DISCLAIMER: I was always rooting for Devdas and Chandramukhi...

She was crying. She did not even realize that until she felt his fingers gently wiping the tears away from her face. Lying on her back, her eyes were closed, as she was too affraid it was all just in her mind again. But no! He really was here. His arms clasped around her waist, his scent making her dizzy, his lips resting for a blessed moment on the side of her neck, only the thin material of his shirt and her dress between them. Everything came to a standstill. Had anyone stepped into the room, he would be astonished by the beauty of that sight – the two lovers in a tight embrace, but neither of them moving. A wonderful statue by some great artist. Only the tears flowing from her closed eyes were giving away the truth – that they were both human.

Listening to the mad beating of her heart he wondered for the first time, how perfectly she fitted into his arms, how perfectly she melted into his embrace. Almost unwillingly his lips left her silken skin, when he decided he wanted to look at her. As in a silent understanding her eyes opened and met his. And even though he knew he was not the first to hold her and carress the fair body, that he was not the first one to admire the perfectly chisseled lips, he knew for certain nobody has ever seen her like this: torn between passion overcoming her senses and utter devotion demanding nothing in return. She was there and she was his. Hungry for his love, but too proud to beg. Spirited, but vulnerable. Once he used to look for the traces of Paro in her, and was only too irritated when he could not find them. Now he welcomed it. Paro was his childhood. His past and his first love. His first desire and his identity. With Chandramukhi he was not Devdas Mukherjee. She made him a new person. She gave him new life. Once he realized that, he knew he could not fulfil his promise to Paro. He was not longer hers. And he no longer needed his old identity. He found a new one. How typical of Chandramukhi, that she only started crying when her dreams were finally taking form! As strong as the Earth when she faced the world, she became a sobbing, vulnerable creature when he came back and without a word pressed her against himself. In that tight embrace they managed to make their way to her room, where both collapsed on the bed, too exhausted by the storm of feelings rushing through them.

How long did they stay like that? Neither of them cared. The magic of a standstill was still at work. Only when his hesitant fingers finally found their way under the expensive material of her dupatta, when she brushed her lips over his ever so slightly, the moment died and another one was born. Hungrily he was taking everything she was offering. Somehow stunned she was only able to hold him close as his roaming hands and lips were discovering and celebrating the glory of her form, her smooth neckline and perfect shoulders. She was defensless when he for a moment lingered on her lips again, wrapping a strand of her long, dark, jasmine scented tresses around his wrist so he could admire how soft it felt. She was responding with all her love, her hands also busy discovering his body. She almost laughed at herself for a second, because despite being much more experienced then him, she felt somehow amateurish. But then the sweet pressure of his body upon hers made her loose senses again.

And then they were one, in the middle of a moonlit night. There was no other image but hers and hers only, when he finaly made Chandramukhi his. His very own. Lying in his arms moments later she was crying again with happiness. Because she knew without words, that he belonged to her. Completely and forever.