The academy had grown quiet under the soft hum of night. From the tall windows of the administrative block, streaks of golden light fell across the polished floor, catching motes of dust that danced in the still air.
Inside Sameer's office, the rhythmic scratching of his pen was the only sound. His chair faced the window, back turned to the door, files spread open across the desk.
A gentle knock came.
Without looking up, Sameer said in his deep, calm tone,
"Come in."
He didn't turn. His mind was buried in the report he was finishing.
"Kaka, chai table par rakh dijiye," he added absently.
Roshni, standing at the door, froze. She had come with a purpose, but hadn't expected to find him like this — calm, unaware, and slightly tired. Before she could answer, the real Kaka walked in with a tray of tea. Thinking fast, Roshni took it from him with a polite smile.
"Main de deti hoon, Kaka. Aap jaiye. Mujhe bhi kuch baat karni hai sir se," she whispered.
Kaka smiled kindly. "Thik hai, beti."
When he left, Roshni quietly set the cup on the side table and stepped closer. The light from the lamp fell across Sameer's face — his jaw tense, brows slightly furrowed, concentration deep.
He reached for the cup without glancing up, took a sip... and his expression instantly changed. His lips pressed in slight disapproval. He placed the cup down, half covered it with the saucer, and returned to his file.
Roshni, arms crossed, tilted her head with an amused smile. "Chai acchi nahi thi kya, jo aise muh bana liya?"
Sameer's hand froze mid-air. That voice — soft, confident, and teasing — wasn't Kaka's.
He turned slowly.
Roshni stood there, her presence gentle yet arresting. She was wearing a simple peach kurti, her long hair loose, falling naturally over her shoulders. The lamplight gave her a quiet glow, softening every line of her face.
For a moment, Sameer forgot to breathe.
"Roshni..." he murmured, his voice almost low with surprise.
She raised an eyebrow. "Aap sun rahe hain, ji?"
Sameer blinked, regaining himself. "Haan... sun raha hoon. Lekin tum yahan kaise? Kisne permission di, Ms. Mishra?"
Her eyes narrowed. "It's Mrs. Pandey, pati dev," she said coolly. "Abhi main koi candidate nahi hoon."
That caught him off guard — her tone, her boldness. He leaned back slightly, trying to mask his surprise. "Roshni, seedha bolo kya kehna hai. Mujhe bahut kaam hai."
He rose from his chair, ready to end the conversation, but Roshni stepped forward, firm and unhesitant. Her hand pressed lightly on his shoulder, pushing him back into the seat.
"Pehle aap sun lijiye," she said, voice tight with emotion. "Aapki tabiyat theek nahi thi. Kal raat bukhar tha aapko. Subah se maine dekha — na canteen gaye, na kuch khaya. Aur ab yeh chai bhi nahi pi. Sirf file aur kaam."
Sameer stared at her — astonished. The worry in her eyes was unmistakable. She wasn't speaking like a trainee. She was speaking like a wife.
"Roshni..." he began quietly. "Tum apne room jao. Mujhe mera kaam karne do."
Her jaw set. "Thik hai, jaiye. Kijiye apna kaam. fir mai bhii nahi kahau gii ."
She turned sharply to leave, anger flashing in her eyes. But before she could step away, Sameer caught her wrist.
The sudden pull made her lose balance — and in the next heartbeat, she fell straight into his lap.
The world stilled.
Her palms rested on his shoulders for support, her breath shallow. Her hair fell forward, framing her face. A few soft strands brushed his cheek. She closed her eyes, startled, lips slightly parted.
Sameer's gaze softened — his fingers brushed the stray hair from her face, his touch hesitant yet deliberate. For a fleeting second, his heart skipped. The faint scent of lavender from her hair — the same scent he'd noticed that morning — surrounded him again.
Roshni slowly opened her eyes. Their gazes met. Silence stretched between them, heavy yet tender.
"I don't like canteen food," Sameer said at last, voice low, almost breaking the spell. "It's healthy, but... it doesn't feel like home."
Roshni swallowed, her hand still resting against his shoulder. "Toh... kya aap khana nahi khaate sirf is wajah se?"
He didn't answer. His eyes, dark and unreadable, lingered on her face.
"Why do you care?" he asked quietly. "Khaun ya na khaun, tumhe kya farq padta hai?"
Roshni looked at him — really looked — and replied softly but firmly,
"Farq padta hai. Kyu nahi padega? Aap mere pati hain. Aap bimar padein, aur main chup rahu? Mazaa loon?"
Her voice trembled with restrained emotion.
Sameer froze. No one — not even the seniors — ever dared to speak to him that way. She had just walked straight into the lion's den and stood her ground.
A faint smirk curved his lips. "Toh batao, Mrs. Pandey... kya karogi tum? Kaise sant karogi meri bhook?"
Roshni's eyes widened, words faltering on her tongue. A flush crept across her cheeks, reaching her ears.
"You... you should just go," she stammered, trying to get up. "Apna dinner khayiye, sir. Main— main ja rahi hoon."
She scrambled to her feet and practically ran toward the door, her heart thudding so hard she could hear it.
Sameer leaned back in his chair, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he watched her flee. There was something deeply unsettling about how easily she could storm into his world — and leave it spinning.
He stood, picking up his jacket, murmuring to himself with a faint smile,
"Looks like, Sameer... someone has finally come to give you orders."
The lamp flickered as he left the office, the faint scent of lavender still hanging in the air.
The sun was slowly melting into the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. The cool mountain breeze carried the faint scent of pine, rustling through the flags that fluttered along the academy's corridor. The rhythmic echo of trainees' distant laughter faded as the day gave way to calm.
Ishita walked down the corridor, her coffee mug cradled in both hands, steam curling softly into the chilly air. She'd just wrapped up her evening drills, hair still slightly damp from her shower, tied loosely into a low ponytail. Her eyes were tired but content — she'd started to enjoy these little quiet breaks, especially when they led her here.
The balcony — a secluded corner overlooking the practice fields below — had become her little peace spot. The same place where she had sat reading a book yesterday... and where Sidharth Sir had called her to meet again at the same hour.
As she stepped onto the balcony, she spotted him immediately.
Sidharth was already there, leaning casually against the railing, hands in his pockets, the wind tugging lightly at his rolled-up sleeves. The golden light caught the edge of his profile — sharp, calm, and quietly confident.
She smiled faintly and walked toward him.
"Hello, sir," she greeted, voice polite but with that small warmth that always crept in when she spoke to him.
Sidharth turned at the sound, and his usual firm expression softened. "Ishita," he said, "aaj late kaise?"
