The academy corridor buzzed with early activity — the faint echo of boots, voices of trainees rushing toward the ground, and the crisp chill of dawn clinging to the air.
Sameer walked briskly toward the entrance, files tucked under one arm, his expression calm but sharp as ever. His polished shoes clicked rhythmically on the floor — the sound of discipline in motion.
At the same time, from the hostel side, Roshni came running — half-tied hair bouncing, one shoe lace loose, and a sleepy yawn still stuck halfway in her throat.
"God, I'm late again!" she muttered, adjusting her training T-shirt. Her body ached slightly; there was a dull cramp forming in her stomach.
Uff... my dates are near, great timing Roshni! First training, then pain — perfect combo, she thought, irritated.
Her focus was on tying her ID card string, not on the way ahead — and in the next second...
THUD!
She bumped hard into someone's back. Her nose hit solid muscle.
"Ouchhh! Yaar!" she yelped, holding her nose. "Koi pahaad hai kya yahaan? Rasta chhod ke highway ke beech mein khada hai! Bhaisaab, poori duniya chhod ke yahi jagah mili thi kya?"
The "pahaad" turned slowly — and the world froze for Roshni.
It wasn't just anyone.
It was Sameer Pandey.
Her husband.
Her trainer.
And the man she had just called bhaisaab.
Sameer's lips curved into a sarcastic smirk.
"Mrs. Pandey..." he said, voice low and teasing. "Do I really look like a bhaisaab to you?"
Roshni blinked — once, twice — before her brain finally caught up.
Her hands dropped from her nose, her heart jumped straight to her throat.
"Aap... ji... woo... mera matlab... nahi tha..." she stammered, fumbling for words. "Aap beech mein khade the, toh... traffic jam lag jaata... isliye..."
She was nervously circling her toe on the floor now, her eyes lowered — her cheeks burning pink.
Sameer's sharp aura, his calm authority — it felt different now. Not just the fear of a trainer... but something more. Something that made her heartbeat skip.
He was about to reply — maybe even tease her again — when a loud, familiar voice came echoing down the hall.
"ROSHU!"
It was Vihaan — running full speed like a child late for the school bus.
He reached them, panting, then immediately grabbed Roshni's hand.
"Tu yahaan kya kar rahi hai? Kya phir se koi kand kar diya kya?" he asked dramatically — and then spotted Sameer standing there.
His expression flipped instantly.
He saluted with fake seriousness.
"Sir! Bachchi hai, galti ho gayi. Bade shero mein choti baatein hoti hain!" he said in his typical dramatic tone. "Mil gaya ground mein, bas thoda signal ka confusion tha!"
Sameer raised an eyebrow but didn't react. He just turned slightly, lips twitching like he was holding back a smile.
"Chal, chal, late ho gaye hum," Vihaan said, tugging at Roshni's wrist again.
Roshni protested, "Arre! Vihaan! Dheere! Tu gira dega mujh—"
Vihaan laughed, "Are nahi giregi tu, jaldi chal! Nahi toh discipline baap hamse pehle ground pahunch gaya toh humein hawa bana dega!"
Roshni glared at him, shouting while half-running, "Agar main giri na toh Sameer sir se pehle main tujhe uda dungi!"
Their playful argument echoed down the hall as they disappeared toward the training field, both laughing like kids late for class.
Sameer stood there for a second, the corner of his mouth lifting. But when he heard Roshni's laughter with Vihaan echo again, something in his chest tightened — an unfamiliar pang.
He took a deep breath, adjusted his cap, and muttered under his breath,
"Pagal ladki..."
Then he turned and walked toward the ground — expressionless again.
But deep down, he knew he wasn't as unaffected as he pretended to be.
Sameer walked to the center of the ground and faced the assembled candidates. The morning air was crisp; breath rose in small clouds as the trainees stood at attention.
"Good morning, everyone," he called, voice steady. "How was everyone in my absence? I hope there were no troubles, Ms. Arpita Singh."
Arpita nodded, composed. "No, sir. Everything was fine," she said, though her eyes flicked toward Vihaan with a faint warning.
Vihaan puffed up and protested with mock hurt. "Sir... you mean to say We will behaved while you were gone?"
A ripple of laughter ran through the line. Sameer's mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile. "You and Roshni are my two troublemakers," he said dryly. "Partners in crime. Roshni is with me — and you... I don't know who's babysitting you."
Arpita's lips curved, but she kept quiet. Inwardly she thought, He's incorrigible, but there's something harmless about him. I can't help being soft sometimes.
Sameer clapped his hands to bring attention back. "Today's session — marksmanship with a twist. Pick up your rifles."
The trainees fetched their weapons and took position on the firing line. A row of glass bottles — seven each — hung from a horizontal frame at about chest height, filled with water and swinging gently on short cords.
"These are your targets," Sameer said, gesturing. "All seven. They'll swing. You must stand in the marked zone between their paths and shoot them down."
Vihaan immediately raised his hand. "Sir, that's easy! Like a walking carnival game. I can do this blindfolded."
Sameer's eyes narrowed. "Blindfolded, actually. You'll do it with your eyes covered. That's the difficulty." He let the silence sit for a heartbeat. "You'll rely on stance, breath, timing — and listening."
Vihaan snorted. "Blindfolded? You want me to shoot in the dark now? Are you trying to get me arrested later, sir?"
Sameer's voice was flat but sharp. "Listen and learn. Let me demonstrate."
He stepped forward to the firing line, picked up a service rifle, checked the safety, and calmly assumed the firing stance. The trainees watched his measured movements: feet shoulder-width apart, left foot slightly forward, knees soft, back straight. He brought the rifle to his shoulder, closed one eye to align the front sight, and breathed in slowly.
"Observe your breath," he said quietly. "Inhale... exhale. Squeeze the trigger gently at the end of the breath — don't jerk."
He released the breath and fired. The nearest bottle swung and shattered with a clean crack. He shifted his stance imperceptibly, tracking the arc of the next bottle. Bang. Another bottle burst into water and glass. The remaining bottles fell in quick succession, each hit timed to the rhythm of his breathing. The clicks and the soft splashes were precise, almost musical.
Then Sameer removed his jacket, took the cloth from his pocket and tied a blindfold over his eyes. A hush went through the trainees.
"Now, I'll do it without sight," he said. He set his feet in the same position, fingers finding the rifle by touch. He used the sound of the swinging bottles, the Doppler-like rhythm of their passing, the breath-count in his own chest to time each shot. Bang — the first bottle burst. Bang — the second. One by one, he felled all seven.
The field erupted with low whoops. Vihaan pumped a fist. Ishita clapped, impressed. Even Arpita allowed herself a small, proud smile.
Sameer removed the blindfold and faced them. "Marksmanship is more than eye and trigger. It's posture, breath control, and mental calm. You will practice this until you can do it with or without sight."
Vihaan, unable to resist, grinned and called, "My turn next, sir! Watch the master!"
Sameer's expression remained unreadable. "You'll do it properly — blindfolded and with respect." He handed Vihaan a cloth.
Vihaan shuffled to position, the others watching eagerly. As he closed his eyes and placed the cloth over them, an embarrassed, nervous grin showed through. The first bottle swung past. Vihaan fired too soon and missed, the bullet thudding into the frame. The instructor's clipped "Again" sent him back to prepare his stance properly. The exercise had begun in earnest — breathing, timing, and deliberate practice, not jokes.
Now it was Ishita's turn. She stood nervously at her position. Her hair was tied up in a neat ponytail, a few loose strands sticking to her forehead. The morning sun hit her face softly, making her look both determined and anxious.
