THE BREAKDOWN

The cold Himalayan air brushed across the training field. Dew shimmered faintly on the grass under the golden blush of dawn.
The laughter and music from last night's fest were long gone — replaced by the steady rhythm of boots and discipline.

All cadets stood in perfect formation — alert, silent, focused.
But somewhere beneath those serious faces, the memory of the previous night still lingered.

Sameer Sir stood in front, his expression calm but eyes sharper than usual. The air itself felt more serious today — everyone had already heard the news that the senior boy had been suspended, pending further inquiry by the academy authorities.

Without any extra words, Sameer's voice cut through the crisp air —
"Good morning, candidates."

The response came loud and unified,
"Good morning, sir!"

Sameer nodded once.
"Fine. Now, back to basics. Ten rounds of the ground for warm-up — full speed. After that, we move to weapon practice. No excuses, no delays."

A few candidates groaned quietly under their breath, but none dared to show it.

Roshni tightened her ponytail, fixing her gaze ahead. Her muscles ached slightly from last night's dance, but she didn't want to show weakness — not today, not in front of him.

Vihaan, already stretching, gave her a small thumbs-up from the next row. Ishita rolled her eyes at him but smiled faintly.

"Start!" Sameer's command snapped everyone into motion.

Dozens of feet hit the ground together, forming a rhythmic thunder around the field.
The morning mist swirled behind them as they ran their laps — determination mixed with fatigue.

Sameer watched silently, hands behind his back.
His eyes occasionally moved from group to group — precise, calculating. But when his gaze accidentally met Roshni's across the track, his chest tightened for a fraction of a second.

He looked away immediately. No distractions, Sameer. You can't afford that.

Roshni, too, caught that brief glance — her heart skipped, though she forced herself to keep running at pace.
Last night's confrontation replayed in her mind — his words, his anger, and that strange concern in his tone.

After ten rounds, Sameer's whistle blew sharply.
"All right. Stretching. Quick!"

Everyone followed his lead — arms up, knees bent, core tight. The field was filled with the sound of synchronized breathing.

After a few minutes, Sameer barked,
"Pair up! Today we begin weapon drills — rifles and batons. Maintain discipline and respect your partner. Remember — weapon is your responsibility, not your toy."

His eyes swept over them again — lingering just a moment longer on the empty spot where that suspended senior usually stood.

"Those who misuse the academy's trust..." his voice turned colder, "...will not find a place among those who serve this nation."

The cadets went silent. His tone carried a clear message — discipline wasn't just about physical training, it was about character.

Roshni felt her spine straighten subconsciously. She respected him more now — not just as a trainer, but as someone who stood up when needed.

Vihaan leaned toward Ishita and whispered, "Lagta hai sir ne sach mein sabak sikha diya unhe."
Ishita nodded softly. "Haan, aur lagta hai unke liye ab respect aur badh gayi hai... especially kisi ke dil mein."

Roshni heard that and threw her friend a quick glare — trying not to smile.

Sameer, meanwhile, blew his whistle again.
"Focus, candidates! I don't want a single mistake in today's drill. Let's see who among you actually deserves the uniform you're wearing."

And with that, the morning resumed — boots striking the ground, rifles clicking into place, and hearts steadying once more.

But beneath that rigid discipline, one truth had quietly taken root —
respect had turned into something deeper... and neither Sameer nor Roshni was ready to admit it yet. 

 he crisp mountain air smelled faintly of oil and metal — freshly cleaned rifles lay in perfect alignment on the wooden tables.

Candidates stood in formation, helmets on, safety goggles adjusted. Silence ruled the air — thick with focus and tension.

Sameer Sir strode forward, his boots crunching on the gravel. His voice, sharp and commanding, sliced through the quiet.
"Today's session — live firing practice. Each of you will fire five rounds."

His eyes swept over the line of trainees.
"You'll aim straight at the target — thirty meters ahead. Stand firm. Control your breath. Fire only when I command."

He gestured toward the gleaming weapons.
"Pick up your assigned gun. Safety off only on my order. Remember — a gun isn't power. It's responsibility. One mistake, and you're a danger to your team, not an asset."

"Understood, sir!" the cadets replied in unison, voices echoing off the nearby cliffs.

Sameer picked up his own rifle — every motion precise, effortless, like second nature. He turned toward the targets, his stance textbook-perfect — feet shoulder-width apart, one slightly forward. A slow breath. Focused eyes.

Then — Bang!
The first shot cracked the silence, echoing through the mountains. The bullet struck dead center.

Another shot. Then another. Bang! Bang! Bang!
Each bullet tore into nearly the same spot — a flawless cluster.

