The golden morning sun spread softly over the Himalayan Civil Academy, bathing the parade ground in a warm glow. The crisp chill of the mountains carried a strange stillness — the kind that comes just before an announcement everyone's been waiting for.
Hundreds of cadets stood in perfect lines, the faint murmur of whispered gossip floating between them. Laughter mixed with curiosity — "Is it Diwali leave?", "Maybe extra duty?", "Heard Director Rathore might cancel holidays after the forest mess..."
But the moment Officer Sameer Pandey stepped onto the platform, silence rippled through the ground. His calm, commanding gaze alone was enough to make everyone straighten up.
Behind him, the HR officer adjusted his file and microphone, clearing his throat dramatically before beginning.
HR Officer: "Good morning, cadets. As per the Director's order, the Academy will remain closed for four days for the upcoming Diwali holidays. All cadets are instructed to report back by Monday morning, sharp 0700 hours. Those staying back will be assigned to festival arrangements."
A cheer burst across the ground — half excitement, half relief.
Laughter echoed, some trainees clapped, others already started talking about train tickets and home food.
But amidst that happy noise stood Roshni Mishra, her face quiet.
Roshni's POV
Everyone around her was smiling, their eyes bright with thoughts of home — of mothers making sweets, of fathers lighting diyas.
But for her, home was an empty word now.
Her mind drifted to her small house in Lucknow — the cracked blue door, her mother's voice, her father's chair that had been empty for years.
And then... to everything that had happened in the past few months — the marriage that wasn't really a marriage, the forest night, the silence that hung between her and Sameer sir since then.
Where do I even go? she thought, her fingers tightening around her dupatta.
There is no home for me now.
"Hey!" a cheerful voice broke her thoughts.
It was Vihaan Khurana, his usual mischief back after days of seriousness.
He leaned beside her, hands in his pockets, eyes squinting in the sun.
"Madam cadet... kya soch rahi ho itni gaharai se? Diwali hai, homework nahi."
Roshni forced a small smile. "Kuch nahi... bas aise hi."
Vihaan tilted his head, pretending to look serious. "Aise hi matlab? Don't tell me tu fir emotional mode mein hai. Listen, Roshni Mishra and rona-dhona don't go together, samjhi?"
Before Roshni could reply, Ishita Rao came running towards them, her ponytail bouncing.
"Guys! Idea!" she said, slightly out of breath.
"Why don't we stay here and celebrate Diwali in the academy? Decorating, cooking, fireworks — it'll be our own little family fest!"
Roshni blinked. "Stay back? But Ishita, you should go home. Your parents—"
Ishita's smile faded, her voice dropping.
"Which home, Roshni? Which family?"
There was a rawness in her tone that silenced both of them.
"They don't care about my existence unless I top some exam or do something useful for their pride."
She looked away, blinking fast. "Now I've stopped expecting anything. You both are my family. This academy is my home."
Her words hit somewhere deep — not loud, but true.
Vihaan, who had been watching both girls quietly, suddenly sniffed dramatically and clutched his chest.
"Arre wah! What a line! 'You both are my family'! Emotional blockbuster moment, guys!"
He threw his arms around both of them in an exaggerated hug, squeezing them tight.
"My two emotional sisters — one serious, one angry! Mera perfect Diwali combo pack!"
Roshni and Ishita burst out laughing despite themselves.
"Urr jaa, Vihaan!" Ishita said, pushing him playfully.
Roshni joined in, shoving his arm. "Hatt na drama king!"
Vihaan stumbled back, pretending to be heartbroken.
"Haan haan, push me away! Bas bhool jao woh raat jab maine tum dono ke liye chai banayi thi!"
"You made that chai with salt instead of sugar!" Roshni shot back, laughing.
The three of them laughed harder — the kind of laughter that comes not from joy, but from surviving too much pain together.
For a brief moment, the world around them — the academy walls, the memories, the guilt — all faded.
It was just them — three young souls who had found family where fate had taken everything else away.
The air inside the Chief Minister's private chamber was thick — not with smoke or incense, but with tension.
The evening sun filtered through the half-drawn blinds, painting long golden slits across the polished mahogany table. A faint hum of the air conditioner filled the silence — the kind that followed only after betrayal, blood, and power.
Around the long oval table sat half a dozen men — ministers, party aides, and loyalists — all in their spotless white kurtas, faces glistening with sweat despite the chill of the room.