She tied the blindfold tightly. Okay, Ishita, breathe. Just breathe.
She gripped the rifle, trying to feel its balance. The metallic smell of gun oil filled her nose, mixing with the cold air. The bottles swung lightly in front of her, their soft clinking sound echoing.
Focus on one sound... she reminded herself. But everything blended — the breeze, footsteps, murmurs — all noises at once. She fired once.
Missed.
She frowned, tightened her grip, and fired again.
Another miss.
Frustration welled up inside her. Why can't I do this? She ripped off her blindfold, her cheeks red with anger.
Sameer was standing right there — calm, still, unreadable. His eyes locked on hers, sharp as glass.
"Ms. Ishita Rao," he said in his low, steady tone. "If you divide your focus among everything, you'll hit nothing. Choose one thing. Concentrate. The rest will follow."
Ishita swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes, sir."
She took another breath and retied the blindfold. This time, her movements were slower — calmer.
When she lifted her head slightly, her eyes caught a glimpse of the academy building — on the second-floor balcony, Dr. Sidharth stood watching. His sleeves were rolled up, a casual posture that didn't match the intensity in his eyes. His faint smile reached only half his face, the other half holding something deeper — maybe pride, maybe curiosity.
Ishita quickly looked away and covered her eyes again.
As she stood there, rifle ready, she began to hear it — a faint sound from afar.
Tap... tap... tap...
At first, she ignored it. But it kept coming, steady and rhythmic. Somehow, she knew it — that was his sound. Dr. Sidharth's foot tapping — his old habit whenever he got nervous or lost in thought.
She frowned slightly. I can't be imagining this... He's too far away.
Still, it was there — like her mind had tuned into him.
Sameer's voice cut through her thoughts sharply. "Ms. Rao! One minute left!"
Her grip tightened. Okay. Calm. Focus.
And then it clicked. The bottles swung in the same rhythm as that tapping — forward when the tap landed, backward when it lifted.
The bottles acted like small pendulums — each swing lasting roughly 1 to 1.5 seconds, depending on the rope's length and the water's weight. The timing of the swing perfectly matched the tap she could hear — steady, predictable. If she synchronized the shot with the moment the bottle reached its forward peak, she could hit it dead center.
She counted silently.
Tap... one, two, three... bang!
The first bottle burst.
Tap... bang! The second shattered.
Tap... bang! The third exploded into a spray of shining water.
One by one, each bottle fell. The field filled with the echo of glass breaking and cadets gasping.
When the last one fell, the silence that followed was deep — then suddenly, applause erupted. Vihaan jumped and shouted, "Oye hoye! That's our sharpshooter!"
Arpita clapped slowly, smiling with pride.
Sameer gave a rare small smile. "Good job, Ms. Rao. Impressive. You understood the rhythm of timing — perfectly."
Ishita lowered her rifle and saluted lightly. "Thank you, sir." Her heart was still racing.
As she stepped back into the line, her eyes instinctively went to the balcony. Dr. Sidharth was still standing there — his face calm, a faint pride glimmering in his eyes. When their eyes met, he nodded once, then turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the quiet morning.
But Ishita could still feel that rhythm — that strange connection that had somehow guided her through every shot.
And somewhere deep inside, she knew this wasn't the end of that feeling. It was just the beginning.
Sameer adjusted his cap and turned toward the cadets standing in line. His sharp gaze swept across each face before stopping at one.
"Okay, candidate Roshni Mishra," he said firmly. "It's your turn. I hope you'll manage well."
Roshni nodded confidently, her rifle tight in her hands. She stepped into the center of the ground. The morning wind brushed against her face, carrying the faint metallic scent of gunpowder. The bottles hung in a perfect line — eight of them, filled with water, swaying lightly with each gust.
She tied the blindfold over her eyes. The world went dark. Her fingers trembled just a little as she held the rifle steady.
Roshni's POV:
Okay, Roshni... focus. I can't see anything. But I can feel the air move. I can hear the water inside the bottles shift each time they swing forward. That's rhythm... the key is rhythm.
Each bottle moved like a pendulum, swinging back and forth at a steady pace. The sound of water sloshing gave her direction. Physics was clear — the heavier the water, the slower the swing, almost 1.5 seconds per motion. She matched her breathing with that rhythm — inhale, exhale, wait... fire.
Her first shot went clean — bang! A bottle burst into spray.
Then the next.
Then another.
Each shot followed the precise rhythm of her breath and the wind.
Sameer watched from a distance, arms folded. For a moment, the corners of his lips lifted in a small, proud smirk. Good improvement, Mrs. Pandey, he thought silently. You're learning to control both your mind and the rifle.
Just then, he noticed something glittering on the ground near the line of bottles. A piece of broken glass. His brows furrowed — how did that get there? It could easily hurt someone if they stepped on it. Without thinking, he stepped past the boundary line into the training ground, crouching down to pick it up.
When he held it up to the light, he realized it was the shattered cover glass of someone's wristwatch. Probably fell during the session, he thought.
At the same moment, Roshni was lining up her final shot. Her breathing had steadied again — she was completely lost in focus, unaware of anything else around her. She whispered softly to herself, last one... steady... just like before.
But then her boot slipped slightly against the sandy ground. The barrel tilted off angle, and before she could correct it —
BANG!
The shot rang out. The echo bounced off the training walls.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then — a sharp cry.
"Ahh—!"
Roshni froze. Her heart stopped. That voice... it was Sameer's.
The sound of panic rushed through the field. The trainees gasped and started running. Roshni ripped off her blindfold — and the world came spinning into focus.
Sameer was down on one knee, clutching his shoulder. Blood was soaking through his dark uniform, dripping between his fingers.
Roshni's breath caught in her throat.
No... no, this can't be happening again...
Her vision blurred for a moment as a flashback hit her — a boy running, a gunshot echoing, the same pained cry — her past trauma crashing against the present.
But she shook it off and sprinted toward Sameer.
"Sir! Sir, I'm so sorry! Mujhe nahi pata tha aap ground mein the!"
Sameer looked up at her — his voice steady despite the pain. "It's okay, Roshni. It's not your fault... it's mine. I should not have entered the ground without safety clearance."
He pressed his hand harder against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Even now, his composure barely cracked. His jaw tightened, but his expression stayed calm.
Roshni knelt beside him, her hands trembling. "Sir, khoon... sir, aapko chot lagi hai... bilkul mumma ki tarah..." she whispered, her voice breaking as the memory of her mother's death flashed again.
Sameer shook his head firmly. "I'm fine, Ms. Mishra. Don't panic. It's just a graze — nothing serious." He turned toward Arpita.
"Ms. Arpita Singh, continue the training. Don't let the others stop. I'll get my dressing from Dr. Sidharth."
Arpita nodded quickly, though her face showed clear worry.
Sameer stood, though his legs wobbled from the pain. He steadied himself, took a slow breath, and walked off the field toward the infirmary, one hand clutching his shoulder.
Roshni stood there frozen, watching him go — the sight of blood on his hand burning into her mind.
Her heartbeat refused to slow down.
After a moment, she turned to Arpita, her voice barely steady. "Ma'am... may I go to the washroom, please?"
Arpita looked at her — her pale face, trembling hands — and simply nodded.
"Go ahead, Roshni. Take five minutes."
Roshni nodded and walked away slowly, but her mind was already made up. She wasn't going to the washroom.
She was going straight to the infirmary — straight to Sameer.