The trainees exchanged astonished looks. Even the wind seemed to pause.

"Yaar... sir to one-man army lagte hain," Vihaan whispered under his breath.
Ishita's lips curved in awe. "Precision level — insane."

Sameer lowered his gun, calm as ever. No pride, only authority.
"That's how you handle a weapon. Control. Focus. No panic, no emotion."

He turned sharply.
"Line one — step forward."

The first batch — Ishita, Vihaan, and Roshni — took their positions.

"Load your magazines. Safety off. Aim."
His voice was clipped, steady — every command syncing with their movements.

"Fire!"

The air cracked with synchronized gunfire — Bang! Bang! Bang!
Targets fluttered under the impact; the acrid smell of gunpowder mixed with cold air.

Sameer walked behind them, scanning each stance.
"Candidate Mishra — elbow higher."
"Candidate Sharma — one eye open, not both."

Then he reached Ishita. Her last shot rang out — Bang!
He glanced at her board — five hits, two slightly off-center.

"Ishita — good focus. You missed two, but your stance is steady. Keep at it."
She smiled, brushing sweat off her brow. "Yes, sir."

Next, Vihaan.
He loaded swiftly, posture confident. His shots came quick — Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Four perfect hits. One grazing the edge.

Sameer's jaw tightened slightly — the closest thing to approval.
"Good control, Candidate Vihaan."
Vihaan grinned. "Thank you, sir!"

Then came Roshni's turn.

She gripped the gun, but her fingers trembled faintly. The metallic chill bit against her skin. She tried to steady her breath —
but the echoes of previous gunshots felt too close, too loud.

She aimed — but her vision blurred.

In her mind — faint flashes.
A gunshot.
A scream.
Blood on concrete.
A dark silhouette.
Then — silence.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The firing range smelled of oil and gunpowder, the targets humming faintly at the far end. Sameer's voice was still in the air: "Fire!" — crisp, professional, uncompromising.

After the others had taken their rounds and the break was about to end, Sameer looked toward Roshni and saw her still seated, hands clenched around the weapon she hadn't fired. For a long second he only observed — then his trainer's temper edged forward.

"Candidate Mishra," he said, voice low but carrying across the row, "why haven't you taken your shot? You were assigned five rounds." There was no accusation in the words, only the flatness of command — the sort that expects an answer.

Roshni lifted her head; her lips trembled. "Sir...I—" She tried to stand, forced herself to pick up the rifle again, set her stance, and raised the weapon. Her fingers hovered over the trigger, but when she forced her sight to the target, her world skewed. The first crack of distant rifles blurred into a ghost of noise. In her head a flash came — not of the paper target but of something else: a boom, a smear of red, a sound that wasn't the range. Her throat tightened. She swallowed, palms slick; the trigger would not go.

Sameer's expression tightened. His patience thinned into the sharper steel of discipline. He moved closer, tone colder now. "Candidate Mishra. Shoot. You have been taught this. Enough of hesitation."

She tried again. Her eyes filled — tears she hadn't noticed beginning to spill — but the gun was a weight she could not push through. Each inhale felt like someone squeezing her chest. The flash and the sound rose so loud in her head that she could not hear his words clearly; she only felt them as pressure.

That was the moment his demeanor changed from strict to decisive. Sameer came up behind her with quick, purposeful steps. He placed one firm hand over hers on the stock — not startling, but steady — and with the other he adjusted her aim. He didn't look at her face; he focused on the target and on the mechanics: grip, stance, breath. His voice dropped low, intimate and intense at her ear, just above the din of the range.

"Candidate Roshni," he murmured, "breathe out. Find the sight. When I say — pull the trigger. One shot. Now."

She felt his breath close to her ear. The closeness was ordinary — a trainer guiding a cadet — but it carried a kind of urgency that felt like a lifeline. Her hand, held by his, was steady for the first time. The world narrowed to the black dot at the center of the target and his quiet command.

"Pull."

The report cracked once. The paper target shuddered. The bullet hit, and for all the noise of the range, for a single, suspended moment, Roshni heard nothing but the ticking of her own blood.

Sameer let go instantly. He stepped back, composed himself into the calm of an officer again, and looked at the target. It was not a perfect cluster — but the shot had found the board.

He did not smile. He did not soften. Instead his voice returned to its hard, deliberate edges. "If you can pull the trigger now," he said crisply so that everyone could hear, "then you can learn to control what triggers you. If you cannot control this, how will you control a crisis out there? This is not just shooting. This is responsibility. This is IPS duty." caandidate Roshni if you cant be able to pull the triger then i am sorry , that you have to say good byy to your ips officer post 

Roshni's shoulders shook. The tears were hot against her cheeks, but she said nothing. The eyes of the line were on them, but the world felt muffled and private. She swallowed, nodded almost imperceptibly, and found her voice small and broken: "Sorry, sir."

