Siya woke with a start, her eyes fluttering open to unfamiliar surroundings. A dull ache spread across her temples as her gaze swept the room, struggling to make sense of the chaos in her mind. The bedroom was small, simple—a far cry from the sleek, modern apartment she was used to. The bed beneath her was large, dressed in plain linens, and a wooden dresser stood against one wall, next to a bedside table holding an oil lamp. She spotted three doors: one leading to a closet, another to a second bedroom, and the last to a bathroom.

Confusion gnawed at her, making her feel like a stranger in her own skin. She raised her hands to her face, and her heart froze.

These hands…

They weren’t hers.

Her fingers were thinner, paler than she remembered. Trembling, Siya scrambled out of bed and rushed to a nearby mirror. What she saw in the reflection wasn’t her. It was someone else—someone completely foreign.

Her mind spun in panic, and suddenly, a searing headache struck, forcing her to clutch her head in pain. Images flooded her mind—memories that weren’t her own, but felt real nonetheless. She remembered the moment she received her award for excellence in the medical field, the pride on her parents' faces, and the drive home afterward. But then… the accident. The crash. The shattering of glass.

"I died…" she whispered, her voice catching in her throat. "But how…?"

As the pain subsided, clarity began to settle. Slowly, she pieced together what had happened. Her soul—her very essence—had been transported into another body. The body of a 20-year-old woman named Aria Sharma.

Siya's breath caught in her throat again as another realization hit her. This wasn’t just a random body. Aria was married. And the year was 1997.

She took a few steps back, her legs weak, as more of Aria’s memories flooded in. Unlike Siya, Aria was… difficult. Temperamental, always looking for a reason to pick a fight, especially with her husband. Aria had been raised in the city, where life was full of comforts, but now she lived in a remote area, 300 miles away from the bustling streets. And her relationship with her husband, Ayan, was far from perfect. They fought constantly. Aria resented him, rarely missing an opportunity to taunt or make his life harder.

In fact, Aria hadn’t even shared a bed with him in months.

Siya shivered as a cold draft swept through the room. She pulled the thin blanket tighter around herself and turned to examine the space again. There were two rooms—one for Aria, and one for Ayan. His room, much like hers, was humble and decorated in a simple, modest style. Nothing here spoke of wealth or luxury.

Siya’s stomach churned. She had no idea how to live this life, how to navigate this era with its limited conveniences. As she moved toward the stove to start a fire, she paused, staring helplessly at the unfamiliar contraption. She had no idea how to use it. Growing up in a wealthy family and living in the modern world had shielded her from such basic tasks.

Now, thrust into a life of simplicity and isolation, Siya realized that surviving here was going to be more difficult than she had ever imagined.

Siya’s breath came in shallow bursts as the reality of her situation began to settle in. This was her life now, or rather, Aria's life—a life filled with frustrations, distant relationships, and an unfamiliar world. Everything about this existence was wrong, yet it felt unnervingly real.

As her eyes scanned the room once again, searching for something that might ground her, she heard a faint creak behind her. The door opened slowly, and there, standing in the threshold, was Ayan.

He looked younger than she expected—mid-twenties, with strong features, dark hair neatly combed, and eyes that seemed to hold both weariness and restraint. His presence was solid, commanding, even though he stood quietly, observing her with an unreadable expression.

“Aria?” he called, his voice even, calm. "You’re awake."

Siya swallowed hard, uncertain how to respond. Aria. That was who he saw, who he thought she was. To him, she wasn’t Siya, the skilled doctor with a sharp mind and a modern life. She was Aria, his difficult wife.

"Yes," she replied hesitantly, her voice quieter than she intended.

Ayan stepped closer, his gaze lingering on her as if searching for something. His expression remained neutral, but she could sense the weight of tension between them, thick and palpable.

“You should rest,” he said finally, his tone formal, almost distant. "It’s been a long few days. I’ll have Lara bring you something to eat."

Siya blinked, momentarily disoriented by the mention of another name. Lara? She fumbled through Aria’s memories, trying to recall the faces and names connected to this life.lara , it seemed, was a housekeeper or a servant, someone who helped around the house.