At the head of the table sat Prakash pandey , the Chief Minister of Rajasthan — a man whose eyes held more venom than warmth, whose smile never reached his soul. His broad frame leaned back in the chair, a gold pen rolling slowly between his fingers.
Right-hand Manoj hesitated before speaking, voice careful, trembling slightly.
"Sir... humare kaam mai thoda complication aa gaya hai. Shayad... hume kisi legal cover ki zarurat pad sakti hai. Aur... wo zameen ka mamla bhi atak gaya hai."
Prakash's eyes flicked toward him — a single glance that froze everyone for a second.
"Kaunsa complication?" his tone was low, steady — like thunder before lightning.
Another man, nervous, spoke next.
"Sir, wo Budha Bhuriya ka beta... reporter tha. Usne sab record kar liya tha — video, audio sab. Usko pata chal gaya tha humara black fund kaha chhupa hai. Aur... aur... usne media tak bhejne ki koshish ki."
The pen in Prakash's hand stopped rolling.
Silence.
Only the sound of someone's heartbeat — or maybe imagination — could be heard.
Prakash (slowly, dangerously): "Toh ab zinda hai ya nahi?"
The man swallowed hard.
"Nahi sir... humne uska kaam khatam kar diya. Nadi mein fek diya. Koi saboot nahi bacha."
Prakash's jaw tightened. His knuckles went white on the armrest.
Then suddenly — CRASH!
He flung the glass of water kept beside him straight into Manoj's face.
The water splattered across the table, drops trickling down the files filled with secret contracts and bribe records.
Prakash (roaring): "Mainne kab kaha tha bina pooche koi qadam uthao? Yeh mera system hai — main faisla karta hoon, tum log sirf haan karte ho!"
Manoj stood, head lowered, the left side of his face dripping water and shame.
"Maaf kijiye, Malik... par humne socha—"
Prakash (cutting him cold): "Socha? Tum log sochne ke liye nahi rakhe gaye ho. Tum log karne ke liye ho. Aur jo karne gaya, usse mar diya. Brilliant!"
He laughed bitterly, slamming his hand on the table.
"Ab dekho, uska baap-maa mera office ka chakkar laga rahe hain. Thana nahi ja rahe — yahan aaye hain. Soch rahe hain main bhi unko sameer jaisa insaaf dilaunga."
Manoj (hesitant): "Sir... actually... woh log soch rahe hain ki aap bhi Sameer baba jaise hain. kukii aap unka pita hai , Unhone kaha ki aapke beta toh hamesha sachchai ke saath khada hota hai."
A pin-drop silence fell.
For a second — only a second — Prakash's eyes flickered. Something unspoken, unreadable passed through them. Then, like a flame snuffed out, it was gone.
He leaned forward slowly, his voice low, sharp as glass.
"Main Sameer jaise bilkul nahi hoon. Woh mera beta hai, usa , mear jasa bana para gaa para gaa koon mera hai or usa politics mai too ana hoogaa ."
He smirked — the kind of smile that curdled blood.
"Sameer pandey sochta hai woh mujhe rok lega? mai Jitna safed kapda pehenta hu, utna hi andhera mera andar hai. Aur yaad rakhana ... khoon apna rang dikhata hi hai. Ek din woh bhi mere raste par chalega. Chahe khud chahe majboori mein."
Another man across the table shifted uncomfortably.
"Par Malik... agar yeh baat Sameer sir tak pahunch gayi toh mushkil ho sakti hai. woo Reporter unka dost tha. Har khabar un tak pahunchti thi. Unke paas system hai — intelligence. Agar unhe shak ho gaya toh..."
Prakash's smile turned cruel.
"Pahunchi toh pahunchne do. Dekhte hain kitna samarth hai mera beta."
He turned to Manoj, eyes narrowing.
"Un budhe-budhiya ko samjha do. Thoda drama, thoda daya dikha do. Nahi maane... toh unhe bhi chup kar do. Do bodies zyada kya fark padega?"
Manoj nodded nervously, wiping his wet face. "Ji Malik..."
Prakash stood up, walking to the large window behind him. From there, he could see all of Jaipur's skyline — shining with prosperity that reeked of corruption. His reflection stared back — proud, powerful, poisonous.
Prakash (in a cold whisper):
"Ab bas ek hi khwahish hai... poora Rajasthan nahi... poora desh mere kadmon mein ho.