She gathered herself, replaced the rifle, and without looking at him again, turned and walked away from the firing line. Her steps were steady but quiet — retreating, not in shame but in the weight of something she could not yet name.

Sameer watched her go. His jaw was tight; there was no triumph in his look. Only a concern a trainer could not easily wear publicly: he had pushed her, and she had responded, but the flash that lived behind her eyes had not gone away. He filed that fact in the back of his mind like a case that needed more investigation. For now he restored order on the range and barked the next command, but the image of Roshni walking off — small, shaken, and stubborn — stayed with him long after the drills resumed.

 the trainees headed toward their next session — Theory Class.
Today's subjects were the pillars of every IPS officer's legal foundation: Indian Penal Code (IPC), Criminal Procedure Code (CrPC), and the Evidence Act.

The lecture was being conducted by Trainer Arpita Singh, one of the most respected officers in the academy — known for her sharp intellect and unwavering discipline.

Roshni walked quietly beside Vihaan, her steps slower than usual. Ishita hurried toward them, adjusting her neatly tied hair.

"Roshni, what happened to you on the firing range?" Ishita asked, worry clear in her tone. "You didn't even shoot once."

Vihaan added, glancing at her with concern, "Yeah, you were just standing there. Did Sameer Sir say something?"

Roshni shook her head faintly, her eyes fixed on the gravel path ahead.
"No, nothing like that... I just couldn't... I don't know why."

The hesitation in her voice made Ishita's expression soften. She placed a comforting hand on Roshni's shoulder.
"It's okay. Maybe it was just nerves. First time holding a real gun can be tough."

Vihaan nodded. "Exactly. You'll get over it with practice. Happens to everyone in the beginning."

Roshni managed a small smile, trying to mask the unease that still lingered beneath her calm surface.
"Let's go. We're already late for class."

Inside the lecture hall, rows of candidates sat ready — notebooks open, pens poised.
Just then, Arpita Singh entered, her crisp khaki uniform perfectly pressed, files in hand. Her presence commanded instant silence.

"Good morning, candidates," she greeted.

"Good morning, ma'am," the class echoed.

Arpita placed her files neatly on the desk and looked around.
"Today, we'll discuss three pillars of your training — IPC, CrPC, and the Evidence Act. These aren't just laws; they are the backbone of justice. Without understanding them, you cannot serve the nation as true protectors."

Her voice carried both authority and clarity — every word deliberate, every example grounded in real experience.

She began with the Indian Penal Code (IPC).
"The IPC defines offenses and prescribes punishments. Every act — from theft to murder — is covered under specific sections. For instance, Section 302 deals with punishment for murder."

The class listened intently as she wrote a few examples on the board, her handwriting precise.

Next, she shifted to the Criminal Procedure Code (CrPC).
"This code explains how a case proceeds — from investigation, arrest, bail, to trial and judgment. It's the procedural spine of our criminal justice system."

She drew a simple diagram on the board:
FIR → Investigation → Charge Sheet → Trial → Judgment.

"And finally," she continued, "we have the Evidence Act — the foundation of every conviction. It defines what can be accepted as proof in court. Without evidence, no case stands, even if the crime is known."

After explaining the basics, Arpita turned toward the class with a small smile.
"Let's test your understanding, shall we?"

Her eyes landed on Ishita.
"Candidate Ishita — tell me, what is the difference between direct and circumstantial evidence?"

Ishita stood confidently. "Direct evidence directly proves the fact, ma'am — like an eyewitness statement. Circumstantial evidence only suggests it indirectly, like fingerprints or motive."

Arpita nodded approvingly. "Excellent answer, Candidate Ishita."

Then her gaze shifted to Roshni.
"Candidate Roshni, under which section of the IPC is theft defined?"

Roshni stood immediately, her voice steady despite her wandering thoughts.
"Section 378, ma'am."

"Very good," Arpita replied, pleased. "Keep it up."

But even as she sat down, Roshni's mind wasn't in the classroom anymore.
The sound of gunfire still echoed somewhere deep inside her —
Sameer's sharp command, the recoil of the weapon, the flash of red on cold ground.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she turned a page in her notebook.

Vihaan noticed and whispered, "You okay?"
Roshni nodded faintly. "Yeah... just tired."

Arpita caught their whisper but only smiled lightly.
"If you two keep answering everything," she said, glancing at the front row, "what will the rest of the class do? Give them a chance too!"