The door burst open and Sameer stepped in, his left shoulder bandaged. Sidharath was already waiting, arms crossed and face sharp with concern.
"Dimag kharab hai kya tera?" Sidharath barked the moment Sameer sat on the chair. "Kisne kaha tha ground mein ghusne ko? Ek focused officer hokar itni badi galti! Kya soch raha tha tu?!"
Sameer sighed, avoiding his friend's glare. "Arey tu bas patty kar na... faltu ke sawaal mat puch."
Sidharath shook his head in disbelief. "School time se jaanta hoon tujhe — disciplined, calm, focused! Par aaj... kya kar diya tune? Rifle training ke beech jaake khada ho gaya. Goli lag gayi, Sameer!"
Sameer gave a half-smile, trying to ease the tension. "It was just a mistake, Sid. Candidate Roshni was practicing... I shouldn't have entered the ground, that's all."
Sidharath sighed again, opening the first-aid box and carefully checking the dressing. "Students se suna maine... kuch keh rahe the, she doesn't even know proper shooting."
Sameer immediately looked up, his tone firm. "She's learning. She just needs time. Aaj usne bahut accha perform kiya — improvement clear tha."
Sidharath paused, watching his friend closely. A teasing smile formed on his lips. Sameer Singh praising a trainee? Interesting.
Because Sameer never took anyone's side — not during training, not even as a senior. But today, his tone carried something else... something softer.
"Bukhar toh nahi hai tujhe?" Sidharath said playfully, placing a thermometer in his mouth.
Sameer gave him a deadly look when Sidharath checked and removed it.
"Temperature normal hai... tab bhi ajeeb behave kar raha hai," Sidharath teased, grinning.
Sameer rolled his eyes. "Doctor hai na? Apna kaam kar. Dimag mat chala zyada."
Before Sidharath could reply, there was a gentle knock on the door.
He turned, "Come in!"
The door opened slowly — Roshni stepped inside, her face pale and nervous.
Sameer's jaw tightened the moment he saw her.
"Ms. Mishra," his voice was sharp, "didn't I say everyone should continue practice? How did you end up here?"
Roshni held her hands together, voice low. "Sir, I... I took permission for the washroom. I just wanted to check if you're okay. Because of me—"
"I told you I'm fine," Sameer interrupted firmly, turning his face away and resting his head back against the chair.
Sidharath noticed it all — the sharp tone, the turned face... and the fact that Sameer didn't really scold her. A smirk appeared on his lips.
He stood up, grabbing his stethoscope. "Alright, Major saab. Main fifteen minutes mein aata hoon. Rest kar, aur madam, don't trouble him much."
He winked subtly at Roshni before stepping out, closing the door behind him.
The moment Sidharath left, the room fell silent.
Roshni watched Sameer quietly, who still had his eyes closed, head tilted back. The fatigue on his face was clearly visible — a mix of pain and sleeplessness.
She moved closer and gently locked the door.
Sameer opened one eye, frowning. "Why are you locking the door? I told you to go, Ms. Mishra. Don't waste your time here."
Roshni crossed her arms, her voice firm this time. "Agar aapko yeh time waste lagta hai, toh theek hai... par mere liye nahi, aur bhatijiye, aap bhi nahi."
Her words made him open his eyes fully.
She noticed the slight lines of stress on his forehead, how his fingers were pressing the bandage lightly — and she realized, he hadn't rested even for a moment after coming back from Rampur.
Roshni stepped near the bed, her tone gentler now.
"Sir, if you don't mind... can I give you a head massage? It'll help your headache."
Sameer exhaled, eyes half-open. "No, I'm fine. Go back to practice."
"Okay," Roshni said softly, "I'll go in five minutes — after giving you the massage."
He didn't argue again. Maybe he was too tired to stop her.
She pulled the chair close, sat beside him, and gently placed her fingers on his temples. Slowly, she began to press — firm yet careful movements, circling her thumbs near his forehead, easing the tension behind his ears.
The room filled with quiet — only the ticking clock and the sound of their breaths.
Sameer's shoulders relaxed. His eyes fluttered shut, and within minutes, sleep took over.
Roshni smiled faintly, watching him drift into peaceful rest.
She stood up slowly, adjusting the blanket over him. Gently, she lifted his legs and placed them properly on the bed so he could rest comfortably.
Then, bending slightly, she whispered near his hand — her voice trembling, full of hidden emotions.
"Sir... I don't know when this happened, but... I've started to like you. Not just as my senior or trainer... but as someone I see as my own."
Her fingers brushed his bandaged hand.
"You're the only person I have left now. Mummy-papa ke baad... bas aap hi ho jinke liye jeena bhi chahti hoon, aur agar zarurat padi toh mar bhi sakti hoon."
She pressed a soft kiss on his hand — then on the edge of his wound — her tears threatening to fall.
Taking a deep breath, she turned to leave, unlocking the door quietly.
As she stepped out, she whispered one last line under her breath —
"Get well soon, sir... mere liye."
The morning training had finally ended, leaving the candidates drenched in sweat and dust.
Vihaan dropped his backpack beside him and gulped down water from his bottle, breathing heavily.
"Bas bhai bas..." he gasped, "aaj to lagta hai jaan hi nikal gayi!"
Roshni and Ishita were standing nearby, wiping sweat off their faces. Roshni still seemed distracted — her mind replaying what had happened earlier with Sameer.
Arjun and Karan walked over, stretching their arms. Arjun sat down beside Vihaan, still panting.
"Yaar," Arjun said, "Sameer sir... he's literally a different human being. Matlab goli lagne ke baad bhi aise calm hai jaise kuch hua hi nahi. Jaise koi chhoti si chinti ne kaat li ho bas."
Everyone laughed lightly, but Roshni's smile was faint — her chest tightened with guilt. Because of me... she thought. And still, he didn't say a single word of pain. Such a strong man... my husband... and I— I'm his weakness.
Ishita noticed her expression and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to change the topic.
Karan spoke next, taking a sip from his bottle. "By the way yaar... sir abhi tak single hai na?"
Ishita smirked instantly and nudged Roshni with her elbow. "Haan haan, yahi toh poochhna tha!"
Roshni gave her a glare, cheeks turning pink.
"Shut up, Ishita..." she muttered.
Vihaan jumped in, eyes wide with mock seriousness.
"Haan yaar, Sameer sir se shaadi karne wali ladki toh pagal ho jayegi! Matlab, soch na — itna disciplined banda! Agar biwi ne subah uthne mein five minute late kar diya, to usse bhi ground ke das chakkar lagwa dega!"
Arjun cracked up. "Bilkul! Poori zindagi parade ground ban jayegi."
Everyone burst into laughter, except Roshni who crossed her arms, pretending to be annoyed but secretly smiling.
"Tu sochta hai ladkiyaan nahi marti unpar?" Arjun added mischievously. "Kal hi maine Priya aur Seema ko dekha — sir ko dekh ke aise muskura rahi thi jaise filmon ke hero ho!"
He imitated the girls dramatically — putting on a fake dreamy voice, "Sir kitne hot lagte hain... kash hum ek raat sir ke saath ek room mein—"
"Bas bas!" Roshni interrupted sharply, face red. "Tum logon ko sharam nahi aati? He's your trainer! Aise soch sakti ho tum log?"
Her voice had fire — and everyone went quiet for a moment.
Then Vihaan smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Areeee... tu to aise bol rahi hai jaise Sameer sir tera pati ho... aur woh ladkiyaan teri pati ko dekh rahi ho!"
Roshni glared and immediately hit him on the shoulder with her bottle.
