." Detaching herself from him, she came in front of him, in his line of view. "Now tell me, what's the color of my kurta?"

His slightly agape eyes surveyed her torso, getting a little distracted by the torn sleeve on one side along with the traces of dust and soil that were besmirching the kurta hither and thither. "Blue." he replied.

She smiled. "Can you tell me what was the color of the saree I was wearing on the day we got married?"

In a fraction of a second, his lips curled up to form a pleasant crescent. "Maroon."

"Correct." She chuckled, inching her face closer to his. "Count after me."

He nodded, drawing her close.

Feathering her lips against his forehead, she mumbled, "One."

"One." He followed.

Then the wet skin on his right cheek met against the wet skin on her lips. "Two."

"Two." He breathed in slowly.

Drawing his face closer, she kissed his left cheek. "Three."

"Three."

Her lips made a soft touch down on his chin. "Four."

"Four." He gulped, feeling her breaths on his lips.

Finally, they landed on the tip of his nose. "Five"

"F-Five." He fumbled.

"Now, tell me, up till which number did we count?" She quizzed, wading a step back through the water inside the bathtub, the ends of her kurta floating in the transparent fluid.

He smiled. "Five."

Gone were the palpitations, along with the perspiration. His heart, meanwhile, was still galloping at the highest possible speed-due to her.

"What do you see around yourself now?" She urged him to speak, patting his chest.

He roamed his eyes around the whole place, eventually fixing his soft gaze on her. "You."

"And what do you hear?"

"Your voice." He responded, ever so softly.

"Do you want to sleep?" She asked, tipping her chin.

He nodded.

"Alright." She announced. "If I give you a pair of clothes and wait outside the closet, will you be able to change on your own?"

"Yes."

"Good." She smiled, winding her arm around his waist. "Now, come with me." Saying so, she helped him up on his feet inside the bathtub. Vaulting over the bathtub, she walked him out of the bathroom, water dribbling from their clothes onto the floor.

"The floor..." He trailed off.

She shook her head. "I will clean it later; don't worry."

Quickly fetching two towels from one of the drawers, she wiped off all the moisture from his hair and face using one of them while keeping the other one on the Diwan.

Then she sauntered to the other end of the closet to get him a pair of trousers, a polo tee, and a pair of his 'unmentionables.' That last one made her cheeks rubescent.

Rapidly collecting all the clothing items, she piled them up on the Diwan alongside the towel and turned to look at him, who in turn was staring at her with a weak smile. "I am waiting outside. Wipe off all the water and change your clothes." She instructed.

He nodded.

She promptly got out of the closet, jarring the door behind her, and waited outside.

Around ten minutes later, she knocked on the closet door. "Are you done?"

"Yes." A faint whisper greeted back her ears.

Unbolting the door, she sauntered inside and examined him from head to toe. "Okay." Passing a verdict, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and took him out of the closet.

Mahadevan looked on as his wife made him sit on the bed.

"Sit down here." She ordered. "I am coming in a minute."

Ten minutes later, she returned from the closet in a fresh pair of clothes, holding a hair dryer, while the wavy black strands of her mid-neck-length bob softly stroked the skin on her pinkish-wheatish neck.

Reaching near him, she plugged in the hair dryer into the socket behind the bed lamp, which was kept on top of the bedside cabinet. Setting it at medium speed and heat, she snaked her left arm around his neck, pressing his face softly against her stomach, and started to blow-dry his damp curls. His lips curved up against her softness as he looped his arms around her waist.

She gasped but managed to smile, fluffing up his hair.

The moment the last curly strand on his head dried up, she plugged out the hair dryer from the socket and separated herself from him, storing the hair dryer in the lowest drawer of the nightstand while crouching down on the floor next to the four-poster bed. "Now sleep."

He laid down on the bed, flat on his back, as she tucked him under the summer quilt, stroking his head. "Sleep," she cooed, getting up on her feet, ready to walk out of the bedroom.

He gripped her wrist instead. "Stay." He pleaded. "Please."

"I need to check on Anirudh." She replied helplessly.

"He will be safe. Don't worry." He assured her, in a desperate tone. "Just call Manoramaa, please."

Hinduja sighed, nodding her head. Strolling back to that corner of the wall against which he was leaning and rocking himself some time ago, she picked up her phone, the bulletproof vest, the pistol, her revolver, and the wig.

Mahadevan watched her as she closed the doors of the bedroom, placed her wig, the pistol, her revolver, and the bulletproof vest on the sofa, and placed a call to someone, most probably his assistant.

The phone rang thrice as Manoramaa answered her call on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"How is he?" Hinduja dived directly into the matter of concern.

Manoramaa laughed from the other end. "Farting and sleeping to his heart's content after watching the first half of Munna Bhai M.B.B.S. I did see Vijay Sir making him watch that movie once, so I played it on the TV."

