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It had been a long few weeks since he'd become Prime Minister, and though he had begun settling into the role, there were still moments when it felt surreal.

He wasn't supposed to be here. At least, not in the way he understood it.

The man he had once been was from another world, another time, and waking up in this body had thrown him into a life that didn't feel like his own.

But as the days passed, memories of this world's Rohan his life, his struggles, and his relationships began to fill his mind, making the reality of his new existence clearer, yet more complicated.

Rohan of this world had been born in 1915, into a time of great change in India.

His family had been moderately well-off, but deeply rooted in the independence movement.

Like many young men of his time, Rohan had been swept up in the fight for freedom.

He had participated in protests, gone to jail multiple times, and had even been injured in a brutal crackdown during the Quit India movement.

It was during these years of struggle that he met Pandit Neelkanth Rao, one of the leaders of the Democratic Congress Party.

Pandit Rao had seen something in Rohan, a fiery determination, a commitment to the cause that went beyond personal ambition.

He took Rohan under his wing, mentoring him not just in politics, but in the art of leadership.

By the time India gained independence in 1947, Rohan had become one of the most trusted members of Rao's inner circle.

While Pandit Rao became the first Prime Minister of India, Rohan rose through the ranks to become the Party Leader, a position of immense influence.

But Rohan's rise to prominence came with sacrifices.

His dedication to the nation meant long hours away from home, from his family.

He had married Anjali during the last years of British rule, and they had two children, Priya and Arjun.

But Rohan's role in the fight for independence, and later his work in politics, often kept him away from them.

His love for his family was real, but his connection to them had become distant, as the responsibilities of leadership consumed more and more of his time.

Pandit Rao's sudden death, however, changed everything.

With his mentor gone, the Democratic Congress Party needed a new leader, and it was Rohan they turned to.

It was during this time the soul of Rohan from modern time took over and everything begin.

Rohan sighed deeply as he leaned against the balcony railing, letting the cool air ground him.

He had spent those first few days after becoming Prime Minister completely focused on his new duties, avoiding going home.

The truth was, despite the memories that filled his mind, he still didn't feel like the husband or father this world believed him to be.

How could he?

In his heart, he still felt like a man from another time, another place.

But eventually, he had returned home, and when he did, everything changed.

That first evening back, he had walked into his house hesitantly, unsure of how to face his wife and children.

Anjali had greeted him at the door, her face lighting up when she saw him.

"Rohan," she said softly, her eyes filled with warmth. "You're home."

He had nodded, awkward at first, unsure of what to say. "Yeah... I figured it was time."

Anjali had sensed his discomfort, but she hadn't pushed him.

Instead, she had taken his hand and led him into the living room, where Priya and Arjun were playing.

Their laughter filled the room, and for the first time in weeks, Rohan felt a strange sense of calm.

It was as if being in that space, with his family around him, softened the edges of his confusion.

"Papa!" Arjun had shouted, running toward him with a toy in hand. "Look what I made!"

Priya, who was older and more reserved, had looked up from her book, a shy smile on her face. "Hi, Papa."

Rohan had crouched down to Arjun's level, taking the toy in his hands.

It was a simple drawing, something the boy had clearly spent a lot of time on.

"It's beautiful," Rohan had said, surprised at how natural the words felt.

That night, as they sat together at the dinner table, something shifted inside him.

The doubts he had carried, the feeling of not belonging in this life, began to fade.

He realized that, whatever his past had been, this was his life now.

Anjali, Priya, and Arjun they were his family, and he had been missing out on them for too long.

Rohan's thoughts were interrupted as the balcony door creaked open.

Anjali stepped outside, her soft footsteps barely audible as she joined him.

She slipped her hand into his, and the familiar warmth of her touch brought him back to the present.

"You've been out here for a while," she said quietly, her voice filled with gentle concern. "Thinking about something?"

Rohan smiled, though it was a little tired. "Just... reflecting," he replied. "About everything that's happened, and everything that's still ahead."

Anjali looked at him, her eyes searching his face. "It's been a lot," she acknowledged, leaning into him slightly. "But you're handling it."

"Am I?" Rohan asked, his voice betraying the uncertainty he still felt. "Some days, it feels like I'm barely keeping it together. The responsibilities, the decisions... the future of the entire country depends on what I do next."

Anjali turned to face him fully, her hand still holding his. "Rohan, you've always had the strength to lead. Even before you became Prime Minister, I knew you had something in you. You're not alone in this. You have a team, a family, and me. We'll get through this together."

He looked into her eyes, feeling the sincerity of her words.

She had always been Rohan greatest support, even in the early years of their marriage when the original Roham work had kept him away for long stretches of time.

She had never complained, never made him feel guilty for his dedication to the country, but she had always been there, waiting for him to come home.

"I don't say it enough," Rohan said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "But I'm grateful for you, Anjali. For your patience, for everything."

Anjali smiled, stepping closer to him and resting her head against his chest. "You don't have to say it," she whispered. "I know."

Rohan wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

He could feel her heart beating against his chest, steady and calming, and for the first time in a long while, he felt grounded.

The city outside, the politics, the pressures of leadership, they all faded into the background as he stood there with the woman who had been constant through all.

He kissed the top of her head, then gently tilted her chin up to meet his gaze.

Without a word, he leaned down and kissed her softly, the warmth of her lips reminding him of the life they had built together.

It wasn't a life he had expected, but it was one he had come to cherish.

When they pulled away, Anjali rested her forehead against his, her eyes closed, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with meaning.

"I love you too," Rohan replied, his voice steady and sure. "More than I've ever realized."

They stood there in the quiet, wrapped in each other's arms, the world outside fading for just a little while.