“Thank you,” Siya managed, feeling her heart race as she tried to appear calm.

Ayan’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned to leave the room. Just before he stepped out, he paused. “If you need anything, just ask. Don’t… push yourself too hard.”

With that, he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

---

Navigating the Unknown

Siya sat back on the bed, her mind whirling. It was strange—Ayan's demeanor wasn't unkind, but there was a coolness between them, a formality that hinted at how far apart Aria and Ayan had drifted. For all of Aria’s tempers and complaints, Ayan had remained calm, composed, as if their disagreements no longer affected him. But the underlying distance in his words made Siya feel uneasy.

How had things gotten so bad between them?

She wandered through the house, taking in its simplicity. It was humble, furnished with only the essentials, nothing extravagant. Aria had been used to wealth, to the bustling energy of the city, but here, it was quiet. The silence was heavy, broken only by the distant sounds of the wind outside and the occasional clatter of Nalini’s work in the kitchen.

When Siya approached the window, the vast expanse of the remote countryside stretched out before her. Mountains loomed in the distance, and the forest surrounding the house seemed endless. It was beautiful, in a way, but also isolating. There was no city bustle here, no noise of cars or chatter of people.

She felt suffocated by the stillness.

---

Siya’s Inner Conflict

Later that evening, Siya sat alone in her room, staring blankly at the small fire Nalini had lit in the stove. The warmth helped push back the chill that clung to the old house, but it couldn’t chase away the unease that had settled deep in her chest.

How was she supposed to live this life?

She wasn’t Aria. She didn’t belong in 1997, with its unfamiliar rules, social norms, and technology. And she certainly didn’t belong in this marriage. Siya could feel Aria’s lingering resentment toward Ayan in the memories that still haunted her mind—their arguments, the bitter silence, the cold bed. But it wasn’t just about the marriage. Aria had never wanted to be here in the first place. She had despised leaving the city, leaving the life she had known.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Siya looked up to see Nalini entering the room with a tray of food. The woman was older, with graying hair pulled back into a loose bun and a face worn from years of hard work. She placed the tray on the small table by the bed, her movements efficient but gentle.

“Madam, I’ve brought your dinner,” Lara said quietly, casting a quick glance at Siya as if assessing her condition.

Siya smiled weakly, though her stomach churned at the thought of food. “Thank you, Lara,” she replied, though the words felt strange coming from her mouth.

Lara hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. "You’ve been unwell for a while, madam. Take care of yourself. Sir has been worried."

Siya froze at that last sentence. Ayan had been… worried?

---

Siya’s Growing Dilemma

Siya couldn’t shake the unease in her heart. If Ayan had been concerned, why had Aria been so distant? Was it truly that bad between them, or had something changed recently to make things worse?

She would need to navigate this delicate situation carefully. Aria had left a mess, and now Siya was left to pick up the pieces, but there was more to this than just the friction in their marriage. Siya could feel it—the subtle threads of something hidden beneath the surface, something deeper that she had yet to uncover.

But one thing was certain. If she were to survive this life, to avoid the resentment Aria had built, she would have to find a way to forge her own path. Not just as Aria, but as Siya—a woman out of her time, with skills and knowledge that could help her take control of this life.

Perhaps it was time to stop fighting the past and start finding a way to live in it.

As Siya lay back on the bed that night, the fire in the stove dimming, she closed her eyes and let herself drift into the depths of her mind, searching for the elusive memories of Aria’s life. It was a strange sensation—digging through thoughts that didn’t belong to her, emotions she didn’t truly feel. But they were there, lingering just below the surface, waiting to be discovered.

Aria's memories were scattered, like puzzle pieces, each one offering glimpses into her life. The deeper Siya delved, the more vivid they became, slowly forming a clearer picture.

---

Three months earlier…

Aria stood at the edge of a large, bustling city street. She was dressed in a stylish outfit, her face set in an expression of frustration as she spoke harshly into the phone.

"I’m not moving there, Papa," Aria snapped, her voice rising in anger. "I don’t care what you or anyone says! I’m not going to live in some remote wilderness, miles away from civilization. This isn’t the life I wanted!"