Agle saal... Prime Minister Prakash Pandey ."
He turned, his voice echoing like thunder in a storm:
"Sameer chahe jitna roshan ho jaye, ek din uska ujala bhi mere andhere mein doob jayega."
The men around the table lowered their eyes, afraid to even breathe too loud.
Outside the window, a gust of hot desert wind rattled the glass panes — as if warning what was coming.
The night at Himalayan Civil Academy was unusually calm. Half of the trainees had already left for their hometowns to celebrate Diwali, and the long corridors of the hostel echoed faintly with the laughter of those who stayed behind. The stars shimmered over the training field, their silver glow spilling softly into the open canteen kitchen where a small group of friends had decided to turn the quiet night into something warm and memorable.
Roshni stood near the counter in her casual hoodie and loose joggers, sleeves rolled up as she poured milk into a pan. The aroma of ginger and cardamom filled the air. Beside her, Ishita leaned lazily against the counter, scrolling through her phone while Vihaan stood at the stove, sleeves folded, tossing the pizza dough in the air with dramatic flair.
"Vihaan, yeh sab kya bana raha hai?" Ishita asked, peeking curiously over his shoulder.
"Pizza, madam," Vihaan replied proudly. "Aur koi bhi apne room mein nahi jayega. Kal se chhutti hai, toh party karenge yahan hi!"
Arjun, sitting cross-legged on the counter, raised an eyebrow. "Par yeh saaman laya kahan se?"
Vihaan smirked. "Blinkit se, aur kahan se! Sab milta hai wahan, boss!"
Roshni looked up from her pan, narrowing her eyes. "Aur paisa kahan se laya tu?"
"Arey Roshni," Vihaan groaned dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest, "tumne mood kharab kar diya paisa pooch ke!"
Everyone laughed as he continued, his tone softening. "Main jab UPSC ki tayyari kar raha tha, tab main ek delivery job karta tha. Courier service mein. Salary 15,000 thi. Usme se 3000 bacha leta tha, thoda apne liye, thoda Dadi ko de deta tha."
For a moment, the kitchen went quiet. Ishita, Roshni, Arjun, and Karan all exchanged a proud, heartfelt glance. Ishita smiled gently. "Tuu toh bohot mature hai, Vihaan. Fir aisa drama kyu karta hai roz?"
Vihaan chuckled, flipping the pizza base onto the tray. "Ek hi zindagi hai, Ishu. Jeena, marna, rona, gaana, aur doston ke saath rehna — sab isi mein karna hai. Toh kyun na sab mazza leke karein!"
He paused dramatically and added, "Aur waise bhi, agar zindagi pizza hai toh problems sirf toppings hai!"
Everyone burst out laughing. Arjun nearly dropped the spoon in his hand. The light-heartedness melted the stress of the long training weeks, and even the usually composed Roshni found herself laughing till her eyes shimmered.
A few minutes later, the rich aroma of baked pizza and ginger tea blended together. Roshni carefully poured tea into six small cups and arranged plates of suji ke snacks beside them.
Karan leaned forward, teasing, "Roshni, tu kya bana rahi hai?"
"Main bas chai bana rahi hoon," she said quickly, trying to sound casual.
Vihaan eyed the tray and smirked. "Itna sab kyu bana rahi hai? Hum paanch hi toh log hai."
Roshni froze for a second. "Nahi... woh ek..." she stuttered.
"Ohooo," Vihaan exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face. "Jiju ke liye, na?"
Roshni's cheeks flushed crimson. She avoided everyone's eyes, muttering under her breath, "Tum log bhi na..." She picked up two cups and a small plate, trying to hide her smile.
"Roshni, ab tu kahan ja rahi hai?" Ishita teased.
"Bas... aati hoon," Roshni replied quickly, her voice almost a whisper. She hurried out of the canteen, .
The corridor outside was dimly lit, silent except for the hum of the night insects. She walked slowly toward the officers' quarters, the tray trembling slightly in her hands. Her heart beat faster with every step, a strange warmth and worry mixing inside her.
When she reached Sameer's room, she stopped. The faint moonlight reflected off the brass lock hanging on the door latch.
"Locked?" she murmured, her brows furrowing. She set the tray down on the bench nearby, glancing around. The corridor was empty.
"Kahan gaye honge iss waqt..." she whispered to herself, fingers brushing the lock gently. The tea had already started to cool, steam fading into the night air.