"Bakwas band kar, Vihaan!"
"Ouch!" Vihaan ducked and hid behind Ishita.
"Ayee tanduri mirchi! Door rehna warna mera sar phor degi!"
Ishita gasped. "Kisko bola tanduri mirchi, haan?" She grabbed her bottle too.
"Tu chipku joker!"
And with that, both girls ran after Vihaan across the ground, yelling and laughing.
Arjun and Karan couldn't stop laughing.
"Yeh dono to alag hi Krishna-Kanhaiya ban gaye hain," Karan said, holding his stomach. "Roz bolta hai ladkiyon se door rahega, aur khud dekho kya haal hai!"
Vihaan ran straight into the corridor, still laughing.
" bachao! koi 2 atankwadi mera peeche pad gayi hain!"
He turned a corner — and at that exact moment, Arpita was walking from the opposite side, holding her files.
Before either could react, Vihaan's shoes slipped on the polished floor — and CRASH!
Files scattered everywhere. Arpita landed right on top of him — Vihaan flat on the floor, eyes wide in shock.
For a second, time froze. They were far too close — her palm pressed against his chest, his hands instinctively gripping her waist to steady her. Their bodies were almost touching, breaths mingling in the awkward silence.
Vihaan's hands had instinctively found her waist, steadying her. The warmth of her body through the crisp fabric of her uniform sent a shiver up his spine. Arpita's palms pressed against his chest, and she could feel the rapid, uneven rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her hand.
Their eyes met — so close that she could see the tiny flecks of brown in his dark irises. Vihaan's usual mischievous grin faltered for a heartbeat, replaced by something softer... something that even he couldn't name.
"Mam..." he whispered, his voice low and uncertain, "lagta hai hum bina takraye mil hi nahi sakte."
A crooked smile curved his lips. "Kabhi aap mujhse takra jaati ho, kabhi main aapse..."
Arpita's breath hitched. She tried to push herself up, but her hand slipped again — and she fell right back, her hair brushing against his cheek, her shoulder against his chest. The faint scent of her shampoo — jasmine and something sweet — filled the space between them.
Vihaan's breath caught. A quiet sound escaped his lips — not quite a word, more like a startled sigh that betrayed everything he was trying to hide.
Arpita froze. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears; her cheeks burned. She could feel the heat of his gaze, his chest rising and falling beneath her palms. For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped — like she had forgotten where she ended and he began.
"I... I think we should get up," Vihaan said finally, his voice softer than usual, almost husky.
"Yes, of course," she replied quickly, forcing herself to move. Her fingers brushed his shoulder as she stood, sending another unexpected jolt through him. She adjusted her dupatta, eyes cast down, trying to regain her composure.
"I'm sorry... for that," she murmured.
Vihaan sat up slowly, watching her gather her papers with trembling hands. For the first time, his usual jokes deserted him. There was something fragile in the air — something new and dangerous that neither of them dared to name.
Arpita turned and walked away, her steps hurried, her pulse still racing. She didn't dare look back, because she knew if she did... she might not be able to hide what she was feeling.
Vihaan leaned back against the wall, running a hand through his hair and exhaling sharply. A grin crept onto his face despite everything.
"Yaar," he muttered under his breath, "kitni cute hai... agar meri trainer nahi hoti na... to shayad propose kar hi deta."
He chuckled softly, the corners of his lips curving into a smile that refused to fade. Then he picked up his bottle, dusted himself off, and walked toward his room — his heart still beating faster than it should.
The Evening had wrapped the Himalayan Civil Academy in quiet stillness. The distant hum of the wind brushed against the pine trees, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked earth. Sidharth, tired after an entire day of drills and field briefings, decided to take a walk to clear his head.
As he passed the east wing, he noticed her again — Ishita — standing in the same balcony where she had been the previous night. The faint yellow glow from her room spilled over her figure. She had a coffee mug in one hand and a book in the other, her attention buried deep in its pages.
Sidharth smiled to himself. Again? he thought. There was something quietly magnetic about her — the calm way she stood, the way her loose strands of hair fluttered across her face with the breeze, and how she seemed completely unaware of the world.
He stepped closer, leaning slightly against the railing beside her.
"Hello," he said softly.
But Ishita didn't reply. She hadn't even noticed him. Her eyes were fixed on the page; her lips moved ever so slightly, as if reading in a whisper.
Sidharth tilted his head. She didn't hear me? Or maybe... she's ignoring me?
He chuckled quietly under his breath and simply stood there, watching her.
Sidharth's POV:
I just said hello... but she didn't even flinch. What's she reading that's got her so lost?
I should probably walk away.
But I can't.
There's something about her silence — it pulls me in more than words ever could. She's simple, no makeup, no drama... and still, she looks— beautiful.
Untouched. Real.
My eyes drift to her coffee mug — half empty and forgotten on the railing. I smirk and pick it up, taking a sip. It's gone cold, a bit bitter, but somehow... still tastes like her. Tasteless, yet addictive.
Maybe that's what she's becoming to me — an addiction I can't explain.
Then my gaze drops to the cover of her book.
"Haunting Adeline."
Wait, what?
Curious, Sidharth unlocks his phone and types it into Google.
The screen lights up with the words —
A dark, psychological romance exploring obsession, power, and forbidden desire.
He raises a brow, a slow smirk curving his lips.
"Well, well... Miss Ishita," he murmurs to himself, "so this is what you read before bed?"
He moves closer — so close that he can read the paragraph she's on.
Her finger trails across a line —
( HE Work the Weapon halfway in before the gun retratet the very tip ,i am allowed at the movement breath ,before he burrie the entier barral inside me , i stuck in a sharp gaps and let my head fall back ,no loanger having strength to watch
this is so furked up beyon furked up
when the gun pull out and and sinks back again a noise dose slips
good gril ( he breath ) open wider baby his hand still holding my throng
"i can feel how tight you pussy is "the way its grip on to gun when i slide in an dout " its furking pretty " )
one that drips with tension and intimacy — and Sidharth's grin widens.
So the calm, composed academy candidat likes her stories... dark.
He leans down slightly, his breath brushing against her ear as he whispers,
"Looks like someone's taste is darker than her coffee."
Ishita jumped, her eyes wide, her cheeks instantly flushed pink.
"Sir! You scared me— when did you come here?"
Sidharth folded his arms casually, leaning against the railing with that teasing glint in his eyes.
"Oh, about fifteen minutes ago," he said, gaze flicking between her and the empty coffee mug in his hand. "You were... occupied."
Her eyes darted to the mug, realization dawning.
"Sir! You drank my coffee again!"
He stepped closer — close enough for his scent to mix with the fading aroma of her coffee — and his voice dropped an octave lower.
"Don't worry," he murmured, his tone edged with playful heat, "one day, Ms . Ishita... I'll return all your coffee. Every single drop."
Her breath hitched.
"Sir... no need— what are you even saying?" she stammered, clutching her book to her chest, cheeks glowing crimson.
Sidharth's smile turned into a smirk. "Well, doctors don't carry guns... but army doctors? We always keep one."
That was it — she was blushing so hard she could barely meet his eyes.
Before she could turn away, he caught her wrist gently. The sudden pull brought her right against his chest.
For a moment, time froze. Her heartbeat trembled against him; his breath fanned against her temple. The air between them felt alive — heavy with words neither dared to say.
Sidharth leaned close, his voice dropping to a whisper,
"Same time tomorrow, Ishita. And don't forget the coffee."
He placed her empty mug back into her trembling hands — his fingers brushing hers deliberately — and then let go.