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Aria’s face flushed with frustration. After a few moments, her father’s stern voice crackled through the speaker, calm yet unyielding.

"This marriage is not about what you want, Aria. It’s about our family’s reputation, about what’s best for you. Ayan is a good man, and his position as head of security is one of honor. He will provide for you, protect you. You should be grateful."

Aria’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her jaw tightening. She hated being told what to do, especially by her father. This wasn’t the life she had envisioned for herself—a life of luxury, freedom, and choices. But now, her family had made the decision for her, tying her to a man she barely knew.

---

The wedding day…

Ayan stood beside her, dressed in a formal military uniform, his posture rigid, face composed. His eyes had briefly met hers when the ceremony began, but there was no warmth there. Just duty.

Aria’s heart had been heavy with resentment that day. As the vows were spoken and the rituals completed, she couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense of being trapped. A gilded cage, she thought bitterly, casting a sideways glance at her new husband.

Ayan had remained distant throughout, polite but detached, his focus on the formality of the day rather than on her. He didn’t try to connect with her, didn’t offer any attempt at comfort. Perhaps, she thought, he felt just as trapped as she did.

---

The first month of marriage…

Life in the remote, mountainous region was even worse than Aria had imagined. The air was cold and biting, the house simple and isolated. There were no city lights, no lively streets, no sounds of life buzzing around her. Instead, there was only silence and the quiet hum of nature outside.

Ayan spent most of his time away from home, busy with his duties as head of security. He rarely spoke to Aria, and when he did, their conversations were brief, stilted, and full of tension. They didn’t sleep in the same room. In fact, they barely saw each other.

The few times they did interact, the arguments quickly followed. Aria’s frustration would boil over, and she’d lash out at him, accusing him of dragging her into this miserable existence. Ayan would remain calm, never raising his voice, but his silence only made her angrier.

"I didn’t ask for this life!" Aria had yelled one night, her voice trembling with rage. "I didn’t want to be stuck here with you, in this place!"

Ayan had stood in the doorway of his room, his eyes cold, his voice measured. "You think I wanted this either?"

Those words had stung Aria more than she cared to admit. She hadn’t expected him to say that. She had always assumed that he was perfectly content with their arrangement, that his sense of duty overpowered any personal feelings. But that brief glimpse of vulnerability in his words—however small—unsettled her.

---

Returning to the present…

Siya’s eyes snapped open, her heart pounding in her chest. The memories felt so real, as if she had been living through them herself. Aria had been trapped, her bitterness growing with each passing day, and it had poisoned everything—her relationship with Ayan, her view of her life, and even her connection with the people around her.

Siya could understand, to some extent, why Aria had felt the way she did. She had been forced into a life she didn’t want, with a man she didn’t love. But there was something more to Ayan’s quiet, distant demeanor. Aria had never taken the time to truly understand him, to see beyond his stoic exterior. Maybe there was more to his silence than she had realized.

But now, that was Siya’s problem to deal with. Aria was gone, and Siya was left to navigate the remnants of a broken marriage.

---

Confronting the Past

The next morning, Siya woke with a renewed sense of determination. She wasn’t Aria, and she wouldn’t allow herself to fall into the same trap of anger and resentment. If she was going to survive here, she had to do things differently.

Her first step was to try and connect with Ayan—not as Aria, but as herself. She needed to understand him, to find out if there was still a way to repair the damage Aria had done. If she was going to be stuck in this life, she at least wanted to make it bearable. And if Ayan truly didn’t want this marriage either, then perhaps there was still hope for them to find a way forward.

But there was one thing Siya knew for certain: she couldn’t continue living in the shadow of Aria’s past. If she was going to build a new life here, she needed to forge her own path, with her own choices.

And that meant starting with Ayan.

Let’s explore Siya’s growing attempts to understand Ayan, and how her perceptions of him shift as she observes his actions and tries to break through the emotional barriers between them. This will mark the beginning of a more complex dynamic between them, as Siya starts to unravel the layers of Ayan’s character that Aria had never noticed.