For a long moment, Roshni stood there — the faint smell of ginger tea lingering, her shadow stretching down the hallway. The night wind rustled through the corridor, carrying with it a whisper of unspoken feelings and unanswered questions.
And somewhere, under that silent academy sky, Roshni realized — sometimes, even in moments of celebration, the absence of one person can make everything feel incomplete.
The corridor of Academy was silent at 10:15 p.m. The soft yellow light flickered through the long passageway, painting faint golden trails on the polished floor. The night outside was calm; only the rustle of distant trees and the soft hum of crickets filled the air.
Roshni walked slowly, her slippers barely making a sound. In her hands, she held a small steel tray — two cups of steaming chai and a plate of suji snacks. The faint aroma of ginger, tulsi, and elaichi wrapped around her like comfort, yet her thoughts were far from calm.
"Where could Sameer sir have gone at this hour..." she murmured, glancing around the quiet corridor. Most of the lights were off now; the academy had drifted into its nightly silence.
Without thinking further, she turned toward the Sameer Office, her heart pounding softly in her chest. The wooden door stood slightly ajar, a thin line of light escaping through the crack.
She hesitated for a moment, then gently knocked.
Knock... knock...
No response.
Roshni bit her lip, frowning slightly. "Sir?" she called softly. Still no reply.
After a moment of hesitation, she pushed the door open — just enough to peek inside.
The sight made her pause.
Sameer was there — sitting in his chair, his head resting against the backrest, eyes closed, a few loose papers from an open file scattered across the desk. The desk lamp glowed faintly beside him, casting a soft amber hue over his face. He looked exhausted, as if the weight of the whole academy — and perhaps something more — rested on his shoulders.
Roshni stepped inside quietly, careful not to make a sound. She placed the tray on the corner of his table, the soft clang of the steel breaking the silence for a brief second. Then she pulled the chair opposite him and sat down.
For a long moment, she just... looked at him.
His hair was slightly disheveled, his shirt sleeves folded up, veins faintly visible on his forearms. The soft light highlighted the faint tired lines near his eyes, and yet, there was something peaceful about the way he slept — something that made her heart ache.
She smiled faintly, whispering under her breath, "Kaam karte karte hi so gaye..."
Her gaze softened even more. There was admiration there, respect... and something she didn't want to name yet.
Just then, Sameer stirred. His hand twitched, and his eyes fluttered open slowly. For a second, he looked disoriented — the kind of confusion that comes between dreams and reality — until his eyes fell on her.
"Roshni?" he said, his voice low, rough from sleep. "Tum yahan kab se ho?"
Roshni blinked, hiding her smile behind her hair. "Kab ka aayi hoon..." she said softly, pretending to sound casual. "Par aapko toh farq hi nahi padta."
Sameer straightened up instantly, adjusting his uniform, the calm composure of an officer quickly returning. He rubbed his forehead, avoiding her gaze. "It's too late, Roshni. You shouldn't be here at this hour."
The tone was professional — firm, distant.
Roshni's smile faded. She stared at him for a second, her jaw tightening. "Sir, mujhe laga... aapne dinner bhi nahi kiya hoga. Isliye..."
Sameer stood up, keeping his eyes on the file. "Thank you, but next time, don't take such liberties. Discipline matters, even outside training hours."said sameer in strict manner
For a moment, silence filled the room again — heavy, uncomfortable. The ticking of the wall clock was the only sound.
Roshni's fingers clenched on her wrist . A flicker of irritation crossed her face. "Sir, kabhi kabhi insaaniyat bhi matter karti hai," she muttered under her breath.
Sameer looked up — surprised — but she was already standing, her eyes glistening slightly in the warm light.
She gave a faint, polite smile, though her voice trembled just a little. "Aapka chai thanda ho raha hai, sir. Good night."
And before he could say anything, she turned and walked out — her footsteps echoing softly down the corridor.
Sameer stood there for a moment, watching the door she had just closed. He sighed quietly, then looked at the untouched cup of chai. The steam had started to fade, but the faint smell of ginger lingered — reminding him of the warmth he'd just pushed away.
He whispered to himself, almost regretfully, "She shouldn't care about me this much..."
Outside, the night wind brushed against Roshni's face as she walked back toward the canteen where her friends was their — eyes moist, heart heavy, and yet... a small part of her smiling still, because even anger meant she cared.