Ishita chuckled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Sir, thoda practice stretch ho gaya tha... aur phir coffee lene ruk gayi," she admitted, holding up the mug as proof.
Sidharth's gaze shifted briefly to the cup, then back to her with a faint smirk. "Hmm... lagta hai bina coffee ke aapka din pura nahi hota."
She laughed quietly. "Aur bina kaam ke aapka bhi nahi, sir."
He gave a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Touche, cadet Ishita."
The breeze picked up slightly, tugging at her ponytail and the loose end of his shirt. They both turned toward the view — the setting sun draping the valley in a soft amber glow. For a few quiet moments, neither spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable anymore; it had grown familiar, almost comforting.
Sidharth finally said, voice low and thoughtful,
"You know... this time of day reminds me why I chose this life. The discipline, the peace after chaos... the feeling that everything is exactly where it should be."
Ishita took a small sip of her coffee and nodded. "Maybe that's why you called me here, sir — to make me understand that peace is earned, not found."
Sidharth looked at her, surprised by the depth in her tone. "You're learning fast," he said, a rare smile curving his lips.
She tilted her head, teasing gently, "Or maybe I just listen well."
He arched an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Yes, sir," she said playfully, "I listen... and I observe."
Sidharth chuckled quietly, clearly amused. "And what have you observed?"
"That you don't talk much," she said simply, looking at the fading sun, "but when you do, it feels like you've already thought a hundred times before saying it."
For a moment, Sidharth didn't reply. He just looked at her — her calm expression, the way her eyes reflected the last glimmers of sunlight, and the steadiness in her words.
"That's... a good observation," he finally said, his voice gentler than before.
The silence returned, filled only by the chirping of birds and the clink of her coffee mug against the railing.
After a pause, Ishita said softly, "Sir, yesterday when you asked me to come again today... I thought maybe you had something important to discuss."
Sidharth turned slightly toward her, his gaze steady. "I did," he said. "But sometimes, conversation isn't about importance. It's about presence."
Ishita blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of his words — and the weight they carried.
She smiled faintly. "Then I'm glad to be present, sir."
Sidharth's expression softened even more, and for the first time, a quiet warmth flickered in his eyes. "So am I, Ishita."
The sun finally dipped behind the mountains, and in its fading light, the two stood side by side — not as senior and trainee, but as two souls who found a moment of peace in each other's company.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The faint hum of night insects filled the quiet between them, the cool air mixing with the warmth of their breaths. The golden light from the corridor fell across Ishita's face, tracing her cheekbone, the steam from her coffee rising between them like a veil.
Sidharth's gaze dropped to her mug — half-empty, still warm. He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing hers as he took it from her hand. Ishita's breath hitched; the touch was light, but it sent a ripple through the air.
He took a sip, the same way he had yesterday, his eyes never leaving hers.
Ishita blinked, half-startled, half-confused.
"Sir... aap mera coffee kyun pete hain?" she asked, voice softer than she intended. "Main kal aapke liye bhi le aun na... aapko mera bacha hua coffee peene ki zarurat nahi hai."
Sidharth smiled faintly, setting the cup aside. "If you have a problem with it, I won't drink it again."
Her eyes widened slightly. "N-no, sir, that's not—"
He interrupted her gently, the tone lighter but steady.
"First," he said, "stop calling me sir all the time."
Ishita blinked at him, caught between surprise and a nervous laugh.
"Toh phir kya bulau aapko? Bhaiya? Uncle?" she teased, trying to mask her unease with humor.
Sidharth froze for a fraction of a second, lowering the mug mid-sip. His brows lifted, and the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. He leaned forward slightly — not close enough to touch, but enough that his presence seemed to fill the small space between them.
"Don't you dare," he said quietly, a spark of amusement in his eyes.
The soft authority in his voice made her heart skip a beat. She hadn't meant to fluster him, but now it was her turn to lose her composure.
His next words came lower, almost a whisper.
"When it's just the two of us," he said, "you can call me Sidharth."
Her eyes widened again. The name lingered on her tongue, unfamiliar yet warm. She looked away quickly, feeling her pulse race.
Sidharth set the mug aside completely and stepped closer, slow, deliberate. Ishita instinctively stepped back, her back meeting the cool railing behind her. The distance between them disappeared into a breath of space.
"Sidharth..." she said softly, unsure whether she was reminding him or herself.
He stopped then, his expression shifting — not predatory, not commanding, but searching. There was something raw in his eyes, an honesty that felt heavier than words.
Her voice broke the stillness. "Y-yeh galat hai... hum bas trainer aur candidate hain. Aapko itna nazdeek nahi aana chahiye."
He exhaled slowly, straightening a little but not stepping away. "I'm not your academy trainer, Ishita," he said quietly. "The real academy doctor is still recovering. I'm just... filling in for him."
Ishita frowned, confused. "Matlab... aap yeh posting pe nahi ho?"
He shook his head, a small smile ghosting across his lips. "No. I was stationed at the border. They called me here as a substitute." His gaze softened, his voice dropping even lower. "But now I think I know why I ended up here."
She blinked, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. "Why?"
He looked at her for a long second, the breeze stirring between them.
"Maybe destiny wanted our paths to cross," he said simply.
The moment lingered — quiet, fragile, charged with everything they weren't saying. Then he stepped back, the space between them returning like a breath of relief neither realized they needed.
Ishita looked away, clutching her mug, a small smile fighting its way onto her lips.
"Goodnight... Sidharth," she said softly, testing the name for the first time.
He smiled, the sound of her voice wrapping around his name like a quiet promise.
"Goodnight, Ishita."
The wind carried away the last of their words, leaving behind only the faint warmth of two hearts that had just found a rhythm they didn't expect.
The academy kitchen was usually silent after lights-out, its polished counters gleaming under the pale glow of a single emergency lamp. But that night, at half past ten, faint sounds of chopping and the fragrance of spices broke the stillness.
Roshni Pandey, sleeves rolled up and hair tied in a loose braid, stood by the stove with determination. Somehow, she had convinced the sleepy night-chef to let her cook her own meal—"Bas thoda ghar jaisa khana banana hai, sir," she had pleaded—and after a reluctant nod, he had handed her the keys to the pantry.
Now the little kitchen looked alive again.
She kneaded soft dough, her bangles clicking as she pressed and folded it with rhythm. The puffed pooris were already rising one by one in hot oil, turning golden, their fragrance filling the air. Beside them simmered a pot of aloo-matar-tamatar sabzi, the bright red gravy thick with spices and the scent of fresh coriander.