A wave of laughter filled the room — soft, genuine. The tension melted for a brief moment.

But as the laughter faded and Arpita resumed her lecture, Roshni's smile didn't reach her eyes.
Beneath the disciplined calm, something inside her still trembled —
the echo of the gunshot refusing to fade.
And though the law books lay open before her, all she could think of was the one question that haunted her since morning:

Why did that sound feel so familiar?

The class stretched on for what felt like forever — nearly three and a half hours of dense legal theory. Arpita Singh moved through IPC, CrPC, and the Evidence Act with unshakable focus, her voice steady, her chalk gliding across the board with precision.

The candidates tried hard to keep up, filling page after page of notes. The air was thick with the smell of ink and determination — and a bit of exhaustion.

By now, attention spans were wearing thin. Some cadets rubbed their eyes; others shifted restlessly in their seats.
But no one was more fidgety than Vihaan.

He had already changed sitting positions three times, tapped his pen in every possible rhythm, and even attempted to whisper something to Ishita — only to earn a sharp glare from her.

Arpita noticed. Her gaze flicked toward him like a hawk spotting movement.

"Candidate Vihaan," she said crisply, pausing mid-sentence, "since you seem very energetic — and equally distracted — why don't you answer a question for the class?"

The room froze. The scratching of pens stopped.
Ishita hid a laugh behind her notebook, and Roshni bit her lip to keep from smiling.

Arpita continued, "Tell me, under which section is criminal conspiracy defined in the IPC?"

Vihaan straightened immediately, trying to look confident. "Ma'am, that's... uh... Section 120, I think? Or maybe 302 — no, wait, that's murder. So... it's definitely 120-something, ma'am."

Arpita folded her arms. "Oh, I see. So your answer is '120-something'? Should we also write 'something' in our exam paper, Candidate?"

The class erupted in laughter.
Vihaan grinned sheepishly. "Ma'am, I was close, right?"

Arpita's reply came sharp but amused. "Close doesn't count in law, Candidate. Either you know it, or you don't. The correct answer is Section 120A and 120B. Please remember that before you confuse murder with conspiracy again."

Vihaan scratched his head, still smiling. "Ma'am, honestly — both can kill. One with action, one with planning."

A ripple of laughter swept through the class.

Arpita's glare silenced it in seconds. "Very clever, Candidate Vihaan. Since you're so fond of jokes, I'll make sure your next class — after Siddharth Sir's Forensic Science lecture — is a personal study session with me. You'll revise IPC sections one by one. Aloud."

The class broke into quiet chuckles again as Vihaan sighed dramatically. "Ma'am, that sounds like punishment."

Arpita raised an eyebrow. "It's not punishment, Candidate. It's education. You might actually learn something for once."

 finally times up , releasing everyone from the long, heavy session. Books closed, pens dropped, and a wave of relief spread through the hall.

As they gathered their notes, Ishita nudged Vihaan with a teasing grin. "Now enjoy your special class with Arpita Ma'am."

Vihaan groaned, slinging his notebook into his arm. "Great. Just what I needed after three hours of laws — more laws." but who knows vihaan was happy from inside 

Roshni smiled softly — her first real smile that day — watching their light-hearted banter.
For a moment, the shadows from the firing range faded, replaced by the laughter and warmth of friendship.

The classroom was filled with a quiet buzz as the candidates settled into their seats. The air carried a mix of anticipation and fatigue — forensic science was known to be intense, yet today, the air seemed charged with something else too. Sidharth Sir walked in, his black kurta neatly pressed, exuding an aura of calm authority. The room fell silent almost instantly; his presence alone commanded attention.

"Good morning, candidates," he said, voice smooth yet firm. "Today, we dive into the world of forensic science — the bridge between crime and its solution. Observations, evidence collection, and analysis are your weapons here, just like your guns in training. Pay attention, because one small oversight can cost a case, or a life."

He moved to the demonstration table where various forensic tools were neatly arranged: fingerprint brushes, chemical kits, tweezers, and several sample vials. Sidharth picked up a vial with a careful precision and held it for the candidates to see.

"Fingerprints. One of the most crucial elements in any investigation. Notice the detail — the minutiae. Every loop, whorl, and ridge tells a story. You may think it's simple, but a single smudge can mislead an investigation. Observe carefully."

He demonstrated brushing a simulated fingerprint on a glass slide. The candidates leaned in, eyes wide with curiosity. Ishita, as usual, sat at the front, leaning forward slightly, trying to catch every detail. Her concentration, however, made her unaware of how close she had shifted to the demonstration table.