---

Bridging the Distance

Siya spent the next few days cautiously navigating her new life, trying to find some sense of normalcy amidst the whirlwind of unfamiliar memories and emotions. But one thing was clear—Ayan was a mystery to her. His silence, his calm demeanor, the way he never raised his voice or lost control during their brief interactions—it all intrigued her in ways she hadn’t expected.

Aria had seen Ayan as cold, distant, and uninterested, but Siya wasn’t so sure. There was something in his eyes, something hidden behind the rigid facade he maintained. Was it possible that Aria had never truly tried to understand him? Maybe Ayan wasn’t as indifferent as Aria had assumed.

---

First Observations

One evening, Siya found herself in the small sitting room, absently stirring a cup of tea. Ayan was seated at the table, reviewing some papers—a stack of correspondence related to his work as head of security. His posture was as formal as ever, his expression focused, but there was an underlying tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

Siya had noticed that Ayan was rarely home, often returning late from his duties, tired but composed. He was a man who held his responsibilities above all else, yet something in the quiet of their home told her that he carried more burdens than just the demands of his job.

"You work late often," Siya said, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, non-confrontational—she didn’t want to seem accusatory, just curious. "It must be exhausting."

Ayan glanced up at her, surprised by the change in her tone. Aria had rarely spoken to him without anger or frustration, so this small attempt at conversation seemed to catch him off guard.

"It comes with the job," Ayan replied simply, his voice even. "There’s always something that needs attending to."

Siya nodded, sensing that he wasn’t used to talking about himself, especially not with his wife. She decided to take a different approach, steering the conversation toward something less personal. "The house is quiet when you’re away. It must feel different for you, living here compared to the city."

Ayan paused, as if weighing his response. "It’s… different, yes," he said, his tone careful. "But it’s quieter. Less distraction."

Siya detected a hint of something in his voice, perhaps relief or resignation—she couldn’t quite tell. She wondered if he preferred the quiet isolation of this place, or if, like Aria, he missed the liveliness of the city. But one thing was clear: Ayan wasn’t completely immune to the distance between them. He just chose not to show it.

---

A Change in Siya’s Approach

As days passed, Siya made more subtle efforts to engage with Ayan, watching him closely, trying to understand the man behind the uniform. She began to see small details—how he would leave the house at the crack of dawn, often without breakfast, or how his eyes would flicker with fatigue by the time he returned in the evening. He never complained, never showed any sign of frustration, but it was clear that his work took a toll on him.

One night, Siya waited for him at the dinner table, determined to speak with him again. When Ayan walked in, his expression briefly flickered with surprise at the sight of her waiting there. Aria had never made the effort to sit down and share a meal with him, and Siya could tell that her presence unsettled him.

"Is everything alright?" Ayan asked cautiously as he took his seat.

Siya offered a small smile. "I thought we could have dinner together. It’s been a while."

Ayan didn’t respond immediately, but there was a flicker of something—perhaps suspicion or uncertainty—in his gaze. "Alright," he said quietly, and for the first time, they sat across from each other in silence, the only sound the clinking of cutlery against plates.

Siya tried to make small talk, asking him about his day, about his work, and while his responses were brief, she could sense the walls between them beginning to crack—just a little. Ayan was still guarded, but he was responding to her, however subtly.

---

The First Glimpse of Vulnerability

One evening, after another long day of attempting to adjust to this life, Siya noticed Ayan returning home unusually late. He walked in, his shoulders tense, and there was something different about his expression—he looked weary, more than just physically tired. His usual composure was frayed, and for the first time, Siya saw a glimpse of the weight he carried on his own.

Without thinking, she stood up as he entered the room. "You’re home late again," she said softly, watching him closely.

Ayan glanced at her, his eyes tired but still holding that same guarded look. "There were… complications with the patrols today," he replied, loosening the buttons of his uniform. "Nothing to worry about."

But Siya could sense there was more to it. She hesitated before stepping closer, her voice gentle. "You don’t have to carry everything on your own, Ayan. You can talk to me… if you want."

For a moment, Ayan looked as if he might respond—his lips parted, and his eyes met hers with a flicker of something raw. But just as quickly as the vulnerability appeared, it vanished, replaced by his usual stoic expression. He shook his head, taking a step back. "It’s fine," he said firmly. "I’m fine."