A kheer pot bubbled gently on the next burner, milk reducing into creamy sweetness as she stirred slowly, humming under her breath. On a side counter, she found a box labeled gulab-jamun mix. Her eyes brightened. "Arre, yeh toh aur bhi accha ho gaya." Within minutes, small round balls were frying to a deep brown, and she poured warm syrup over them until they gleamed like amber pearls.
For a moment she just stood there, the aroma surrounding her, feeling oddly peaceful. In that kitchen far from home, she'd recreated a slice of her own world.
By half-past eleven, the meal was ready—pooris, sabzi, kheer, and a bowl of steaming gulab jamuns. She arranged everything neatly on a tray, covering the plates with a clean napkin. The academy was quiet now; the only sound was her soft footsteps echoing down the corridor as she walked toward the staff quarters.
Roshni's heart beat a little faster with every step. She knew what time it was, knew this was risky, but she had seen Sameer sir skipping meals more than once. "Itna disciplined insaan bhi bhooka rahe toh kaisa chalega," she muttered to herself.
When she reached his door, the corridor clock showed 11:40 p.m. She took a deep breath and knocked softly.
After a few seconds, the door opened.
Sameer stood there, eyes half-open, obviously woken from light sleep. He was still in his black vest and cargo pants, the look of a man who hadn't expected visitors. His expression shifted from confusion to mild irritation.
"Roshni? Tum yahan? Is waqt?" he asked, rubbing his temple. "Yeh koi time hai aane ka? Jaao apne dorm mein."
Roshni blinked, clutching the tray a little tighter. "Chali jaaungi... pehle andar toh aane dijiye. Darwaze pe khade-khade baat karenge toh koi dekh lega."
He sighed, glancing down the empty corridor. "Yeh sab karne se pehle socha tha? Agar kisi ne dekh liya toh?"
" play: har kisi koo nahi milta yha pyar "
"Sameer sir," she said firmly, stepping past him before he could protest, "training ground pe main cadet hoon, lekin yeh ground nahi hai—ab order mat dijiye."
He shut the door with a resigned look. "Ab batao, itni raat ko yahan aayi kyun?"
Roshni set the tray on the small table. "Aapne kaha tha na, canteen ka khana pasand nahi. Subah se kuch khaaya bhi nahi hoga. Isliye socha ghar-jaisa bana du."
Sameer crossed his arms. "Maine dinner kar liya tha. Fruits aur oats."
She raised an eyebrow. "Yeh kya khana hua? Hamare gaon mein toh aisa khana gaiyon ko bhi nahi dete!" Yee Amrican wali harkat mat kijya
That earned her a startled laugh despite himself. "Main American nahi hoon, Roshni.indian IPS officer hoon."
"Toh phir IPS officer saab," she shot back playfully, uncovering the dishes one by one, "ab puri-sabzi kha lijiye. Yeh hai desi energy."
The fragrance filled the room instantly. Sameer's defenses weakened just a little. The sight of the steaming pooris and the thick, spicy sabzi was too inviting.
He sat down reluctantly. "Bas thoda sa taste kar leta hoon."
Roshni smiled, handing him a plate. As soon as he took the first bite, his expression changed. The simple food hit something deep—memory, comfort, maybe home. He didn't speak again; he just ate quietly, the way a tired soldier might eat after a long day, each bite dissolving the stiffness of duty.
Roshni watched him in silence, her earlier boldness fading into warmth. The way he smiled faintly after tasting the kheer made her heart soften.
When he finally looked up, the plates were empty. "It was perfect," he said simply. "Exactly like home."
Her face lit up. "Toh khana pasand aaya na?"
He nodded. "Bahut."
Outside, the corridor clock struck midnight, the chime echoing softly through the quiet academy halls.
The last spoon of kheer was gone, and the clock ticked quietly toward twelve. The small lamp in Sameer's room cast a mellow light, half-shadowing his face, making the space feel warmer than usual.
Roshni began gathering the plates, her bangles clinking faintly in the silence. "Ab main chalti hoon," she said softly, "aap dawai lijiye aur so jaiye."
Sameer looked up from where he sat, still holding the empty bowl. "Abhi?"
"Ji, raat to ho gayi hai," she said, trying to smile.
He hesitated, eyes flicking toward the small digital clock on the table — 12:03 a.m. "Roshni... abhi mat jao," he said, voice low but firm. "Cameras active hain, guards apni rounds par honge. Agar kisi ne tumhe mere room se nikalte dekha..."
Roshni froze mid-step, the tray still in her hands. He didn't finish the sentence, but she understood. Ek chhoti si galat fehmi bhi dono ke liye musibat ban sakti hai.
"Par sir, main yahan raat bhar..." she began, then stopped. The thought of staying made her heartbeat skip. "Kahaan soongi main?" she asked quietly. "Yahan sofa bhi toh nahi hai."
Sameer rubbed the back of his neck. "Mujhe koi farq nahi padta. Tum yahan bed pe so jao, main chair pe kaam kar lunga."
She frowned. "Aap thand mein kaise rahenge bina kambal ke?"
He smiled faintly — the kind of smile that appeared once in a blue moon on his otherwise disciplined face. "IPS training mein isse zyada thand dekhi hai. I'll survive."
Roshni put the tray aside and looked at him, her eyes softening. main aap thand mai kuu soya gaa ham sath mai sotha aap uss side soo jaya mai iss side ."
Sameer raised an eyebrow. "tumha uncomfortable nahi feel hoo gaa ."
A quiet moment passed between them — not uncomfortable, but full of unspoken things. Outside, the wind rustled through the pine trees. The academy, which by day was all noise and command, now slept under a blanket of stillness.
Roshni finally placed the folded napkin on the tray and turned back to him. "Aapka bhii ajeeb hai ekdm , sir," she said softly. "muja aap paa pura bharosa hai aap apani line kabhi cross nahi kara gaa , haa aap bhal hii akru hai ,strict hai ,naak paa gussa, rahata hai chera paa koi expression nahi lakin insan aap bhut aacha hai ."
He looked at her, surprised by the depth in her voice. "IPS officer ko apni kamzori chhupani padti hai," he said simply.
"Par insaan ko nahi," she whispered.
For a moment, he had no reply. The truth of her words lingered between them like a slow-burning lamp.
Sameer moved toward the window, pulling the curtain aside. The moonlight poured in, silver and quiet. "Tumhara khana... mujhe meri maa yaad aa gayi," he said finally. "Unka baad pehli baar kisi ke haath ka khana itna pasand aaya."
Roshni felt her throat tighten. "Aapne kabhi bataya nahi ki... maa se kitne din se nahi mile?"