Ishita turned and fled down the corridor, her steps quick and uneven, her heart pounding louder than her footsteps.
Sidharth stood there, watching her disappear into the shadows, a sly smile tugging at his lips.
"She can run all she wants," he muttered under his breath, "but she's already caught."
The faint hum of the ceiling fan filled the quiet room. Sameer lay on the bed, his shoulder bandaged, chest rising unevenly. The moonlight slipped through the half-open curtains, drawing silver lines across his face.
Roshni pushed the door open softly. She'd just bathed after training — her hair still damp, her skin carrying the warmth of steam and the freshness of soap. Dressed in a soft cotton kurti, her mangalsutra glimmered faintly beneath her dupatta, her sindoor hidden by her falling hair.
She looked around — the room was dim, still.
He's asleep... but why is he sweating so much?
She stepped closer and sat on the edge of the bed. Sameer's face was flushed red; beads of sweat rolled down his temple. Panic flickered across her eyes.
"Sir... sir, aap thik toh hain?" she whispered, touching his forehead. Her hand jerked back instantly — he was burning.
"Sir, please wake up!" she said, shaking him gently.
Sameer stirred, half-conscious. His eyes opened slightly, unfocused, and before Roshni could move away, he reached out — his hand finding her wrist, then her waist.
"Sir—" she gasped softly.
He pulled her close, his body hot with fever. Her freshly bathed coolness brushed against him, and the contrast seemed to soothe his burning skin. His head dropped onto her lap, his face resting against her stomach.
Roshni froze. Her breath caught in her throat; her heart began to hammer violently.
"Sir, please... let me bring medicine, aapko bukhaar hai..." she whispered, her voice trembling.
But Sameer didn't respond. His hand tightened around her waist, seeking comfort, peace — anything to escape the fever's ache. Roshni's fingers hovered uncertainly above him, her eyes stinging.
Just then, the door opened.
Sidharth entered, a file in hand — and stopped dead in his tracks.
For a brief moment, the scene before him stunned him: Sameer's head resting on Roshni's lap, his hand wrapped around her waist, her eyes wide in panic.
His tone remained calm, but the authority in it sliced through the air.
"Candidate Roshni... what's happening here?"
Roshni instantly straightened, her voice shaking, "Sir, Sameer sir is burning with fever. I was just— checking on him."
Sidharth's eyes softened slightly as he approached. He touched Sameer's forehead and frowned.
"He's running a severe fever... probably an infection from the injury."
He looked at Roshni. "Stay here. I'll get the injection and medicine."
He left quickly.
Roshni stared at Sameer, her heart breaking. Tears gathered in her eyes as guilt surged through her chest.
Roshni... pehle papa, phir maa... aur ab pati... sabko tu hi dard deti hai.
Her whisper cracked in the quiet room, "Mujhse sab galat hi hota hai..."
A faint sound escaped Sameer's lips. "Roshni..."
She blinked, startled — he was half-conscious but aware enough to speak.
"Tumne kuch nahi kiya," he murmured weakly. "Stop blaming yourself..."
"Sir, aap hosh mein hain?" she said softly, tears slipping down her cheeks.
He managed a faint "hmm," then winced as pain rippled through his shoulder.
Sidharth returned with a tray.
"Roshni, move aside— I'll handle this."
She tried to get up, but Sameer's grip didn't loosen. His hand still held her dupatta in his sleep.
Sidharth sighed. "It's fine. Sit there. I'll manage."
He prepared the injection swiftly, his movements calm but efficient.
"Roshni, lift his sleeve."
She hesitated — the fabric clung tight against Sameer's muscular arm. "Sir... it's not coming up."
"Then open his jacket zip," Sidharth said flatly, not looking at her. "Unless you want me to do it?"
Roshni's breath hitched. "No, sir..."
With trembling fingers, she unzipped the track jacket slowly. The black cardigan beneath revealed Sameer's toned chest and strong arms. For a fleeting second, she felt her pulse skip — the nearness, the silence, everything too close, too real.
Sidharth didn't look up, injecting the medicine efficiently. "Done. He'll feel better soon."
He turned to her. "You can go now, Candidate. I'll take care of him."
Roshni stood, head bowed, ready to leave — but something tugged her back. Her dupatta.
She looked down — Sameer's hand had caught it even in his fevered sleep. As she tried to free it, the fabric slipped. Her mangalsutra caught the dim light. A strand of hair fell away, revealing the faint line of sindoor in her parting.
Sidharth froze mid-movement. His eyes lifted to her — confusion crossing his face.
"Roshni..." his voice dropped slightly, controlled yet questioning.
"...are you married?"
Roshni turned sharply, her heart stopping for a beat.
Her hand flew to her throat, eyes wide — she hadn't realized everything was visible. The mangalsutra, the sindoor — all the secrets she had buried under duty and silence.
The air between them thickened with questions unspoken.
And Roshni — speechless, trembling — could only stare back at him.
The silence in the room was heavy.
The faint glow of the bedside lamp flickered across Sameer's still form. Roshni stood frozen, her heartbeat echoing in her ears, her fingers clutching the mangalsutra that had betrayed her secret.
Sidharth's eyes lingered on her, calm but piercing.
"Roshni," he said quietly, "you said it's not what it looks like. But I've seen your biodata — the one from the physical examination before training. It clearly stated unmarried."
Roshni's breath hitched.
He took a slow step forward, his voice steady but concerned.
"So... how did this happen? Tum academy se kahi gayi bhi nahi thi. Except..." he paused, his brows knitting slightly, "you went for your father's funeral, didn't you?"
Her lips parted, but no sound came. She looked away, clutching her dupatta tightly against her chest.
Sidharth continued softly, "I'm not accusing you, Roshni. I'm just... not understanding."
He took another step closer. "Something must have happened. Tell me the truth."
kisi naa kuch galt kiya hai kay tumhar sath , yaa koi zor zabardasti ...wha ...sameer kha thaa tumhari safty ka liya gaya tha naa wha
Roshni's eyes shimmered. The dam she had been holding back cracked open.
Her voice trembled.
"Sir... the day I went for Papa's funeral, I thought that was the last pain I would ever face in this life. But I was wrong..."
She took a shaky breath, tears spilling silently.
"When I was ready to come back to the academy... my bara papa — my father's elder brother — stopped me. I respected him, sir. I thought he wanted my good, and want to spent some time with me . But he had... other plans."
Sidharth's expression hardened, listening quietly.
Roshni's words broke with every sentence.
"He... fixed my marriage. Without asking me. To a man twice my age. For money... and for a piece of land."
She swallowed painfully, her voice barely a whisper.
"They dragged me to the temple, sir. I begged them even i fought with them , but no one listened. Even Maa... she was under their control. I had no one."
Tears rolled down her cheeks, unchecked now.
"I was ready to end it all rather than marry that man. But then... Sameer sir came. He and my brother Ravi reached there. There was a fight... a chaos... someone fired a gun—"
Her voice cracked. "The bullet was meant for me... and for Sameer sir. But my mother—"
She pressed her trembling hand to her lips, sobbing softly.
"My mother came between... and she took that bullet. She... she saved both of us."
Sidharth's eyes softened, grief shadowing his features.
"Before she..." Roshni's voice broke again. "Before she left us, she made him promise to take care of me. Her last wish... was that he marry me. And sir..." she wiped her tears, whispering, "he couldn't say no. He was in shock, guilt, everything. So, in front of that same fire meant for my forced marriage... I became his wife."
Her eyes were red now, glistening under the dim light.