Siya’s heart sank as she watched him retreat back into his emotional armor, but she didn’t push further. She knew that earning his trust wouldn’t happen overnight. Ayan was a man used to handling everything on his own, and the idea of relying on someone—especially someone like Aria, who had never offered him support—was foreign to him.

---

A Growing Understanding

Over the next few weeks, Siya became more attuned to the small moments between them—the way Ayan’s eyes would soften slightly when he thought she wasn’t looking, or how his responses to her attempts at conversation became less clipped, more natural. He still kept his distance emotionally, but Siya could sense that he was slowly lowering his defenses, even if just a little.

One evening, after dinner, Siya found herself alone with Ayan in the sitting room once more. The silence between them felt different now—less heavy, more comfortable. She glanced at him, noting how he stared into the fire, lost in thought.

"Ayan," she said softly, breaking the silence. "I know… things haven’t been easy between us. But I want to try. I want to understand you better."

Ayan looked at her, his eyes searching her face for a long moment. For a brief second, Siya thought he might dismiss her again, might retreat behind the wall he had built around himself. But instead, he sighed—a soft, tired sound—and leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering to the flames.

"It’s not that simple," he said quietly, his voice low. "You think you can just… understand, but it’s not that easy."

Siya’s heart ached at the resignation in his tone. "I know it’s not easy. But we can try. You don’t have to go through everything alone."

Ayan didn’t respond immediately, but Siya could see the conflict in his eyes—the battle between the part of him that wanted to stay closed off and the part of him that longed for connection. He stared into the fire for a long time, and finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Aria… you never wanted this life. I know that. But neither did I."

Siya woke up to the gentle sound of rain pattering against the window, the soft morning light filtering through the heavy curtains. The air was cool, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and pine, a reminder of just how far she was from the bustling city life she once knew. As she stretched and sat up in bed, she couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of calm, despite the unfamiliarity of everything around her.

The house itself seemed to breathe with a quiet, humble simplicity. The wooden floors creaked under her feet as she made her way into the small kitchen, where a cast-iron stove stood, cold and unused. Siya had never lived in a place like this—remote, almost isolated from the rest of the world. Yet, over the past few weeks, she had begun to appreciate the solitude, the stillness that allowed her to think, to reflect.

The kitchen window overlooked the sprawling landscape outside—the rolling hills, the distant mountains cloaked in mist. It was beautiful in its own way, she thought, but it still felt so far from the life she had known. And in this stillness, Siya realized something: this place was hers now, and if she was going to survive here, she needed to find a way to belong, to carve out a role for herself in this small, quiet world.

As the days went by, Siya began to take on small responsibilities around the house. At first, it was simple tasks—learning to light the stove, cooking basic meals, sweeping the floors, tending to the small vegetable garden outside. These were things Aria had never bothered with, things that had been beneath her in her previous life. But for Siya, they became a way of grounding herself, of finding purpose in the midst of the confusion and uncertainty.

Each day brought its own challenges. There were moments of frustration—times when she burned the food or couldn’t get the fire to start, moments when she felt utterly useless in this new life. But slowly, she began to learn. The small victories—a perfectly cooked meal, a warm fire—gave her a sense of accomplishment, a feeling that she was capable of handling this life, however different it might be from the one she had left behind.

The villagers, too, began to notice the change. Word spread quickly that Aria—the woman who had once been known for her sharp tongue and cold demeanor—was different now. Siya’s medical skills, though limited in this time, became a valuable asset to the community. She began treating small injuries, offering remedies for common ailments, and slowly, the people began to trust her.

One evening, as she was bandaging a young boy’s scraped knee, she felt a strange warmth in her chest. This was something she could offer, something that made her feel useful, connected. For the first time since she had arrived in this world, Siya felt a sense of belonging.

Meanwhile, her relationship with Ayan continued to evolve, albeit slowly. The nights were still quiet, filled with the sound of the wind outside and the distant calls of owls. They still slept in separate rooms, but the tension between them had lessened. The sharp edge of anger and resentment that had once defined their interactions was softening, replaced by something else—something more tentative and uncertain.