Hinduja chuckled as her eyes teared up. "Did he cry a lot?"

"Oh no," Came a reply from the other side. "Just for a few minutes. Then Niranjan sir handed over a packet of cake to him from the pantry, and that's it; that was the end of the 'big fat tears' session."

"Oh." Hinduja smiled. "Thank you so much."

"Please don't." Manoramaa mumbled softly. "Anirudh is what I needed as a breath of fresh air after all the work today. I am not doing anything for him. That child is the one who is actually helping me out, in fact even Gurung and Karim Bhai."

A drop of tear trickled down the corner of her right eye. "Manu." She whispered. "Am I allowed to address you with that?"

Pin-drop silence greeted her back from the other end. Both the women quietly counted and absorbed in the faint breathing patterns of each other from their respective phones.

"Bhai used to call me Manu." Hinduja heard a weak voice from the speaker, so unlike the Manoramaa Pandit she knew. She gulped down the lump forming in her throat. "And after he went into his current condition, no one else ever did."

"I am sorry, I shouldn't-" Hinduja tried to apologize promptly but was cut off by the woman on the other end.

"You can call me Manu." Hinduja painfully bit her lower lip hearing her voice. "At least someone will, after him."

"Okay." She smiled.

"I will take care of him. Please don't worry at all. Good night."

"Good night, Manu." She whispered back, disconnecting the call.

"What happened?" She heard a deeply bass voice from behind. So, she turned around and sauntered back in his direction. Getting up on the mattress, she moved on to her side of the four-poster bed and unfurled the bed curtains and testers from the rectangular wooden railing above. The creamy-hued bed curtains dropped down on all four sides of the canopy bed as she rested back on the bed and looked at him.

"Can I come closer?" He asked, his earthy eyes fixated on her visage.

She nodded, her lips curving up frailly, as he dragged himself closer to her. "Your wound must have gotten wet, right?" He probed, in guilt. "I am so sorry for making you witness what you witnessed some time ago. It was not my intention."

"Shhh. . ." She placed her forefinger on her lips, tucking him in her embrace, in the crook of her neck. Caressing his head, she said. "I have a waterproof patch on my dressing, so no, my wound is not wet. Now, sleep."

"But. . ."

"Sleep, Dev." She cooed, patting the crown of his head softly. "Sleep."

His breaths intermingled with hers as he slowly drifted off to sleep in some time.

At around five-thirty a.m. in the morning, Hinduja sighed, gliding the black ink of her pen against the off-white folio of her journal.

For someone like me, who has not prayed even once to date

Dear God, I don't know if you are there or not there.

Regardless, in your house of devout men and women,

Here you go, from this instance, you will have another woman bowing her head.

For someone like me, for whom, not your faith, but the Bhagvat Gita birthed her sole system of belief

Dear God, I don't know if you are hearing my prayer or not,

Regardless, in your house of devotion and blessings,

Here you go, like always the weight of my actions shall rest upon my shoulders,

But from this instance, on you I leave all my pain, and therefore from it, all my relief.

You will see my bowed head, and hear me pray,

Not because, I am helpless, or I can't find my way,

You will see my bowed head, and hear me pray,

For I need to feel my heart and heartbeat safe,

For I need to see him and our child safe.

You will see my closed eyes shed tears before you, and hear me pray,

Not because, I am keeping my sword down, or leaving the battle and my shield astray,

You will see my closed eyes shed tears before you and hear me pray,

Because, beyond the bloodied ocean of the battle ground, I and him were birthed in,

We want to create a world of our own, where tears are rarely shed,

Where blood flows in the veins, and not in an ocean of hate entering its bay.

- Hina

Capping her pen, she shifted her attention from her journal to look at the father son duo reposing their heads on her lap. She chuckled, gently hitting the toddler on his diaper clap buttocks, whose somnolent form Manoramaa had dropped off in her arms around fifteen minutes back outside the bedroom. She had made it sure to cover up her whole head with a dupatta before meeting the woman.

Suddenly, her phone pinged as a notification popped up on her screen. She picked it up from the nightstand and switch it on to check the notification.

In an instant, her eyes gleamed as she read the contents of the notification. It was mail from Sister Beatrice George.

From : [email protected]

To : raohinduja@gmail.com

Subject : Replying To Your Mail.

Dear Ms. Rao,

I read your mail just now. And in reply to it, yes, we can definitely connect through a video call today itself at twelve in the afternoon if you don't have any objection. Attached below is my phone number which is also my WhatsApp number. Just forward me the Google Meet link on WhatsApp at 11:55 a.m. if you don't have any problem.

Phone/WhatsApp : XXXXX34971

Thanking You,

Yours' Sincerely,

Beatrice George.