As Sidharth moved to show a chemical reaction for blood detection, Ishita's elbow accidentally brushed against a vial. She froze, a small gasp escaping her lips.

"I-I'm so sorry, Sir," she stammered, reaching to steady the vial before it could tip.

Sidharth's reflexes were instantaneous. In one smooth motion, he steadied the vial, then gently guided her hand back. "It's alright, Ms. Rao," he said softly, almost imperceptibly smiling. "Accidents happen. Just focus on the process. Chemistry can be unforgiving if you panic, but you handled that calmly."

Ishita's face flushed slightly, and she nodded quickly, mumbling a quiet "thank you," while glancing at her notes. She could feel her heart racing a bit faster than usual.

From across the room, Roshni noticed the subtle interaction. She leaned slightly toward ishita , whispering with a teasing grin, "I think he likes you , Ishita. Did you see that? The way he just... guided her hand?"

Ishita rolled her eyes, cheeks still tinged with pink. "Roshni, it was a mistake. Nothing happened. He's just... teaching. That's all. Stop teasing me."

Roshni shrugged, still smiling mischievously. "Uh-huh. Sure, 'just teaching.' Your face says something else, Ishita."

Meanwhile, Sidharth continued his explanation, picking up a fingerprint kit again. "Now, after lifting a print, the next step is preservation. Every piece of evidence must be documented with utmost care — photography, labeling, storage. Think of it as preserving a moment in time. Mishandle it, and the truth can slip through your fingers."

He moved around the class, observing candidates as they practiced lifting prints from sample sheets he had prepared. He paused beside Ishita, watching her carefully align the brush and powder. "Good technique, Ms. Rao. Just a little more pressure here, see?"

Ishita nodded, trying to ignore the slight tremor in her fingers — a combination of nerves and something else she couldn't quite place.

Roshni, watching from the side, whispered again to Vihaan, "I swear, he is smiling at her. He likes her."

Vihaan just shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips, while Ishita focused on completing the process meticulously, pretending not to hear the whispers.

Sidharth moved on to demonstrate chemical testing for blood traces, explaining the nuances of reagents and reaction times, all while maintaining a careful eye on each candidate's work. Every move was precise, almost poetic, a perfect blend of science and discipline — and Ishita couldn't help but notice how commanding yet patient he was.

By the end of the class, the candidates had learned how to lift fingerprints, document evidence, and perform basic chemical tests. Sidharth concluded, "Forensic science is not about rushing; it's about observation, patience, and precision. You will carry this into your careers — whether at a crime scene or in the field. Remember, evidence is your truth, and truth must be untouchable."

As the class ended, Ishita packed her things quietly, still a little flustered. Roshni nudged her gently. "See? I told you. Admit it — he noticed you."

Ishita shook her head, laughing softly to hide her blush. "Roshni... stop it. Nothing happened. I'm focusing on learning, that's all."

But deep down, she couldn't deny the slight warmth in her chest whenever she thought of how Sidharth's eyes had lingered on her technique just a moment too long.

The mess hall buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the clatter of dinner trays. The aroma of hot dal and freshly baked rotis filled the air, wrapping the hall in warmth. Roshni sat quietly in a corner with Ishita and Vihaan, her golden saree softly gleaming under the warm yellow lights. While the others exchanged stories and laughter, she barely touched her food, her thoughts somewhere far away.

"So," Vihaan asked, leaning back in his chair, "how did today's firing practice feel?"

Roshni's fork froze midway. "Honestly... it's still difficult," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I freeze every time I pull the trigger. The sound, the flash — it all just... comes back."
Her fingers trembled slightly. The memory of that first attempt — the gun's recoil, the ringing in her ears, the blood-red flashes in her mind — still haunted her.

Vihaan's teasing expression softened. "After dinner, come to the ground. We'll practice again — just the three of us. I'll set up the targets, and Ishita can guide you. Tomorrow, you'll be ready."

Ishita smiled, nodding in agreement. "Yes, don't worry, Roshni. We'll take it slow this time. You've got this."

After dinner, the three of them walked toward the training ground. The floodlights bathed the area in a silvery glow, stretching their shadows long across the sand. Vihaan went to fetch the rifles while Ishita adjusted Roshni's stance.

"Focus on your breathing," Ishita instructed gently, positioning her arms. "Aim. Steady. Breathe. Then pull. One step at a time."

Roshni nodded, took a deep breath, and fired.
The crack of the gunshot shattered the quiet night.
Her eyes squeezed shut — and suddenly, she was somewhere else.
A scream.
Blood.
The echo of chaos.