"It wasn't love, sir. It was... destiny's cruelty. A promise made in guilt and pain. He... he obeyed my mother's last command. And I swore to keep it secret — to protect his name, my dignity, everything."
The room was silent except for her quiet sobs.
Sidharth stood there for a long moment, his throat tight. Then, slowly, he stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Roshni..." his voice was low, filled with genuine emotion, "you don't need to hide anymore. What you faced — no one should. But I respect you for your strength."
She shook her head weakly. "Sir, please... don't tell anyone. Not even Sameer sir knows that I've spoken of this. He wanted it to stay between us, till the right time..."
Sidharth nodded firmly.
"Don't worry. Your secret stays with me. From today..." he paused, his voice softening, "you don't have to feel like you have no one. You have me. Consider me your brother, Roshni. A promise from an Army doctor — I'll protect your and your truth."
Roshni looked up at him, eyes wide, stunned by the warmth in his words. A fresh tear slipped down her cheek — but this time, it wasn't from pain.
"Thank you, sir..." she whispered.
Sidharth smiled faintly. "No 'sir'. Just... your brother from now on."
For the first time that night, Roshni's lips curved into a small, trembling smile.
She folded her hands in gratitude. "Thank you, bhai..."
Sidharth gave a small nod and looked toward Sameer, who was sleeping more peacefully now.
He turned back to her and said gently, "Go rest, Roshni. He'll be fine by morning. And... so will you."
Roshni gave him one last grateful glance and quietly left the room, the sound of her footsteps fading down the corridor.
Sidharth stood still for a long moment, eyes on the door.
Married to Sameer... under such pain and promise.
He exhaled deeply. "Life really tests the strongest hearts..."
He turned back to check on Sameer — unaware that this truth he'd just learned ,
The morning sun streamed through the half-open curtains, casting a warm golden hue across the neatly arranged room. The faint chirping of birds and distant sounds of drill commands from the academy ground drifted in through the window.
Sameer stirred when the light hit his face. His head felt heavy, his throat a little dry. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open — and he saw someone sitting beside him.
"Arpita?" he muttered groggily, blinking away the blur. She was seated on a chair next to his bed, a worried softness in her eyes, her hair loosely tied as if she'd been there for a while.
He turned his head to the clock on the wall — 8:30 a.m.
His eyes widened. "Oh shit! 8:30? How the hell did I sleep this long?" He sat up quickly, rubbing his forehead. "God! Arpita, tum yahan kya kar rahi ho? And where are the candidates? You could have at least woken me up! And that idiot Sidharth — usne bhi nahi jagaya mujhe?"
Arpita held up a hand, her voice calm and gentle. "Sameer, stop... just stop for a second. Don't rush."
He frowned, confused.
She smiled faintly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "The candidates are already at the ground. They're doing their morning drills and training sessions. And you —" she gave him a pointed look, "— were burning with fever last night. Sidharth told me to keep an eye on you. That's why I was here... just checking if you were okay."
Sameer blinked, his irritation fading slightly. "Fever?" he muttered, touching his forehead. He didn't feel weak now — just a little drained.
Arpita reached out instinctively and placed her hand gently on his head to check. But Sameer immediately moved back, taking her hand off softly but firmly.
"Don't worry, Arpita. I'm perfectly fine now," he said, swinging his legs off the bed. "You go. I'll join the candidates after I freshen up."
Arpita hesitated for a second, then smiled. "Okay... fine. But wait," she said as he picked up his towel. "Listen, Sameer — tomorrow's Sunday."
He paused and looked back at her.
Her tone softened, almost uncertain. "If you're free... I was wondering if we could go out for a while. I need to talk to you. Something important."
Sameer looked at her for a moment, eyebrows narrowing slightly. "Arpita, I don't think I can. I already have some pending work," he said, his tone polite but distant.
Her eyes flickered with disappointment. She bit her lip and said quietly, "It's really important, Sameer. Please... just this once."
He sighed, watching her for a few seconds — the sincerity in her eyes, the nervousness in her voice. After a short pause, he nodded slowly. "Alright... fine. I'll come."
Her face brightened immediately, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you," she said softly.
Sameer just gave a short nod and walked toward the washroom, grabbing his towel on the way.
As the door closed behind him, Arpita stood there for a moment — a thoughtful look in her eyes. She glanced at the bed where he had been resting, then toward the sunlight filtering through the window.
Quietly, she whispered to herself, "Maybe tomorrow... he'll finally listen."
Sameer turned on the tap, splashing cold water on his face. The chill bit into his skin, clearing the lingering heaviness from sleep. He leaned over the sink, letting the droplets trail down his jawline.
As he reached for the towel, a faint fragrance drifted up — lavender.
He froze for a second.
Lavender?
He inhaled again, frowning. The scent was unmistakable — soft, soothing, lingering faintly on his shirt collar.
But... Arpita hates lavender, he thought, confused.
Then a flicker of memory flashed in his mind — someone sitting beside him in the dim light, cool hands pressing a wet cloth to his forehead, a soft voice whispering his name... and the warmth of a lap where he had unknowingly rested his head.
Sameer's hand tightened on the towel. His breath hitched slightly. Was it... her?
The image was hazy, like smoke — but it tugged at something deep inside him.
He shook his head sharply, shutting the thought away. "Stop thinking, Sameer," he muttered to himself, staring at his reflection. "Just... freshen up. You're already late."
He splashed more water on his face, rubbed it dry with force, and straightened his collar. Within minutes, he stepped out, his expression composed — the officer mask firmly back in place.
The academy ground was alive with energy — the rhythmic thud of boots, sharp calls of commands, and the crisp morning air buzzing with focus. Cadets were lined in rows, practicing combat techniques under the guidance of a martial arts specialist — a former defense instructor, his voice booming across the open field.
"Left stance! Guard up! Attack! Don't drop your elbow, candidate!"
The thuds of punches meeting pads echoed across the open ground.
Sameer walked in wearing his black track suit, aviators shading his sharp eyes. His presence alone straightened half the cadets.
"Good morning, sir!" they chorused, voices strong and united.
Sameer gave a curt nod, folding his arms. "Good morning, everyone. How's the drill and martial arts practice going on?"
Before anyone could reply, a familiar voice piped up from the middle of the group.
Vihaan, grinning ear to ear, wiped his sweat dramatically and said, "Sir, without you, kuch bhi acha nahi lagta! Hamara mann hi nahi lagta training mein... lagta hai jaise chai mein patti kam daal di ho!"
The cadets around him burst out laughing.
Sameer raised an eyebrow. "Really, Vihaan? aapka dialogues toh filmon se bhi zyada dramatic ho rahe hain."
Vihaan smirked and saluted jokingly, "Bas sir, aap ho toh motivation milta hai. Warna hum toh punching bag se hi baat karte hain aajkal!"
Sameer gave him a deadpan look. "Lagta hai aapko extra laps chahiye motivation ke liye. Chaliya — ground ke chakkar lagaiya , ten rounds. Full speed."
The whole squad erupted in laughter as Vihaan groaned, "Sir! Yeh toh mazaak mein bola tha!"
Sameer shot back with a faint smirk. "Main bhi mazaak mein hi keh raha hoon. Chaliya , jog karte hue sochiya gaa agla joke kya hoga."
Vihaan ran off dramatically, pretending to faint mid-run, making everyone laugh harder.
From a little distance, Roshni stood with Ishita, both wearing academy tracksuits, their hair tied back neatly. Roshni couldn't help but smile at the exchange, her laughter light and unguarded.