The Administrator,

The Holy Children's Home,

Poovaranthode,

Kerala, XXX604

Dated : 18th May 2023

***

| 18th May 2023 |

| 0630 Hours |

| Morning |

Mahadevan glanced at his son dozing off on the bed, kissed him on his cheeks, and then traipsed his eyes around in each and every corner of their bedroom.

She was nowhere to be seen. His muscles tensed up, as he swallowed heavily while lifting the bed curtains and getting off the bed.

He felt an imaginary yet extremely heavy load all over his body, especially his chest as he slowly wended his way into the closet. The memories from last night were not exactly fresh in his mind, but they were still there, in large chunks. He had easily connected all the dots to complete the whole puzzle, and now the aftermath of it all along with body numbing guilt, were making his heart pound faster and louder than a freaking bullet.

How would he face her?

The moment he stepped inside the closet, he saw her adjusting the drape of her pale blue linen saree around her body.

Clearing his throat, he looked at her. She immediately turned around to smile at him, "You are awake?"

"Yes." He gulped again, reaching the Diwan. "I am sorry. I am so sorry."

She cut him off in between as her lips quivered. "No, I am sorry." She inched closer to him, taking hold of his wrists. "I am so sorry." She fumbled out, as she made him sit on the Diwan while softly dropping down in front of me on her knees, on the floor.

"Why are you apologizing?" He looked on in confusion, with his eyes agape.

A set of tears rolled down her cheeks, as she smiled feebly. "When did we get married?" She paused, and sniffled. "What is the exact date on which we signed our marriage papers?"

Mahadevan stared at his wife kneeling down in front of him, while holding his hands on his lap.

He was the one who was supposed to apologize, Isn't it?

Then why was she apologizing? Moreover why was she crying?

"Saturday," He answered, nevertheless. "November 12, 2022."

"And what is the date today?" She asked, wiping the warm dampness off her cheeks.

"Thursday," He replied. "May 18, 2023."

She smiled, nodding her head. "You are quite good in mathematics. Can you please subtract both these days and tell me the exact number of months or days?"

Unwittingly, Mahadevan felt his eyebrows getting knitted together. "Yes." He paused, doing the calculation in his mind. "187 days or 6 months, 6 days to be precise."

"Exactly," She traced her fingers across his palm. "6 months and 6 days, that's how long we have been married to each other for. So, I am sorry." She shivered, "I am really sorry for being your wife for six months straight yet being unaware of the fact that you have PTSD."

Mahadevan shook his head, his own eyes tearing up. "No, please, it's not your fault-"

"Let me speak." She trailed, frailly.

His lips quivered as he nodded his head, "Alright."

She continued, unable to stop the trembling of her lips and hands that were holding on to his fingers. "I am so sorry for being someone's wife for more than half a year, yet not knowing that my legally wedded husband has PTSD." She paused. "You remember, that one night, on which I told you that marriages are never 100-100 from both sides? And that, sometimes, one partner may be at 70 or higher while the other partner might be lurking behind at 30 or lower?"

"Yes." He murmured.

She chuckled. "Turns out, all along, I was the hypocrite one among us both, even though, those words were said by me." She sniffled, staring into his russet globes. "Because, you always maintained yourself somewhere between your 90 to 100 while I could barely cross even my 10." She sobbed.

"Don't you dare say that!" He warned her, a little enraged.

"Please let me speak." She pleaded. "Please."

He sighed, while his lips still continued to wobble.

"That night, I just had to place one call to you, and you rushed to pick me up with a bowl of fruits, a bottle of juice and a shawl." She explained. "And then I thought back about my own actions before all that happened last night. You were still out for work at midnight and I didn't even call you to ask about dinner or even your wellbeing for that matter." Clasping his hands firmly in her own, she said. "Every time, it has always been you who texts or calls me to ask about my meals. I on the other hand never do. Somehow you always make the difference but I never do."

Tears finally rolled down his cheeks, as he tilted his forehead against hers. She gulped. "In all these years, I have always focused on only one thing-revenge. And somehow, the narrative of our marriage also transformed into everything about me; my revenge, my pain, my needs, my suffering. And I don't know how much you know or don't know about everything that is going on currently or things that have already transpired in the past because despite all of that, you continued to take it all, barely uttering a word. I was so blinded by my vengeance that I forgot that there are other people around me too, who have probably suffered much more than I have ever did, including the man I am married to; my husband."

"I was always one of your top priorities." She trailed.

Mahadevan felt a sudden urge to correct her, wanting to replace the word 'top' with 'first', yet he chose to keep quiet.

"Yet I always took you for granted subconsciously." She completed her statement. "And I am sorry for that."

"You saw me in that state yesterday night, all crying and everything. I swear, I am all okay. It just-" He tried to butt in between.