The canteen kitchen was alive that night — warm lights glowing, the smell of cheese and oregano filling the air, and the sound of laughter bouncing off the tiled walls. It was one of those rare evenings when the Himalayan Civil Academy didn't feel like a training ground, but a home.
Vihaan stood near the oven, wearing an apron that said "Chef in progress" — something he'd stolen from the canteen's back shelf. Arjun and Karan sat on the counter, legs swinging, teasing him about how long it was taking. Ishita, arms folded, leaned near the sink, smirking at their childish bickering.
And then, the kitchen door swung open.
Roshni walked in — her hair a little messy, her eyes heavy with frustration, holding a pout that could've scared even the bravest of trainers. She walked straight to the side counter, plopped down on the stool, and folded her arms with a sharp huff.
Everyone froze for a moment.
Vihaan blinked, holding the pizza peel in one hand. "Arre roshu... kya hua? Itni jaldi wapas aa gayi? Jiju ka romance itna thanda tha kya? Ya scene khatam hone se pehle hi director 'cut' bol diya?"
Arjun nearly choked on his juice, Ishita burst into a half laugh, and Karan slapped his knee.
Roshni shot them all a glare — the kind that could melt mountains. "Romance?" she snapped. "Woo aur romance? Usse toh khud se bhi pyar nahi hai! Hamesha bas distance maintain karte rehte hain, jaise hum sab koi virus ho. 'Discipline ye, rule wo...' jaise desh ke PM ho ya kisi sansad ke vidhayak!"
Her hands flew dramatically in the air, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Vihaan and Arjun exchanged a quick look — the kind of mischievous glance that only meant she's about to say too much.
Vihaan jumped in, tone full of mock sympathy. "Haye roshu... kya kismat hai teri! Tera pati tujhe pyaar se baat bhi nahi karta... romance kya karega! Ek baar bhi flirty line bol de, toh tere toh sapne poore ho jaayein."
Roshni rolled her eyes, irritated but caught in the rhythm of the teasing. "Haan haan, sapne hi sapne... meri toh ek hi fantasy thi..."
Ishita smirked. "Bas ek hi? Bata toh sahi kya fantasy hai teri, Mrs. Pandey?"
Everyone leaned in, waiting for her answer.
And Roshni, half angry, half emotional — and clearly not realizing what she was saying — blurted out in one breath,
"Meri fantasy? Bas ek hi hai — apne husband ke saath romantic dinner, thoda sa street food walk, balcony mein... thoda... romance... aur bas ek baar pyar se dekhe mujhe... bas itna hi chahiye tha mujhe."
The kitchen fell silent for two seconds. Then, in an almost comic rhythm, chaos broke loose.
Vihaan dropped the hot pizza tray mid-air — barely managing to catch it before it hit the floor. Arjun, who was drinking juice, spat it straight on Karan's shirt.
"Yaar cheee! Arjun!" Karan shouted, jumping off the counter. "Tu juice peeta hai ya bomb phodta hai!?"
Ishita started coughing — or maybe laughing — hard enough that tears came to her eyes.
Roshni blinked, realizing what she had just said. "Mera matlab woo... main kehna chahti thi..." she stammered, cheeks flushed crimson.
Vihaan leaned on the counter dramatically, hand on his heart. "Arre wah roshu, fantasy toh movie level hai! Ab bata, balcony wala romance subah karna hai ya shaam ko? Time bhi fix kar lein kya?"
Everyone laughed even louder.
But then — Roshni, still frustrated, muttered under her breath, "Kahi Sameer sir ko koi problem toh nahi? Ya... ya wo..." she hesitated, biting her lip, "wo ladko mein interested toh nahi?"
And that was it.
Vihaan's eyes widened, his hand jerked — the pizza almost flew again. Arjun choked on air. Karan froze mid-cleaning. Ishita's jaw dropped open — she didn't know whether to laugh or run.
"Roshniii!" Ishita whisper-yelled, half laughing, half horrified. "Pagal ho gayi hai kya!?"
But before anyone could respond — the door creaked open.
The laughter died instantly.
Standing at the entrance, holding two cups of chai, was Sameer Pandey himself. His face was calm — too calm. His sharp eyes scanned the room, and then stopped directly at Roshni.
"MRS. PANDEY..." his voice echoed cold and clear, "...come to my office. Now."
The room turned into a statue garden. Not a soul moved.