" yha ana sa phla mila thaa ," he said, gaze still outside. "Duty postings, transfers, aur ab academy. Zindagi rukti nahi, Roshni."
She took a small step closer, her voice low. "Zindagi rukti nahi, par thodi der rukkar muskuraya bhi ja sakta hai."
Sameer turned, eyes meeting hers — and in that moment, the commander's stiffness gave way to something gentler. "Tumhare liye sab kuch itna aasaan lagta hai," he said quietly.
Roshni shook her head, smiling faintly. "Bas himmat rakhti hoon. Aap jaisa banna seekha hai... par thoda dil se."
He looked at her for a long time, then exhaled softly. "Tum jaise log hi humein yaad dilate hain ke hum sirf uniform nahi, insaan bhi hain."
She smiled — shy, warm, and honest. "Ab sojaaiye, sir. Aapke chehre pe neend bhi permission maang rahi hai."
He gave a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Tum bhi rest kar lo. Blanket le lo, warna thand lag jaayegi."
Roshni hesitated, then nodded. She spread the blanket on one side of the bed, careful not to disturb the space too much. Sameer lay down next to her , still half lost in thought, watching the moonlight fall across the room.
As she lay down, Roshni turned to look at him once — the man everyone feared, now quiet and human in the silver glow.
And before her eyes drifted closed, she whispered almost inaudibly,
"Good night... mr pandey ."
He looked at her, startled for a moment by the sound of his name from her lips. Then, quietly, he replied —
"Good night, Mrs. Pandey."
Outside, the pine trees swayed in the cold wind, and inside, the room stayed warm — not from the blanket, but from the silent comfort of two hearts that, perhaps unknowingly, had begun to care.
Menwile morning
The clock on the side table glowed faintly — 4:00 a.m.
Sameer stirred from his light sleep, his instincts waking him before dawn as always. For a second, he wondered why the blanket felt heavier than usual — and then he turned to see Roshni, asleep beside him.
Her face was half-buried in the pillow, her breathing soft and even. The sight startled him for a moment — not because of impropriety, but because of how peaceful she looked after so many restless days.
He glanced again at the clock and frowned.
"If anyone sees her here at this hour... this will create a mess," he muttered under his breath.
Leaning slightly closer, he said softly,
"Roshni... wake up. It's four in the morning. You have to leave before someone notices."
But she didn't move.
Instead, still lost in sleep, she murmured faintly — voice trembling, words tangled in a dream.
"Mumma... Papa... you both left me... Why didn't you wait for me? I was going to become an IPS officer... Whose home do I go to now? My home is gone... broken..."
Sameer froze. The sharpness in her voice cut through the silence.
For a long moment, he just listened — his eyes softening.
Then, almost without thinking, he whispered,
"Roshni... who says you have no home? I'm here. I'm with you. I'm your home."
A faint, sleepy smile curved her lips.
Still half-dreaming, she murmured,
"Sameer sir is such a good man... Mummy, I really like him... But I don't know if he even accepts me as his wife... or not "
Sameer's breath caught.
He stayed silent — not sure what to feel. The truth was, he didn't know either. He hadn't yet accepted this marriage in his heart, but neither could he deny the strange pull he felt toward her.
And then, suddenly, she stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open, blinking in confusion.
"Sir... what are you doing in my room?" she asked, still half-asleep.
Sameer raised a brow. "Mrs. Pandey, I've been asking myself the same question all night. And just to remind you — you walked into my room last night with food."
Roshni's eyes widened. "Oh... right! I'm so sorry," she said quickly, rubbing the back of her neck with an embarrassed, sheepish smile.
She stood up, wrapped her dupatta around her shoulders, and picked up her things, ready to leave. But halfway to the door, something came to her mind. She turned.
"Mr. Pandey..." she began softly.
Without looking up, Sameer continued folding his blanket and said in the same even tone, "Yes, Mrs. Pandey?"
The way he said it — calm, teasing, and just a little formal — made her blush.
She hesitated, then said, "If you don't mind... can I and my friends go out tomorrow? You refused yesterday, and poor Vihaan looked so disappointed. Please? I promise we won't cause any trouble this time."
Sameer glanced up at her — that familiar stern look in his eyes.
"I already said no. You all created enough problems last time," he replied.
"Please..." she said again, hands folded dramatically, eyes wide with mock innocence.
Sameer sighed, defeated by her persistence.
"Fine. You can go. But be back on time."
Her face lit up instantly.
"Mr. Pandey, you're really very nice!" she said, grinning.
Sameer gave a small smirk. "But tell me — what do I get in return? Work without reward isn't worth it, Mrs. Pandey."
Roshni tilted her head, playful. "And what can I possibly give you, Mr. Pandey?"
He stepped closer, his voice low but teasing, leaning slightly near her ear.
"Nothing much... just make like this types of food next time daily for me . That's all."
Her heartbeat quickened — she could hear it in her own ears. But she smiled, eyes twinkling.
"That's all? Then I'll do it anyway," she said lightly, and turned toward the door.
As she left, Sameer watched her go — the faint scent of jasmine lingering behind her. A small smile touched his lips before he shook his head and muttered to himself,
"Pagal ladki..."
By 9 a.m., the academy canteen was buzzing louder than usual.
It was Sunday — the only day when laughter was allowed to echo through the strict walls of the Himalayan Civil Academy. The smell of hot sambhar and filter coffee filled the air, while trays clattered and cadets lounged around in groups, finally free from their morning drills.
At one corner table, Roshni and Ishita were sitting with their plates full of crispy dosas, while Vihaan, Arjun, and Karan were making a racket a few tables away, laughing over some absurd joke.
Vihaan was already in his full comedy mode — imitating the way sameer sir scolded him during training.
"Cadet Vihaan, do ten extra push-ups for smiling without permission!" he announced dramatically, making everyone around burst into laughter.
Roshni shook her head with a smile. "Yaar, is ladke ka koi ilaaj nahi hai," she muttered, taking another bite.
Beside her, Ishita wiped her hands and said casually,
"By the way, Roshni, that book you gave me — Haunting Adeline — it's good! But..." she paused, frowning slightly, "something went a little wrong."
Roshni looked up mid-bite. "Kya ho gaya? Don't tell me the book tore or something! I told you not to fold the pages — I haven't even finished it myself yet!"
"No, no!" Ishita waved her hand quickly. "The book is perfectly fine. I'll return it after breakfast. It's just... when I was reading it in the balcony last night..." she hesitated, eyes widening slightly, "Sidharth saw me."
Roshni froze, her spoon halfway to her mouth.
"What?" she hissed, her voice dropping instantly.
"Yes! I mean, Sidharth sir! He saw the book in my hand."