Her chest tightened as panic surged through her. The weapon slipped slightly from her grip. "I... I can't," she whispered, trembling. "I can't do this."

"Roshni, breathe!" Ishita said quickly, her voice rising with urgency. "Focus on me. Don't let it control you!"

Vihaan moved closer, steadying her shoulders. "It's okay," he said calmly. "Don't fight it. We're right here. Focus on the target — not the flash."

But Roshni shook her head violently. "No! I don't want to! I can't!"

Her voice cracked — half pain, half fear.

"Roshni!" Ishita snapped, frustration breaking through her concern. "You have to stop running from this! You want to be an IPS officer, don't you? Then face it!"

Tears welled up in Roshni's eyes as she turned toward her. "You think it's that easy?" she shouted, voice trembling. "You don't know what it feels like — to see it, to hear it, to relive it! Every time!"

Vihaan stepped between them quickly. "Stop! Both of you!" he said firmly, looking from one to the other.

But Ishita was already fired up. "Sameer Sir was right — this is exactly why you can't  be an officer! Because you know what fear feels like!"

Roshni's anger flared through her tears. "Don't pretend you dont  understand, Ishita! You've never been through it!"

Their voices clashed in the cold night air, echoing across the empty field — sharp, raw, human. Vihaan's hands gripped Roshni's shoulders, trying to steady her, but the storm had already broken.

From a distance, a figure stood silently in the shadows — Sameer Pandey.
His eyes followed every gesture, every word, every shiver that passed through Roshni. He saw more than just fear in her — he saw pain, buried deep beneath discipline and ambition. Yet he also saw Ishita's fire, her relentless push that might one day turn that pain into strength.by seeing her he can say she is jut trying to provoke her to fight with her fear 

Sameer's expression remained unreadable, but his silence carried weight. Even from across the field, his presence commanded attention. Gradually, the shouting died down.

Roshni's breathing slowed. Ishita's shoulders dropped. Vihaan finally exhaled in relief.

The night hung heavy, but something had shifted — not resolution, not peace, but the first spark of transformation. Painful. Imperfect. Real.

The night air hung heavy with silence. The training ground stood still under the pale hum of floodlights, their glow stretching across the empty field where, moments ago, arguments and gunfire had echoed.

Vihaan rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a long sigh.
"Okay," he said quietly, "that's enough for today. Roshni, you should rest. Ishita, you too. Go back to your dorms."

Ishita nodded, still tense, and turned to leave. But before she could take a step, Roshni's voice stopped her.

"No, Vihaan... you and ishita go . I'll stay a little longer." Her tone was low, distant. "I just need... some time alone."

Vihaan hesitated and he see ishita to aske in sine langage what to so ,ishita juts reply in sine give her some time she will be fine . The faraway look in her eyes made his chest tighten. "Alright," he said softly. "But don't stay too long."
He gave her a small nod and walked away with ishita , his footsteps fading until only the hum of the floodlights remained.

Roshni stood under their lonely glow, staring at the gun in her hand. The metal felt heavier than it should. The cold breeze brushed her tear-warmed cheeks as her thoughts spiraled.

What's happening to me? Who is that boy I keep seeing... that scream, that blood? Whose blood is it? Why can't I remember? Why now?

Her knees gave way, and she sank to the ground, clutching the weapon tightly to her chest.
How will I ever become an IPS officer if I can't even fire a gun?
Papa had so many dreams for her—dreams she was now watching crumble. How will I face him now?

Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to sit up. "Roshni," she whispered to herself, her voice shaking, "you can do this. You will do this—for Papa."

Wiping her tears, she stood again. Her legs trembled, but her eyes steadied on the target. Closing her eyes, she imagined her father's face—his proud smile, his warm voice. That memory alone gave her courage.

Her finger tightened on the trigger.

Bang!

The bullet missed the target, but she didn't care. For the first time, she had fired it.
For the first time, she hadn't run.

From the shadows, Sameer Pandey had been watching. Arms crossed behind his back, his sharp gaze followed every move—the hesitation, the tears, and now, the courage. When she finally pulled the trigger, he stepped forward, his boots crunching against the gravel.

"Candidate Roshni," his firm voice cut through the silence.

Roshni turned, startled. She wiped her face quickly, her heart skipping. her verson was blure bec of tears and she swa her papa who call her but when her version got clear ,she Swa Of all people—Sameer Sir. The one she didn't want to see her weak.
And yet, part of her felt... relieved. Because someone did see her.

"Stand up, Candidate," he said as he came closer. "And pick up your weapon properly."