One evening, Siya found herself sitting in the small sitting room again, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. Ayan had returned late, as usual, his uniform dusted with dirt and his expression weary. But instead of retreating to his room as he often did, he paused in the doorway, his eyes flickering toward her before he sat down in the chair opposite.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the rhythmic crackle of the fire. Siya could feel the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air, the tension between them shifting, becoming something new.

"How was your day?" she asked finally, her voice soft but steady. It was a simple question, one she had asked him before, but this time it felt different. This time, she wasn’t just asking out of politeness—she genuinely wanted to know.

Ayan glanced at her, his eyes searching her face as if trying to understand her motives. "Long," he said after a moment, his voice low and tired. "The patrols are always long."

Siya nodded, offering him a small smile. "You must be tired. I made some tea—would you like some?"

For a moment, Ayan hesitated, as if weighing her offer. Then, to her surprise, he nodded. "Tea sounds good."

Siya stood up and poured him a cup, her hands steady as she handed it to him. Ayan accepted it with a quiet murmur of thanks, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest of moments. The touch was fleeting, but it left a strange warmth in its wake—a reminder that, despite everything, they were still connected in some small way.

As they sat in silence, sipping their tea, Siya couldn’t help but steal glances at him. There was something about the way he carried himself—the quiet strength, the unspoken burdens he bore—that intrigued her. He was a man of few words, but there was depth there, layers that Aria had never bothered to uncover.

It was a few nights later, during another quiet evening, that Ayan finally opened up—just a little. Siya had been reading by the fire when she heard the front door creak open, signaling Ayan’s return. He entered the room slowly, his face etched with exhaustion, and for the first time, he didn’t just sit down—he sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to come from the very depths of him.

Siya looked up, surprised by the rawness of the sound. "Ayan?" she asked, her voice gentle. "Are you alright?"

For a moment, Ayan didn’t respond. He stood by the door, his hand resting on the frame, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. Then, finally, he spoke—his voice low, almost a whisper.

"It’s hard, sometimes," he said, his words heavy with unspoken emotion. "The responsibility. The decisions. It’s… harder than I thought it would be."

Siya’s heart tightened at his words. This was the first time Ayan had shown any real vulnerability, the first time he had admitted that the burdens he carried weren’t just physical, but emotional as well. She stood up, taking a step toward him, unsure of what to say.

"You don’t have to do it all alone," she said softly, her eyes searching his. "You can share the weight. Even if it’s just… talking about it. I’m here, Ayan."

Ayan’s eyes flickered with something—surprise, maybe, or uncertainty. For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. Then, slowly, he nodded, his posture relaxing ever so slightly.

"I’ll try," he said quietly, his voice barely audible.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. A small crack in the armor he had built around himself, a tiny step toward something that resembled trust. And for Siya, it was enough for now.

As Siya and Ayan began to communicate more, the house itself seemed to change with them. The once cold and distant rooms felt warmer, more lived in. The fire burned brighter in the evenings, casting a soft glow across the wooden walls. The kitchen, once a place of tension, now carried the comforting scent of warm food and freshly brewed tea.

Outside, the seasons were beginning to shift as well. The air, once biting and cold, was now crisp with the promise of spring. The snow had started to melt, revealing patches of green beneath, and the sound of birds returning to the hills filled the air. It was as if the world around them was waking up, mirroring the slow, tentative changes in their relationship.

With Siya beginning to earn Ayan’s trust and carving out a role for herself in this new world, the following steps will further explore their evolving dynamic:

Ayan Opening Up More: Ayan may begin to share more about his work, his struggles, and the personal sacrifices he’s made as a soldier. This will allow Siya to better understand the weight he carries and offer him emotional support in return.

Siya Becoming Integral to the Community: As Siya’s medical skills become more recognized, she will start to gain the respect of the villagers, slowly building relationships and finding her place within the community. This new role will also influence how Ayan sees her.

The Marriage Grows: The marriage, though still fragile, will start to show signs of growth. Ayan and Siya will continue to learn more about each other, slowly rebuilding trust and creating a foundation for a new kind of partnership—one based on mutual respect and understanding.