Ishita nudged her playfully. "Yeh Vihaan pagal hai. Roz sir se daant khata hai, par aadat chhodi nahi."
Roshni chuckled softly, her eyes still on Sameer. "Haan... lagta hai usse roz sunne ki aadat ho gayi hai."
The morning sunlight caught on her smile, and for a moment — Sameer's gaze, from across the field, flickered toward her.
Just a second — a fleeting connection — before he turned back to the cadets, his jaw tightening slightly, hiding something even he couldn't quite name.
Sameer stood at the edge of the mat, arms folded, eyes sharp but calm. His fever from the previous night had faded beneath the cool discipline of duty, yet a faint exhaustion lingered around his eyes. Still, no one could tell; he stood tall, commanding as ever.
The martial arts trainer, a solidly built man in his forties with a voice that carried authority, clapped his hands loudly.
"Pair up! Let's see how well you've absorbed what I taught!"
The cadets shuffled quickly into pairs.
Roshni tied her wrist wraps tighter, rolling her shoulders. Ishita grinned, stretching her arms.
"Looks like we're opponents this time," Ishita said, a spark of playfulness in her tone.
Roshni smiled lightly. "Then let's make it a fair fight."
The trainer stepped between them.
"Rules are simple. No actual injury. Focus on precision, balance, and counterattack. Begin when I say—"
He raised his hand.
"Fight!"
Roshni vs Ishita
The air snapped alive as they moved — two silhouettes in motion.
Roshni stepped forward swiftly, her right leg swinging into a calculated side kick. Ishita dodged and countered with a low sweep, forcing Roshni to jump back with perfect timing.
Their movements were sharp yet fluid — like mirrors testing each other. Roshni's expression was calm, focused, her eyes locked. Ishita grinned between breaths, adrenaline sparkling in her eyes.
"Kahaan se seekha tumne?" Ishita asked mid-fight, blocking a punch with her forearm. "Mujhe kabhi itna tough competitor nahi mila!"
Roshni smiled faintly, ducking and countering with a quick palm strike that made Ishita step back. "Mujhe bhi nahi... lagta hai tum bhi kamaal kar sakti ho."
They circled each other, their breathing steady, shoes scraping softly against the mat.
The trainer watched closely, impressed. "Good — both of you, maintain stance, eyes on target!"
Roshni feinted left, Ishita reacted, and Roshni used that moment to pivot and disarm — her hand brushing Ishita's shoulder just as the timer beeped.
"Time!" the trainer shouted.
Both women stopped instantly, breathing hard but smiling wide. They bowed to each other — mutual respect glowing between them.
"Impressive," the trainer said, nodding. "Technique balanced, focus sharp. Well done, both of you."
Roshni and Ishita exchanged a light laugh, bumping fists. Around them, the other cadets clapped and whistled in good spirit.
From across the ground, Sameer watched silently — his gaze fixed, unreadable. For a brief moment, pride flickered behind his disciplined expression. She's improving fast... beyond expectation, he thought.
Vihaan vs Arjun
"Next pair — Vihaan and Arjun!" the trainer called out.
Vihaan cracked his neck dramatically. "Arjun, bhai, ready ho jaa. Aaj dikhata hoon asli Bollywood action kya hota hai!"
Arjun chuckled. "Bas acting mat karna, warna main stunt double bula lunga."
Laughter rippled through the group.
The moment the whistle blew, Vihaan charged with unexpected agility — a front kick, a quick spin, forcing Arjun on defense. Arjun parried and countered with solid footwork, nearly tripping Vihaan in the process. Dust scattered under their boots as both clashed with growing intensity.
Sameer's gaze shifted between them, noting their stance, their control, their spirit.
Arjun ducked under a punch and caught Vihaan by the arm — but Vihaan twisted, using the momentum to flip Arjun neatly onto the mat. The fall echoed sharply.
For a moment, silence.
Then Vihaan immediately crouched beside him, extending his hand. "Bro, tu theek hai? Sorry, zyada lag toh nahi gaya?"
Arjun winced, then grinned. "Bohot maza aaya... lekin next time, main nahi chhodunga."
The cadets cheered and clapped again, the friendly rivalry fueling the morning air.
Sameer's eyes moved over each of them — Roshni and Ishita standing side by side, still laughing softly, Vihaan helping Arjun dust himself off, the rest of the batch attentive and alive with team spirit.
A faint smile tugged at his lips — rare, subtle, but genuine.
They're learning. They're not just cadets anymore... they're becoming officers.
He adjusted his watch, straightened his jacket, and turned slightly toward the trainer.
"Good work," he said quietly. "They're coming along faster than expected."
The trainer nodded. "Your methods are working, sir. They're motivated."
Sameer gave a brief nod, his gaze drifting once more — stopping, for just a second, on Roshni. Her hair was tied, but a few loose strands framed her face, her eyes still bright from the fight.
His expression softened, pride and something unspoken glinting beneath the surface.
Then, like always, he masked it — the officer returned.
"Alright, everyone," he called out, voice firm again. "Break for ten minutes. Then we move to endurance drills."
A chorus of "Yes, sir!" rang across the field, echoing through the morning air.
The whistle blew, marking the end of the martial arts session. The cadets dropped onto the grass, breathing heavily, water bottles passing from hand to hand. Laughter and teasing filled the air — Vihaan still bragging about his "filmy" victory, Arjun rolling his eyes in mock irritation, Ishita and Roshni sitting together, catching their breath.
Sameer stood a little apart, near the boundary line, his arms crossed, gaze quietly scanning the group. The sunlight fell over him — crisp uniform, the faint line of sweat along his temple, his posture straight as ever. He looked every bit the officer, but there was something different in his eyes this morning... a quiet awareness.
Roshni wiped her forehead with her dupatta, took a sip of water, and glanced toward him — just once. But that one look was enough.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, time seemed to pause — the chatter, the laughter, everything faded into a soft blur.
Sameer's gaze held hers — steady, unreadable. It wasn't the sharp, commanding look of a senior officer anymore... it was softer, quieter, as if he was seeing her, not just the cadet in uniform.
Roshni quickly looked away, pretending to fix her wristband, her heart thudding. She could still feel his gaze lingering, and the memory of the previous night — his fever, his hand clutching her wrist, his voice murmuring her name — flashed in her mind.
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head as if to erase it. No, Roshni. Don't think about it. He's your senior... your husband, yes — but not like before. Not here. Not now.
"Roshni," Ishita's voice broke her thoughts. "You okay? You're red as a tomato."
Roshni blinked, forcing a smile. "Nothing, just tired."
A few steps away, Sameer spoke quietly with the martial arts trainer, but his focus drifted. Out of habit, his gaze flicked toward her again — the way she sat under the sunlight, eyes thoughtful, she laughed softly at something Ishita said.
That same lavender scent — faint, familiar — brushed his senses again., when hw move by her side , His fingers twitched unconsciously. He could almost feel the warmth of her touch from last night, the soft tremor in her breath when he had unknowingly held her close.
He straightened immediately, clearing his throat. Control yourself, Sameer.
"Sir?" the trainer asked, snapping him back.
"Hmm? Nothing," he replied, looking away. "Just... continue the session after break."
The cadets began gathering again when Sidharth walked in, clipboard in hand.
"Good morning, everyone! I hope our officer here hasn't scared you all to death yet?" he joked, clapping Sameer's shoulder.
"Sidharth," Sameer said flatly, "they can handle worse."
"Arre haan, but maybe don't make them do 50 push-ups before breakfast," Sidharth quipped. The group chuckled.