Roshni nearly choked.
Her thoughts raced back — the day before yesterday, Sidharth had called her his sister. If he realized that her book was that kind of dark romance, she would never be able to look him in the eye again.
And worse... if he told Sameer, she was finished.
"Oh no..." she whispered under her breath, panic flashing in her eyes.
Then she glared at Ishita. "Pagal ladki! Tumne bataya toh nahi na ke yeh meri book hai?"
Ishita blinked innocently. "Arre nahi, yaar! I didn't say anything. But sir is... very strange sometimes. He talks in such weird half-sentences that I don't even know how to respond!"
Roshni leaned closer, whispering mischievously, "Jaise kaise?"
Ishita sighed, trying to recall. "Like... every time I drink my coffee in the corridor or sit reading somewhere — balcony, canteen, anywhere — he just shows up! And then..." she lowered her voice, "...he finishes the coffee left in my cup!"
Roshni's eyes went wide, nearly dropping her dosa. "He what?"
"I asked him why he always does that," Ishita continued, totally unaware of the chaos she was about to cause. "And he said, 'Don't worry, I'll return every drop of it.'"
Roshni coughed so hard this time that Vihaan, who was busy joking with Arjun, turned around immediately.
"Arre arre! Kya hua meri behen? Dosa mein mirchi zyada thi kya?" He quickly passed her his glass of water.
Roshni gulped it down, face red — not from spice but embarrassment.
Vihaan frowned, suspicious. "What gossip are you two whispering, haan? Batao mujhe bhi. Seems dangerous for national security!"
Roshni shot him a glare. "Bhai, agar tune suna na toh tera kaan se khoon niklega. Chup baith!"
Vihaan pouted dramatically. "Fine! But remember — main spy mode on kar loonga!"
Ignoring him, Roshni turned back to Ishita. "And then? Tell me what he said next!"
Ishita, half flustered, half giggling, continued, "He also saw the book I was reading — the gun scene part! And he just stood there and said—"
"What??" Roshni cut in sharply, her nerves snapping.
"—He said, 'Doctors don't usually have guns... but army doctors do.'"
Roshni was mid-bite again — and this time, she fully choked. The sound drew everyone's attention. Ishita and Vihaan both rushed to her side, patting her back and offering more water.
"Yaar, tu itna overreact kyun kar rahi hai?" Ishita asked, laughing nervously. "I just said what he said!"
Roshni finally managed to speak between coughs. "Pagal aurat! Tujhe pata hai woh kya matlab tha?" She looked around, lowered her voice, and hissed, "Tujhse flirt kar raha tha, samjhi? Aur tu usse academy ki book samajh ke baithi thi! Haunting Adeline se kuch nahi seekha tune!"
Ishita's mouth dropped open as the words sank in — and then her cheeks went crimson.
Her eyes widened as she began connecting the dots — the coffee, the teasing, the whisper about "returning every drop."
"Oh... oh no..." she mumbled, hiding her face with her hands .
Vihaan, who'd been watching this like a suspense thriller, looked totally lost.
"Arre, kya ho raha hai yahan? Kaunsi book? Kaunsi gun? Tum dono kis mission pe ho? Mujhe bhi batao!"
Before he could get another word out, Roshni smacked him lightly on the shoulder.
"Girls talk, Mr. Detective! Now run along before I make you write an apology essay to sameer sir !"
Vihaan groaned dramatically. "Haan haan, jaa raha hoon! Par dono churailon ko main chhodunga nahi — kal dekh lena!"
As he stormed off pretending to be angry, both girls burst into laughter, trying to stifle it before the whole canteen stared at them again.
For a moment, everything around them — the noise, the laughter, the aroma of sambhar — all blended into one perfect, messy, warm Sunday morning at the academy.
The sun had already dipped behind the Himalayan ridges, and the faint orange glow filtered through the half-open curtains of Sameer Pandey's room. The faint hum of the ceiling fan mixed with the chirping of crickets outside. The air inside was still — heavy with the weight of thoughts he rarely voiced.
Sameer sat at the edge of his bed, dressed in a simple grey T-shirt and dark joggers — casual for once, yet even that couldn't soften the sharpness of his demeanor. His hair was slightly messy, his jaw tense.
On his phone screen glowed the familiar face of the woman who was his entire anchor — Vasundhara Pandey, his mother.
Her smile was radiant, draped in a soft maroon saree, her silver bangles clinking faintly as she adjusted the camera. Behind her, the walls of their home were already adorned with early Diwali decorations — strings of fairy lights, garlands, and diyas waiting to be lit.
Vasundhara: "Beta, Diwali aa gayi... ghar aa jao iss baar. Har saal keh ke reh jaati hoon, par tum kabhi aate nahi.
Dekho, iss baar sab tumhare intezaar mein hain..."
Sameer's eyes softened for a moment, his voice low but affectionate.
Sameer: "Maa, main aane ki koshish karunga... bas yahan thoda kaam chal raha hai."
Just as Vasundhara was about to reply, a shadow moved behind her on the screen.
A deep, authoritative voice spoke — one that instantly stiffened Sameer's shoulders.
Father: "Sameer... kaise ho beta? Bahut din ho gaye."
The smile vanished from Sameer's face. He looked at the screen — not at his father, but at the space beside his mother.
His tone turned cold, his words clipped.
Sameer: "Main theek hoon. Lekin mere haal-chaal ka sawaal aap mat kijiye, papa. Mujhse yeh sawaal sirf meri maa kar sakti hain — aap nahi."
His mother's expression faltered, her hand trembling slightly as she tried to keep the peace.
Vasundhara: "Sameer, beta, aisa kyun keh rahe ho—"
But his father cut in, voice firm and slightly mocking.
Father: "Zyada bhavnaon mein mat bah, Sameer. Ek din tujhe bhi hamari rajneeti ka hissa banna hi padega. Tu mera beta hai — aur yeh sach badla nahi jaa sakta."
Sameer's eyes darkened. He clenched his jaw, his voice dangerously calm.
Sameer: "Main pehle hi keh chuka hoon, papa. Main aapke kisi bhi criminal work ka hissa nahi banunga.
Na aapke rajneeti mein aunga, na aapke saath khada hoon."
His mother's eyes filled with tears, torn between both men she loved.
But Sameer didn't look at her — he simply took a deep breath, his anger contained behind a rigid calm.
Sameer: "Maa... aap dekh lena, iss Diwali main shayad naa aa paun.
Byee, maa."
And before anyone could say another word, the call disconnected.
The silence that followed was deafening. The faint sound of firecrackers in the distance only made the emptiness louder.