His tone was strict, but his eyes—though unreadable—held quiet understanding.
"You can't run from your weakness. Face it. Fight it. Make it your strength. An IPS officer doesn't break, Roshni Mishra. She fights."

He stepped behind her, adjusting her posture with calm precision.
"Focus on the target. Breathe. Aim. You control your mind—don't let it control you."

Roshni swallowed hard and nodded. Her hands still trembled slightly as she lifted the gun again.

"Now," he said quietly. "Shoot."

The gun roared again.
This time, she didn't flinch—but the flash came rushing back. The blood. The boy. The scream. Her breath hitched sharply.

Sameer frowned. "Roshni, why do you close your eyes every time?"

"I..." Her voice trembled. "I don't know, sir. Every time I hold this gun, I see someone. A boy. He's running, and then there's blood. I don't know who fired or whose blood it is. I just... don't know."

Sameer's expression darkened. "Have you seen this vision before?"

She shook her head. "No, sir. It's the first time. I don't even understand what's happening."

Before he could respond, a voice echoed from across the field.
"Sir! Candidate Roshni Mishra!"

An academy staff member came running, breathless. "Sir, there's an urgent call for her—her mother called. She said Roshni must return home immediately."

Roshni frowned, confused. "What? Why? My training isn't over yet. Why would i—"

The staffer hesitated, lowering his gaze. "Your father... is no longer in this world ."

The world stopped.
The words sliced through the air like a bullet.

Roshni's fingers went numb. The gun slipped from her hand, landing in the dirt with a dull thud. She stood frozen, unblinking—then her knees gave out. She collapsed, palms pressed to the cold ground as sobs tore through her chest.

Sameer stepped forward instinctively, then stopped halfway. His chest tightened, but he knew—some grief could not be interrupted.
He could only stand there, watching the strongest candidate he had ever trained break into a thousand silent pieces.

The floodlights flickered slightly in the wind.
The only sound left was her crying — raw, human, heartbroken — echoing across the vast emptiness of the Himalayan Civil Academy.

The evening sun had faded into soft orange streaks over the Himalayan Civil Academy. Inside the quiet classroom, the sound of pages flipping echoed through the still air.

Vihaan sat at the front desk, his uniform slightly wrinkled, reading aloud from the thick book in his hands. Across from him, Trainer Arpita Singh sat straight-backed, her sharp eyes fixed on him like a hawk.

"Section 124A — Sedition," Vihaan read, voice loud but half-bored. "Whoever, by words or signs or visible representation—blah blah—attempts to bring hatred or contempt toward the government shall be punished with—"

"Candidate Vihaan," Arpita interrupted, her tone firm. "This is not a storybook. Read it properly."

Vihaan sighed dramatically. "Ma'am, even the IPC sounds like a horror story after dinner."

Arpita glared. "Then I suggest you be terrified enough to memorize it."

He grinned, the corner of his lip twitching. "Ma'am, I'm already terrified... of failing in your subject."

A reluctant smile flickered across her face before she hid it quickly behind the file. "Flattery won't save you, Candidate."

He smirked. "Didn't think it would. But it got me a smile, so I'll call that progress."

Arpita looked up sharply. "Focus, Vihaan."

He cleared his throat and continued reading, though the mischievous spark in his eyes refused to fade.
As the minutes passed, Arpita noticed how, despite his jokes, he was trying — really trying — to focus. She admired that, even if she'd never admit it aloud.

After an hour, she stood and came closer, standing behind him as she corrected his pronunciation. The scent of her perfume lingered faintly in the air — soft, graceful, disciplined, like her. Vihaan's heart beat just a little faster.

"Repeat that again," she said, leaning slightly over his shoulder to point at a line.

He froze for half a second, feeling the nearness of her presence. Her tone was composed, but her voice... carried warmth.
Their eyes met briefly when he turned his head — a moment too long, a breath too deep.

For a moment, the air felt charged. Silent, fragile, different.

Arpita looked away first, clearing her throat. "Concentrate, Candidate. You're here to study, not... daydream."

Vihaan smiled faintly. "Ma'am, I'm trying. Just—some distractions are stronger than laws."

Her eyes snapped up, but before she could say anything, a sudden knock broke the silence.

"Ma'am!" A staff member entered, panting slightly. "You're needed urgently at the admin office."

Arpita frowned. "At this hour? What's the issue?"

The man hesitated. "There's an emergency leave request for one of the candidates."

Her brows furrowed. "Emergency leave? Who?"

He shifted nervously. "Candidate Roshni Mishra, ma'am. Her father... passed away."

The room fell silent.

Arpita's face froze in shock. Before she could even react, Vihaan stood up so suddenly that his chair scraped against the floor.