Vihaan, breaking the silence with his signature overacting, jumped forward. "Arre jija ji! Itni bhi kya jaldi hai! Pehle prasad toh le jaiye — pizza ready hai, aapke ghar ki larki ne banaya hai!"
He made an exaggerated bow, clutching his heart.
Sameer didn't blink. His cold stare sliced straight through Vihaan.
Ishita instantly yanked Vihaan's collar back and whispered, "Mar jayega tu, chup ho ja!"
Sameer walked forward, slow but firm. His gaze didn't leave Roshni's face. Everyone could hear her breath hitch.
He stopped right beside her. Without saying another word, he took her wrist — gently but firmly — and said in a low tone that carried authority and something else she couldn't name, "Let's go."
The entire group watched, frozen, as he led her out of the canteen.
Once the door closed behind them, Vihaan let out a dramatic sigh. "Bas... ab toh Diwali ke patake uske room se hi phutenge."
Arjun burst into laughter again. "Ya toh romance hone wala hai, ya court-martial!"
Ishita smacked both of them with a towel, though she couldn't stop smiling either. "Tum dono na... ek din apne muh se khud hi grave khod loge!"
Back in the corridor, as Sameer's grip tightened slightly around her wrist and Roshni struggled to match his pace, her heart pounded. She didn't know if he was angry... or just worried.
But one thing was certain —
the night wasn't going to end quietly.
Sameer POV
The corridor outside the canteen was empty now, dimly lit by the yellow bulbs that flickered between shadows. Sameer's footsteps echoed against the marble floor, sharp and steady, while Roshni walked beside him — her head slightly lowered, trying to read the unreadable expression on his face.
He still had the two cups of tea in his hand — the ones she had brought for him earlier. And beneath all that authority in his posture, a small guilt pricked his chest.
He hadn't meant to scold her so coldly earlier that evening. She'd only come with care, with her usual unguarded affection.
When he'd woken from his desk, seeing her sitting quietly with that soft smile and tray of tea — something had melted inside him for a second. But instead of warmth, he'd let discipline speak.
He sighed to himself as they reached the turn near his office.
"You really are impossible, Sameer," he thought, "You could have just said thank you instead of a lecture."
He had actually gone back to the canteen to return that warmth — to give her the tea again, reheated — maybe even say a small sorry for being too harsh. But then, just before stepping in, her voice reached him.
He'd stopped mid-step.
Her voice, bright and loud in that kitchen, had floated out — teasing, complaining, laughing with her friends. And then... that one line hit like a knife.
Kahi Sameer sir ko koi problem toh nahi? Ya wo... ladko mein interested hain kya?"
The entire corridor had gone silent in his head.
For a moment, Sameer couldn't decide whether to laugh, sigh, or walk away.
But something deep within him had burned — not anger exactly, but disbelief, mixed with the ache of "she really thinks that?"
He had entered the canteen with that storm hiding behind his calm face.
And now,
as the door to his office clicked shut behind them, the silence between him and Roshni was thick enough to feel.
Roshni stood near the chair, fingers nervously twisting the edge of her dupatta. Sameer placed the cups of tea on his desk with a slow, deliberate motion, then turned — his voice low and measured.
Sameer: "So... Mrs. Pandey. Ladko mein interest?" OR mai
His tone was smooth — almost too calm — but the sharp glint in his eyes told a different story.
Roshni froze, her throat going dry. "Sir... wo... main toh bas—"
Sameer (cutting in, taking a slow step forward): "Main toh bas kya? Main toh mazak kar rahi thi? Hmm?"
His voice wasn't loud, but the teasing weight in it made her heart trip. She looked everywhere but at him.
Roshni muttered, "Sir... aapne sab suna?"
Sameer leaned slightly against the desk, folding his arms, one eyebrow raised. "Sab. Har ek shabd. And I must say... you've got quite an imagination, Mrs. Pandey."
Roshni's eyes widened a little, embarrassed beyond words. "Sir, main... I didn't mean it that way!"
He tilted his head slightly, that faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Accha? Toh kis way mein bola tha? Research purpose? Ya curiosity?"
Her cheeks turned crimson. "Sir!"
Sameer (soft chuckle): "Tum jaanti ho, mujhe laga main tumse zyada mature hoon... par ab lagta hai tumhe maturity se allergy hai."