Roshni looked down quickly to hide her smile — that same small, private smile that Sameer noticed instantly. He didn't react, but there was a tiny, invisible warmth in his chest that hadn't been there before.
As everyone began reassembling, Roshni stood and adjusted her uniform . Just then , she move from next to sameer her hand the edge brushed lightly across Sameer's arm as she passed by him to rejoin the line.
He froze — just a flicker of that lavender again. Their shoulders nearly brushed, and he caught a glimpse of her sindoor hidden beneath her hairline.
It was a moment, fleeting and quiet — but heavy enough that both felt it.
Roshni kept walking, back straight, eyes fixed ahead.
Sameer inhaled sharply, then exhaled slow, steady.
Sidharth, watching from the side, caught that silent exchange — the tension, the distance, the care. He said nothing, only murmured under his breath,
"Some bonds don't need words... they just exist."
Break time after martial arts training — finally!
I was sitting on the ground with Arjun, Roshni, Ishita, and Karan. Everyone was gulping water, gossiping, and trying to act like we weren't already half-dead from Sameer sir's morning torture.
I leaned back on my elbows, trying to catch some breath when I saw her — Arpita ma'am — walking across the ground. Clipboard in one hand, a few papers tucked under her arm, her eyes scanning the field with that sharp, confident look of hers.
Man, I swear, even the wind slowed down for her.
She wasn't just walking — she was commanding the ground.
She stopped near Sameer sir, who was talking to the martial arts trainer. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but it didn't matter. My eyes were glued to her.
The way her high ponytail swung lightly as she moved, that faint smile on her lips when she nodded, the sunlight reflecting off the edge of her tracksuit zip — she looked... perfect.
I've met a lot of girls before — loud, dramatic, sweet, annoying — but Arpita ma'am? She's something else. There's a calm strength in her, the kind that doesn't need to prove anything.
And that smile... not everyone gets it.
She turned, ready to leave, and just then — our eyes met.
For a second, I swear, time froze.
My heartbeat just... stopped.
She gave me a small, polite smile — the professional kind, the "I see you, cadet" type — and walked away. But to me? It felt like she just walked right through my chest and stole a heartbeat on her way out.
I blinked, still staring like an idiot, when suddenly—
"Abey, tu kahaan dekh raha hai!" Arjun's voice snapped me out of my trance.
"Huh?" I jerked back.
Karan smirked, "Roshni kab se bula rahi thi, aur yeh toh kahin aur hi ghoom raha hai."
Roshni chimed in teasingly, "Lagta hai hamare commando sahab kisi aur mission pe hain."
I scratched the back of my neck, acting cool. "Kuch nahi... bas... weather dekh raha tha."
Arjun laughed, "Haan haan, 'weather' ya 'Arpita ma'am'?"
I threw a grass straw at him. "Chup kar, idiot!"
But inside, my brain was still replaying that one second — her eyes, that smile.
"God, Vihaan... tu pagal hai," I muttered under my breath, grinning like a fool.
The evening sky over the Himalayan Civil Academy was painted with a soft golden hue. The corridors buzzed faintly with the chatter of cadets heading back from evening drills. Vihaan, however, had something else on his mind.
He stood in the long corridor near the common room, grinning mischievously as he blocked Ishita and Roshni's path.
"Arre, rukko zara! Tum dono ko important baat karni hai."
Roshni crossed her arms suspiciously. "Vihaan, ab kya nautanki hai?"
Before he could reply, Karan and Arjun appeared from the other end of the hallway.
"Kya hai, bhai?" Arjun asked, stretching his arms. "Tu ne bulaya, soch rahe the koi emergency hai."
Vihaan grinned wider. "Sun lo sab... kal Sunday hai. Soch raha hoon kahi ghumne chalte hain. Kitne din ho gaye yaar, bas training, punishment aur Sameer sir ke daant hi sun rahe hain!"
For a moment, everyone blinked at him. Then Karan's face lit up.
"Arey wah! Idea bura nahi hai. Mujhe toh chhutti ka naam sunke hi sukoon mil gaya!"
Roshni's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Sahi kaha! Ek din ka break toh banta hai. Chalo na, sab milke!"
But before the enthusiasm could take over, Ishita frowned. "Pagal ho gaye ho kya? Permission naam ki koi cheez hoti hai yahaan. Arjun, tu hi samjha inhe."
Arjun nodded, half amused. "Bilkul. Pehle permission leni padegi, warna Sameer sir hamari chhutti ko permanent bana denge."
Ishita continued teasingly, "Aur bhoolo mat, last time jab shopping ke liye gaye the na— Aliya ma'am ne bola tha six baje se pehle aa jaana, aur hum late ho gaye the! Us din sir ka lecture abhi tak yaad hai mujhe."
Vihaan waved a hand dismissively. "Arre yaar, ek baar poochne mein kya harz hai? Mana kar denge toh baad ki baat, par try toh karte hain."
Karan laughed, patting his back. "Tu toh gaya beta. Chal, dekhte hain kitni himmat hai teri Sameer sir ke saamne."
And before anyone could back out, Vihaan marched ahead toward Sameer's office, the others trailing behind reluctantly.
There was a knock on my office door just as I was finishing a report. Without looking up, I said, "Come in."
Footsteps shuffled inside, followed by a hesitant voice — Vihaan's.
"Sir... woh... hum... matlab... kal Sunday hai na... toh..."
I looked up slowly, eyebrow raised. "Vihaan, speak properly. I'm not sitting here to solve a jumble puzzle."
He swallowed hard, then blurted out in one breath, "Sir, sorry sir, actually we all want to go out tomorrow since it's Sunday. Just a few hours, sir — we promise we won't be late this time!"
I closed the file and leaned back in my chair. "In one word, Vihaan — No."
The smile dropped from all their faces.
"No arguments. Back to your rooms," I said firmly.
"Sir..." Vihaan tried again softly.
"Dismissed, Cadet Vihaan."
Their shoulders slumped collectively as they turned to leave. The door clicked shut behind them, and I shook my head with a faint sigh. These kids... they think I don't know what it's like to be one of them.
As soon as the door closed, Ishita groaned. "Dekha, maine kaha tha na! Sir se permission lena matlab khud ko problem mein daalna."
Vihaan threw his hands in the air. "Yaar, Sameer sir bhi na... lagta hai khaduspan unhone virasat mein liya hai! Kabhi smile kar dete toh lagta ke insaan hain, warna toh pura hitler mode pe rehte hain!"
Karan laughed loudly. "Bilkul! Lagta hai sir ke blood group mein bhi 'H' aata hai— H for Hitler!"
Roshni couldn't help but giggle. "Tum log bhi na..."
Arjun shook his head, chuckling. "Chalo chhodo, ab room mein chalte hain. Aur Vihaan bhai, tere dreams of ghumna-firna kal ke liye cancel."
The boys walked off together, still laughing and joking. But Roshni stayed behind for a moment, watching Vihaan quietly.
He was trying to act normal, but his face clearly showed disappointment. She sighed softly. Poor guy was really excited about it.
Ishita noticed her lingering. "Roshni, chal na, dinner ka time ho gaya."
"Tu jaa, mujhe thoda kaam hai," Roshni replied.
"Kya kaam hai?" Ishita raised a brow.
"Bas... hai na, tu chal."
"Thik hai thik hai, madam secret mission pe hain lagta hai," Ishita said dramatically and walked away, waving. "Bye!"
Roshni smiled faintly, murmuring under her breath, "Bye..." before turning down the corridor, her mind still somewhere around a certain disappointed commando.
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