Sameer's hand tightened around the glass on his bedside table — until finally, with a sharp movement, he flung it against the wall.
The glass shattered — splintering into hundreds of glittering pieces across the floor.
The sound echoed for a moment, then faded into stillness.
Sameer ran a hand through his hair, his chest heaving, his eyes glinting with restrained pain. "How many times... how many times will he try to pull me back into his shadow..." he muttered under his breath.
Just then, the door creaked open.
Arpita stepped in — wearing a soft pastel cardigan over jeans, her expression a mix of concern and hesitation. Her eyes darted to the broken glass scattered across the floor.
Arpita: "Sameer... what happened?"
Sameer looked up, his voice flat, almost too calm to be convincing.
Sameer: "Nothing. Just... an old conversation that should've ended long ago."
Arpita walked closer, careful not to step on the glass. "You shouldn't bottle up everything, Sameer. I know you don't like talking about it, but—"
He cut her off quietly. "Why are you here, Arpita?"
She paused, then steadied her tone. "Because we both decided to go out tonight. And... I have something important to tell you."
Sameer looked at her for a long moment — his eyes still shadowed with the storm he hadn't completely hidden.
Finally, he exhaled and nodded faintly.
Sameer: "Alright. Let's go."
He stood, brushed the broken shards aside with his shoe, and walked toward the door, leaving behind the reflection of fractured glass — and the fragments of a conversation he wished had never happened.
The sun was sharp and golden above the Himalayan Civil Academy, the Sunday breeze carrying laughter, the scent of chai, and the clatter of breakfast plates from the canteen courtyard.
Everyone was finally free for the day — no drills, no lectures, no shouting instructors — and Roshni Pandey had just dropped the biggest news of the morning.
She stood at the center of the group — hands on her hips, eyes twinkling with triumph.
"Everyone, listen up!" she said dramatically. "I got the permission. We are officially going out today! 3 p.m. sharp. Pack your bags!"
A wave of cheers and gasps rippled through the table.
Vihaan, who was halfway through a spoonful of poha, almost dropped it. "Whatttt! You actually did it? Roshni, meri maa, tu great hai!"
He got up and began dancing in exaggerated joy, making even the nearby cadets turn to look.
Ishita grinned. "But wait, how did you even manage this? Yesterday Sameer sir refused flatly."
All eyes turned toward Roshni.
She blinked innocently, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Bas... maine thoda request kiya. Aur sir maan gaye."
Her tone was casual, but the tiny twitch of her lips betrayed her little secret.
Ishita narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You just requested? That's it?"
Roshni shrugged, pretending to sip her juice. "Haaan. Simple request. Main toh sweet hoon na, mana kaise karte?"
Everyone laughed, except Vihaan, who was already busy making plans.
"Chalo, ab permission mil gayi hai toh nikle kab?"
Roshni replied, "3 p.m. sharp. Don't be late."
Arjun groaned dramatically. "But jaye kaise? Paidal? I'm not walking again in that hill road. Last time toh lag raha tha oxygen cylinder leke chalna padega."
Karan added, scrolling through his phone, "Aur jo jagah Vihaan bol raha hai — wo Instagram wali lake — wahan toh auto bhi nahi jata. Personal gaadi chahiye hoti hai."
Everyone went quiet. The group that had been laughing seconds ago now sat slumped in disappointment.
The excitement of a Sunday freedom trip was already slipping away.
And just then, a calm, deep voice came from behind them.
"Arre, itni serious meeting chal rahi hai kya yahaan?"
They turned in unison.
Dr. Sidharth Mehra, their substitute academy doctor and temporary trainer, stood at the entrance of the canteen — casual shirt rolled up at the sleeves, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"Batao, kya hua, cadets? Mood kyun off hai?"
Before anyone could speak, Ishita stood and explained hesitantly.
"Sir, woh... Vihaan ne ek jagah dekhi thi. It's beautiful — a lake near the forest bend. But no local transport goes there. So..."
Sidharth nodded thoughtfully, looking around at the hopeful faces. Then a smirk touched his lips.
"Bas itni si problem?" He looked directly at Vihaan, who was already biting back a grin.
"Well, that's easy. I have my Scorpio with me. Let's go. Your 'sir' will take you all on a long drive today."
For a moment, everyone froze. Then Vihaan screamed loud enough to make two kitchen workers flinch.
"Yesss! Road tripkkk!" He started jumping in place, almost hugging Arjun, who joined in the chaos.
Roshni laughed heartily, watching the group lose composure like excited kids. Ishita, on the other hand, smiled shyly — a mix of disbelief and gratitude lighting up her face.
Sidharth turned toward her, just for a second, his eyes softening in amusement.
Scene: The Drive
By afternoon, the academy gate stood open, and the black Scorpio glinted under the mountain sun. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and freedom.
Vihaan and Arjun occupied the back seat — already arguing over who would control the playlist.
Roshni and Ishita sat in the middle seat, their chatter a blend of excitement and teasing.
Karan sat up front beside Sidharth, acting as the navigator but clearly vibing to Vihaan's music choices.
As the car rolled past the academy gate, the world seemed to open up — winding roads, mist kissing the green hills, the hum of the engine blending with laughter.
Inside the car, Sidharth adjusted the rearview mirror.
It caught Ishita's reflection perfectly.
Her hair fluttered near her face as she leaned slightly toward the window, sunlight falling on her cheek.
He smiled faintly — and before he realized, he had been looking for too long.
Ishita felt it. That weight of an unseen gaze.
Her eyes flickered toward the mirror and caught his. For a fraction of a second, the world narrowed to that single reflection — his eyes on hers.
Then she quickly turned her face toward the window, pretending to watch the trees fly by. Her fingers tightened around her dupatta, cheeks growing a shade pinker.
Roshni, who had seen the entire thing, couldn't resist. She leaned in and whispered mischievously, "Batao bhaiya, hamari dost ko itni gaze inspection kyun mil rahi hai?"
Sidharth cleared his throat, caught completely off guard.
"A-arey nahi! I was just adjusting the mirror... it was tilted."
Roshni bit back a grin. "Haan haan, samajh gayi. Mirror ya Ishita?"
Sidharth's ears turned red as the boys in the back burst into laughter. Vihaan thumped the seat, shouting, "Bhai, doctor sir bhi blush karte hain kyaaa!"
The Scorpio roared with laughter, songs, and teasing as it wound down the curving hill roads — carrying with it the laughter of friendship, the warmth of youth, and the quiet sparks of something unspoken blooming between two hearts too shy to admit it yet.
The clock on Sameer's wrist ticked softly as the sun began its slow descent behind the tall pine ridges.