Roshni pouted, her voice rising just a little in protest. "Aapko toh hamesha lagta hai main bacchi hoon! Par main—"
He took a slow step toward her. "Bacchi nahi ho?"
She shook her head, flustered. "Nahi!"
Now he was close enough that she could hear the calm rhythm of his breath. His eyes softened — teasing still, but not cruel.
"Good. Because bacche log itna bada assumption nahi karte apne seniors ke baare mein," he said, voice quiet, almost intimate.
Roshni looked up at him — half scared, half drawn in.
For a long second, neither spoke.
Then Sameer stepped back slightly, breaking the silence.
He picked up one of the cups and held it out to her. "Yeh... chai. Tumhare liye. Tumne banayi thi, na? Thought I'd share it... before you decided to hold another conference on my love life."
Roshni's jaw dropped a little. "Sir!" she said again, indignant.
Sameer took a sip of his own tea, that teasing smile still not leaving his face. "Relax, Roshni. I'm not angry."
Then his tone softened — just enough for her to feel the care behind it.
"But maybe next time... instead of asking your friends what's wrong with me, you can just ask me."
Roshni looked down, her voice small now. "I'm sorry, sir..."
Sameer's gaze lingered on her for a second — her flushed face, her nervous hands. Then he sighed, quietly.
"Tum na... ek din mujhe pagal kar dogi."
Roshni blinked, startled by the softness in his tone. "Sir?"
He smiled faintly. "Kuch nahi." He turned toward his desk, pretending to shuffle papers, but his mind wasn't in the files anymore.
Behind him, Roshni stood silently — guilt and something deeper stirring inside her.
The night had started with a misunderstanding — but as the clock ticked past midnight, both of them knew something between them had shifted... even if neither dared to say it aloud.
The dim yellow light from the desk lamp spilled softly across the room. Files lay scattered before Sameer, but his eyes weren't reading anymore — they were fixed on the girl sitting silently opposite him. Roshni, , sat with her head slightly down, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her chai cup. The faint steam rising from it blurred the line between them — distance filled with unspoken words.
Sameer took a sip from his cup — the chai she had made. It was warm, calming... and oddly full of guilt.
He glanced at her again. She wasn't angry now, just quiet — the kind of quiet that made him feel smaller. He wanted to say something — anything — but every word stuck halfway in his throat.
Sameer's POV:
God, Sameer, what should I even say now? You literally dragged her here like a suspect, and now you're sitting like a schoolboy who got caught copying. Great job. Maybe I should ask Google — it helps everyone, right?
He picked up his phone and typed, "What should I talk about with my wife?"
Then frowned and quickly erased it.
No, no, that sounds stupid. Better—
He typed again: "How to make my angry wife happy?" and hit search.
The results popped up instantly:
Apologize sincerely and compliment her.
Plan a surprise date.
Buy her favorite chocolates or flowers.
Listen without interrupting.
Give her a tight hug and don't let go until she smiles.
Sameer blinked. Chocolates? Flowers? He almost chuckled.
Great. I married a woman who throws sarcasm sharper than a bullet, and Google thinks a Dairy Milk will fix her?
He sighed and kept the phone aside.
When he looked up again, his eyes locked with hers — she was already watching him. Her gaze was steady, curious... almost amused. Neither blinked for a moment. Sameer suddenly looked away, pretending to check the file again, his heartbeat oddly louder than before.
Officer Sameer Pandey, nervous? In front of a girl? No, in front of your wife. Brilliant.
He straightened his shoulders, coughed lightly, and said in his calm, professional tone — though his voice betrayed a little hesitation —
"Roshni..."
She blinked, coming out of her thoughts. "Haan... boliye," she said softly, her tone cautious yet gentle.
Sameer hesitated for a second, then spoke — "I was thinking... tomorrow is Dhanteras. Maybe... we could go out. If you don't mind."
The air between them shifted instantly. Roshni's eyes widened — her expression went from confused to bright within a second. Her lips curved into a smile that could melt stone.
"Sach mei? We're going out?" she asked, her voice bubbling with disbelief and excitement, almost like a child offered candy after being scolded.
Sameer hid his smile behind his cup, replying casually, "Yes. If you don't have any academy work."
Roshni jumped slightly in her chair, grinning ear to ear. "No work, sir! I mean— Sameer!" she corrected herself, giggling. "Main jaa kar Ishita, Vihaan, sabko batati hoon! They won't believe it!"