"What did you say?" His voice cracked. "Roshni's... father?"

The staffer nodded sadly. "Yes. Her mother called the academy just a few minutes ago."

Without another word, Vihaan bolted from the room.

"Vihaan!" Arpita called after him, but he was already gone, sprinting through the corridors.

He ran past the dimly lit hallways, his heart pounding. The walls blurred. He didn't know what he'd say — he just knew Roshni needed someone.
As he turned the corner near the residential block, he collided straight into Ishita.

"Vihaan! Where are you running like this?" she exclaimed, holding her arm.

He barely caught his breath. "Roshni... she—she needs us. Her papa..."

Ishita frowned, confused. "What about her papa?"

Vihaan swallowed hard, the words breaking. "He's... he's no more, Ishita."

For a second, Ishita just stood still, staring. The color drained from her face. "What...? No... that can't be—"

Vihaan shook his head, his voice tight. "It's true. They just informed Arpita ma'am. She's leaving tonight."

Tears welled in Ishita's eyes, but she didn't pause. "Come on," she said, grabbing his arm. "She can't be alone right now."

Together, they ran down the hallway toward the administrative wing where Roshni's name was being processed for leave — both terrified of what they would find, both silently praying that she hadn't completely broken down.

Roshni's room was a storm of chaos. Clothes and books were thrown across the floor, drawers left half-open, personal items scattered. The golden glow of the bedside lamp barely softened the shadows in the room.

And in the middle of it all, Roshni sat on the edge of her bed, her body shaking, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. She cried like she hadn't breathed in days, like the entire world had been ripped away.

Vihaan and Ishita entered cautiously, pausing at the door for a second, hearts tightening at the sight.

"Roshni..." Ishita whispered, taking a step forward. "Hey... look at me. Calm down. Please."

Vihaan moved closer, kneeling slightly in front of her. "Don't cry like this, Roshni. I'm coming with you. You're not going anywhere alone. If you cry like this, who will handle your family? You need to stay strong for them... and for yourself."

Roshni's hands flailed weakly, but slowly she let Ishita take one of them, and Vihaan held the other. Their presence, steady and unwavering, anchored her trembling heart.

"It's okay," Vihaan murmured. "We're right here. I won't leave your side."

She buried her face into Ishita's shoulder, sobs shaking her body. Slowly, her breaths steadied, though the pain in her eyes refused to vanish.

The knock on the door startled them all. Sameer's voice came from the corridor.

"Roshni, come. Administration has processed your leave. You can go now."

Roshni blinked at him, still barely aware of her surroundings. Vihaan stood immediately. "Sir... I'll come with her. She needs someone. It's not good to leave her alone."

Sameer studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Don't worry, Vihaan. I'll accompany her myself. You don't need to—"

Vihaan relaxed slightly, letting Sameer take the lead. "Thank you, sir."

Minutes later, they were at the academy gate. The cool night breeze wrapped around them, carrying a weight of silence and sorrow. Sidharth, Arpita, Ishita, and several staff members were waiting, watching quietly as Roshni clung to Vihaan and Sameer's side.

Arpita stepped forward, her eyes soft but resolute. "Roshni, take care of yourself. We'll all be waiting for you here. Remember this—strength isn't about never falling, it's about standing again, even when the world feels broken."

Roshni's lips trembled, and for the first time that night, a small smile broke through the tears. "Thank you, ma'am," she whispered.

Ishita tightened her grip on Roshni's hand. "We're waiting for you. Take care, okay?"

Vihaan came close, brushing her hair from her face. "Khyal rakhan, apa. We'll be waiting for you. Always."

Sidharth stepped forward, his tone calm yet strong. "Roshni Mishra... I know you'll be able to fight through this situation. You have the courage, the strength, and we all believe in you."

Roshni's small smile grew slightly, glistening with unshed tears. She took a deep breath, nodded, and allowed herself to be guided through the gates — surrounded by the people who would never let her face the world alone.

The academy behind them remained quiet, but the warmth of friendship, mentorship, and support followed her into the night.  

Hello readers! 

Please vote and comment your reactions — I want to know what you feel!
If you remain a silent reader, I won't be able to tell whether my hard work is reaching you or if it's worth it. Without your reactions — good, bad, or anything at all — it's like I'm shooting arrows in the dark. 

So, please let me know what you think about the story so far!

Are you excited to see what happens next at Roshni's house? How will destiny play its game? What will Roshni choose — her nation or her family? Will Sameer Sir be there to help her? The  feelings they are  unknown and  developing for each other will they will able to relise?

Which scene did you like the most? Comment below — your opinion really matters! 💛