It was 4:00 p.m. — the sky painted itself in orange and rose gold, and the surface of the lake shimmered like melted amber.
The wind carried a gentle chill, just enough to make the moment feel alive.
Sameer's black car rolled to a stop at the far end of the lakeside — the quieter corner, away from the crowd of trainees and laughter that echoed faintly from the opposite side of the water.
He stepped out, hands in his pockets, gaze instinctively scanning the surroundings.
What he saw next made him pause.
A small space by the lakeside had been beautifully decorated — soft white curtains tied to bamboo poles, strings of fairy lights hanging loosely between them, fluttering in the breeze. A wooden table stood in the center, draped with a pastel cloth, two chairs placed facing the golden lake. On the table — a small bouquet of lilies, a candle, and two cups.
It looked like something straight out of a dream.
He turned sharply toward Arpita, who was closing the car door gently, a nervous smile tugging at her lips.
"Arpita... yeh sab kya hai?" Sameer asked, his tone calm but curious. "Aur yeh 'important baat' kya thi jo tum kehna chahti thi?"
Arpita smiled, brushing back a loose strand of hair from her face, trying to hide her nervousness.
"Tum itna sawaal mat karo, Sameer. Pehle baitho. Thoda kuch kha lete hain... phir sab bataungi."
Sameer exhaled softly, nodded, and took a seat. Arpita sat across him, trying to look composed but her heartbeat was running wild.
They talked for a few minutes — about academy memories, about work, about Diwali plans.
But her eyes kept drifting toward the sunset, her fingers fidgeting with the corner of her dupatta.
Finally, she couldn't hold it in anymore.
She stood up slowly, the wind catching her hair, and walked around the table until she was standing right in front of him.
Sameer looked up, confused. "Arpita?"
And before he could speak again — she knelt down on one knee.
The light from the setting sun fell perfectly on her face, painting her eyes in soft gold. She looked up at him — nervous, emotional, trembling but determined.
"Sameer..." her voice cracked slightly, "I love you."
Sameer froze.
Arpita continued, her words soft but full of truth.
"I've loved you since our academy days. From the very first time I saw you — calm, disciplined, always distant... but something about you always pulled me in. I wanted to tell you so many times, but I never had the courage. Every time you passed by, I stopped myself."
Her eyes shimmered with tears, but her smile stayed.
"But not today. I don't want to stay silent anymore. I don't want to lose another moment. I want to spend this one life — every second of it — with you."
The air stood still.
Even the lake seemed to pause its ripples, reflecting the two of them like a frozen frame of time.
Sameer looked down at her — eyes unreadable, his usual calmness replaced by something deeper, heavier. He didn't move, didn't blink.
And then — a faint gasp echoed through the air.
It was soft, almost fragile, but enough to shatter the stillness.
Sameer's head turned sharply. His eyes searched the trees across the lake — and through the dimming light, he could just make out faint silhouettes on the opposite side.
A few of the academy trainees — their figures distant but clear.
The afternoon sun shimmered lazily over the blue surface of the lake, breaking into soft ripples as a cool mountain breeze swept across. The group of trainees — Roshni, Ishita, Vihaan, Arjun, and Karan — spilled out of the Scorpio, laughter echoing through the trees.
They had finally reached the lakeside — a wide, open stretch surrounded by tall deodar trees and scattered wildflowers. The water glimmered like liquid glass, reflecting the bright sky.
Vihaan was the first to jump out, arms wide open.
"Yaar, ye jagah toh kamaal hai! Bilkul Instagram mai dikh rha tha wasa hii dikh rha hai !"
Arjun whistled in agreement while Karan began setting down the picnic basket. Roshni rolled her eyes, already pulling out her phone.
"Selfie time!" she announced, and everyone crowded together near the edge of the lake — posing, laughing, teasing, pushing one another playfully.
Sidharth, standing beside the Scorpio, watched them with an easy smile. His eyes lingered for a moment on Ishita — who was sitting a little apart, trying to fix her messy hair while Vihaan cracked jokes nearby.
Something about the way she brushed the wind off her face — calm, unbothered — drew him in again.
He stepped forward, quiet but firm, and called out softly,
"Ishita, ek minute..."
She turned, surprised. "Sir?"
"Come here," he said, his tone low, unreadable.
Ishita frowned a little. "Sir sab yahin hai, hum selfie le rahe hai... aap wahan—"
But before she could finish, he caught her wrist gently, pulling her toward a quiet corner near a large old tree — its trunk half-hidden by tall grass and sunlight filtering through its branches.
She stumbled slightly, her breath catching.
"Sir! Aap kya kar rahe hai? Sab log lake ke paas hai... koi dekh lega to—"
Sidharth's voice softened, a note of impatience beneath the calm.
"Sab selfie mein busy hain. Mujhe sirf tumse baat karni thi."
Ishita blinked, confused, heart already beating fast.
"Baat? Kis baare mein?"
He took a step closer — too close.
"Yeh jo tum mujhse bach rahi ho na... har baar meri aankhon se, meri baaton se..." he said, his voice almost a whisper, "kyun, Ishita?"
"I–I'm not running," she stammered, eyes darting anywhere but him. "Bas— mujhe samajh nahi aata..."
Before she could finish, Sidharth moved forward, his hand reaching behind her, resting lightly on the bark of the tree — his other hand just near her shoulder, trapping her gently between him and the trunk.
The air between them thickened — the scent of the lake breeze, the warmth of his breath, the sound of her quickened heartbeat.
Sidharth leaned closer, his voice low,
"Phir samjha lo, Ishita..."
His face was inches from hers now — his breath brushed against her ear, warm and slow. She could feel it trail down her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut without realizing it, every sound fading into the hush of the lake wind.
The world stopped — until a loud voice broke it.
"Ishitaaa!"
It was Vihaan.
She jolted back, her pulse racing. Her palms pressed against Sidharth's chest as she pushed him slightly away. Her cheeks burned crimson.
Sidharth straightened instantly, jaw tightening as he stepped back.
Vihaan jogged toward them, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Yahaan kya kar rahe ho dono? Sab log bula rahe hai! Selfie time khatam hua kya?"
Ishita fumbled for words, still breathless. "Woh... mera aankh mein kuch chala gaya tha, sir madad kar rahe the."
Vihaan squinted at her. "Haan haan, madad kar rahe the. Chal, ab selfie lene aa jao warna Roshni tujhe tag nahi karegi!"
Ishita managed a nervous laugh, her face still flushed.
"Chalti hoon..." she muttered, hurrying away.
Sidharth watched her go — silent, conflicted.