"So what if you cried?" She interjected. "Let me make it very clear, the man who was withering down into pieces in front of me yesterday night, was not the Dogra Patriarch-Mahadevan Dogra. He was not the man, whom I address as Dogra Sahib." She paused, creating a skirmish between the indomitable night sky and the formidable Earth. "He was my husband Dev." She took a sharp breath in.

His giant frame felt as it was being sheathed in a cocoon of warmth and courage all at the same time in front of the petite woman.

"Because, the Dogra Patriarch-Mahadevan Dogra- is formidable. He is powerful. He is in control. He is undefeatable." She smiled, softly. "My Dev is not. Because my Dev is human. He is normal like any other person around him. He smiles. He laughs. He jokes. Most importantly, he lives, and doesn't merely exists." They both blinked, causing their eyelashes to flutter against each other. "The Dogra Patriarch is not supposed to cry but my Dev is. Because he is human. He is real."

"And who said men are not supposed to cry?" She raised her voice by a decibel. "The so called society? Those people who were not even standing with you when you were suffering?" She exhaled. "Men and women can cry yet lend their shoulders for each other to cry at the same time." She dictated. "Men and women can be strong, yet have their own dwindling moments of feeling helpless and weak at the same time. Men and women can lose yet uplift each other to win at the same time. Men and women can get injured yet bandage each other's wounds at the same time."

"And, you, my dear," She announced, "are not constricted to adhere to the rules of the society. No one is. You are free. You can cry. You can feel weak. You can fall. You can hurt yourself yet start all over again. I am right beside you." She tipped her chin. "You have my word."

He smiled. "I made you promise that the next time you cry, you will only cry on the day of your victory. Instead, I forced you to break that promise last night itself, didn't I? I am sorry."

She chuckled. "Who said I didn't keep my promise?" She kissed him on his forehead. "I triggered you into an episode of PTSD." She saw him trying to object to her words, so she raised her palm instead, signaling him to stop. "There is no point in neglecting or denying the fact that some of my actions did trigger you. And that's my loss, both as a wife and a psychologist. But in whose presence did you get that attack?" She quirked up her brow. "Mine. And we countered it pretty effectively. So, not knowing that you had PTSD and triggering you was my loss, but countering the attack and defeating it together, was our combined victory. Isn't it?" She grinned. "So, I did cry on the day of our victory, isn't?"

He flicked her forehead softly. "Cunning fox."

"Oh! That I am." She adjoined, grinning ear to ear.

"By the way, you are wearing blue again?" He traced the borders of her pale blue saree. "You were wearing a blue kurta, yesterday too, right?"

"Yeah." She replied. "Color therapy. Light colors are good for the mental health of people with PTSD" She added. "Especially blue."

His cheeks warmed up "You wore this for me?"

"For you, I will wear it to infinity."

He sighed, peacefully while dropping down his gaze. "You won't ask me a word about whatever I told you yesterday?"

She traced her slender finger across his knuckles. "I was not there with you when all that happened. I didn't help you out, when you needed help. I haven't faced all those things that you have faced. So, I won't ask you anything, unless and until you speak about those things to me on your own." She paused, meeting his eyes. "Old wounds, when scraped, may not pain like fresh ones but still pain nevertheless. Now it's upon you. You decide, when do you want to scrape your wounds? And when do you want to let that pain out?" She smiled. "Because, I am always here."

"Thank you." He swallowed, the load he was feeling all over his body and chest slowly dissipating into thin air.

"Alright," She said. "Freshen up. I will wake up Anirudh until then."

He nodded, getting up from the Diwan, while helping her up from the floor.

Turning around, she slowly wended her way towards the closet door, when he asked, "Nothing has or nothing will change between us after yesterday night, right?'

She stopped on her tracks, and turned her head around. "Rest assured. Nothing has really changed or nothing will change between us after what happened yesterday night. But I might or might not have bowed my head in front of someone for you." She paused, looking into his eyes. "Someone in front of whom I would have never bowed my head otherwise."

He felt his breath getting stuck inside his throat, as desperation clouded his earthy irises. "Does that make me special?" He awaited her answer with baited breathes.

"No." She smiled. "That makes you precious." She added softly.

And she turned around, reaching out for the door knob. "Something that you have always been." He heard a faint whisper from the direction of the door.

Had it not been the floor beneath his feet, the man would have surely landed directly on his butt cheeks. He gulped heavily as his warm and flushed self landed back on the Diwan, while he fist bumped in the air. "Yes!"

I don't know how much of a believer I am, but I am aware that if you pray once, it's a prayer, and if you pray every day, it's devotion.

Because, it's in my prayers that I got her, but it's in my devotion that she prayed back for me.

- Him

***