The group gathered again, laughing and posing for more photos. The clock ticked past 4:00 p.m. as the sun dipped lower, turning the lake a deeper shade of gold.
Vihaan pointed across the water suddenly, eyes widening.
"Arre yaar, dekho! Wahan dekho! Lake ke doosre kone par... kya decoration hai!"
They all turned. The far end of the lake glowed softly — fairy lights, curtains, and flowers swaying in the breeze.
"Lagta hai koi date pe aaya hai!" Arjun grinned.
"Chalo, chalo dekhte hai!"
Before anyone could stop them, Vihaan and Arjun took off running toward that corner. Roshni blinked.
"Pagal hai kya dono?!" she muttered, then ran after them.
Karan sighed, grabbing his jacket. "Main bhi jaa raha hoon, warna kuch ulta seedha karenge ye dono."
Sidharth called after them, frowning,
"Hey! Ruko — kaha ja rahe ho sab?"
But his voice was lost in their laughter and the rush of running feet. Ishita looked at him helplessly.
"Sir, shayad dekhne gaye hai... chaliye, hum bhi dekhte hai kya ho raha hai."
He nodded reluctantly, following behind her.
As they reached the far corner, laughter and footsteps slowed.
The moment they stepped behind the line of trees — all of them froze.
The fairy lights glowed faintly, the air smelled of lilies, and near the table, under the canopy of white curtains — Arpita stood on one knee, holding a red rose in her trembling hand.
And in front of her...
Sameer Pandey.
The world seemed to stop again — only the sound of the lake wind whispering between them.
Sameer stood frozen, his expression unreadable, as Arpita looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears and hope.
Roshni's breath caught in her throat. Ishita covered her mouth in shock. Vihaan's excitement melted into disbelief.
The laughter, the lightness — everything vanished into stunned silence.
Sameer and Arpita were unaware they were being watched, lost in their own fragile, charged moment.
The fairy lights flickered against the water — a reflection of everything unspoken now spreading across both corners of the lake.
Sameer stood near the beautifully decorated table, still in disbelief.
The candles flickered softly. Fairy lights glowed like tiny fireflies strung around them.
And before him, Arpita knelt, holding a rose that trembled slightly in her hand.
The silence that followed was heavy—so heavy it could almost be felt.
Sameer's breath caught. His mind went blank. His heart, for once, refused to obey reason.
And then—
A soft, sharp gasp.
The sound cut through the moment like glass shattering.
Sameer's eyes darted toward the direction of the sound.
Just beyond the tree line, illuminated by the fading sunlight—
Roshni stood there, her eyes wide, her lips trembling, her entire body frozen in disbelief.
The color drained from her face as the rose slipped from Arpita's hand.
Behind Roshni, Sidharth stood still—jaw clenched tight, anger rising through his chest. He had accepted Roshni as his sister, had promised himself to protect her from pain. Seeing that expression on her face now—the same pain he'd once seen in his sister's eyes—he couldn't stay silent.
"Roshni!" Sameer called out immediately, stepping forward.
"Wait—listen to me!"
But she turned, eyes glistening, and ran.
Her feet hit the earth hard—sand, stones, leaves—everything blurred as she bolted toward the woods. Her breath came out uneven, choked, desperate. The only thing louder than the rustling of branches was the sound of her heart breaking inside her chest.
"Roshni! Stop!" Sameer shouted again, chasing after her.
But before he could get far, Sidharth stepped in front of him, his voice cold and furious.
"Tu... tujhse ye ummeed nahi thi, Sameer," he said, his words shaking with restraint.
"I treated her like my own sister. Tumne uski aankhon mein dekha bhi hai? Kya haal hai uska?"
Sameer froze, his throat tightening.
Arpita looked between them, confused and trembling. "Sidharth... what are you saying? Mujhe samajh nahi aa raha..."
But Vihaan, Arjun, Karan, and Ishita had already pieced it together.
Ishita's voice trembled as she spoke, "Sir... if you like someone else, that's okay. But then... why did you let my friend—why did you let Roshni fall so deep for you?"
Her eyes glistened, more in anger for Roshni than tears.
Arpita's heart sank further. Her lips trembled, her fingers still clutching the rose that now seemed meaningless. She looked at Sameer, her eyes full of hurt and confusion.
"Sameer... kya ho raha hai yeh? Tum kuch bol kyun nahi rahe?"
Sameer turned away, his fists clenched. The ache in his chest was twisting too tightly to form words.
When he finally spoke, his voice came out low, angry, pained.
"Arpita... I'm sorry. I can't accept this."
"What?" she whispered, her voice breaking.
"Why, Sameer? Why ?"
But before she could finish, Sameer's temper broke. He threw the rose aside and took off running toward the forest, his heart pounding in panic.
"Roshni!" he shouted again.
Arpita stood there, motionless—shock clouding her face. She didn't chase him. She couldn't. All she could do was watch his figure disappear into the trees, her mind replaying his anger, his desperation... not for her, but for someone else.
Sidharth followed behind, ordering the others, "Sab log alag-alag direction mein jao! Find her—abhi!"
They all scattered. Ishita and Karan went left. Vihaan and Arjun ran along the lakeside. Sidharth went straight into the woods.
The wind had grown colder now. The sun was almost gone, shadows stretching long and thin across the forest floor.
"Roshni!" Sameer's voice echoed through the trees, rough and breathless.
He kept calling her name, again and again, the sound of leaves crunching beneath his boots, branches scratching his arms.
Every shout carried guilt. Every step felt heavier.
He didn't care who saw him now—his heart was louder than his pride.
"Roshni, please... just once, listen to me..."
Somewhere behind, Ishita's worried voice called out, "Sir, yahan nahi hai! Check the other side!"
But Sameer didn't stop.
His heart raced as he moved deeper into the forest, his mind replaying her face—the broken expression, the unshed tears, the way she had looked at him as if everything she believed in had just collapsed.
The deeper he went, the darker it became.
Roshni's voice wasn't anywhere. Only the sound of wind through the trees, and his own ragged breathing.
He slowed down finally, his voice breaking.
"Roshni... please..."
No answer.
Sameer's hand slid against a tree trunk, his head dropping forward as his breath shook. For the first time in years, the man who could face any interrogation, any criminal, any storm—felt utterly lost.
He had broken something that he didn't even know he had—the fragile trust of a heart that had found home in him.
And somewhere far behind him, near the lake, Arpita still stood frozen amidst her own dream turned nightmare. The wind tangled her hair as she whispered to herself—
"If he doesn't love me...i can understand but then why did his eyes search for her she is just a candidat ?"
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