She started to stand up, her joy spilling out in every gesture — but before she could reach the door, Sameer stood up too.
In one smooth motion, he reached out and caught her wrist. His touch was firm, not rough — just enough to stop her.
Roshni froze mid-step. Her breath hitched as she felt him behind her. The warmth of his presence — steady, strong, close — brushed against her back.
Sameer leaned slightly, his voice a low whisper near her ear —
"You're not telling anyone, Mrs. Pandey," he said quietly, his breath grazing the side of her neck. "This is between us. No one in the academy needs to know."
Roshni's heart raced. Her skin tingled where his breath touched. She couldn't turn — didn't dare to.
She just nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Okay... I won't tell anyone."
Sameer exhaled softly, stepping back — the silence between them now thick with unspoken tension and stolen warmth.
He looked at her once more, eyes softer this time. "Tomorrow. 3 p.m. Parking area. My SUV."
Roshni managed to nod again, clutching her dupatta, her cheeks flushed pink.
As she turned and hurried toward the door, her steps light and quick, Sameer watched — the corner of his lips lifting into a small, rare smile.
He sat back on his chair, took a deep breath, and murmured to himself —
"Good job, Sameer. You didn't need Google for this one."
Outside, Roshni ran through the corridor, her heart fluttering. The strict, silent Sameer Pandey had just asked her out — on Dhanteras. And no matter how much she tried to hide it... she was already falling, all over again.
back to the pizza party The night in the Academy was alive with faint laughter and the smell of pizza melting with cheese.
The boys' room looked like a mini party zone — Vihaan, Arjun, and Karan were sprawled over their beds, holding slices of pizza like trophies. The fairy lights from Vihaan's bedhead flickered faintly, giving the room a cozy golden hue.
Ishita sat cross-legged near the corner table, sipping cola with a grin, watching their nonsense.
"Bhai, I'm telling you," Vihaan said with his mouth full, "agar hum IPS ban gaye na, toh sabse pehle academy ke mess ka contract hum hi change karenge! Daily pizza!"
Arjun threw a tissue at him. "Pehle pass toh ho jaa, baad mein desh sambhal lena."
Just then, the door creaked open.
And there she was — Roshni — standing in the doorway, clutching her dupatta tightly, her cheeks glowing pink like she had run a marathon... or maybe just from nerves.
The moment they saw her, all three boys froze, and then—
Vihaan: "Ahaaa... look who's here! Mrs. Officer Pandey herself!"
Karan: "Arre arre... dekho toh sahi, chehra toh full red! Matlab kuch toh hua hai!"
Arjun: "Kya baat hai Roshni, itni der se gayi thi, aur ab aa rahi hai chamakti hui— kya Sameer sir ne koi extra training di?"
The room exploded with teasing laughter. Ishita immediately covered her face with both hands, giggling helplessly.
Roshni froze mid-step, her eyes wide and her face turning even redder.
"Kuch... kuch nahi hua!" she stammered, walking in fast and trying to hide her expression. "Bas... kuch pucha aur... chor diya."
Vihaan (dramatically standing up with pizza slice in hand): "Kya pucha? Yeh toh bata de! Hum bhi janen academy ke bade secrets!"
He circled her like a detective, making exaggerated expressions.
Roshni (irritated but shy): "Kuch bhi nahi! Vihaan, bas kar na!"
She snatched the slice from his hand and threw it back on his plate.
"Dekha, dekha!" Vihaan said in mock shock, "Ab toh proof mil gaya! Jab larki kuch chhupa rahi hoti hai, tab woh hamesha gussa hoti hai!"
Everyone burst into laughter again. Ishita got up and smacked Vihaan's arm.
"Bas kar drama king! Ab chal, sab log apne-apne room me jao!"
"Arre par abhi toh party chal rahi thi!" Arjun protested.
"Party khatam," Ishita said in her strict 'trainer tone'. "Aur tu," she pointed at Vihaan, "next time kisi ki love life pe CID mat bana."
The boys groaned, collected their plates, and shuffled out of the room one by one — still laughing and imitating Roshni's shy expressions.
As the door closed, the room suddenly fell quiet.
The fairy lights flickered softly, and the only sound was the distant whistle of wind outside the academy walls.
Roshni sat on her bed, hugging her pillow, her cheeks still glowing.
She smiled faintly to herself — thinking about that moment when Sameer had held her wrist and whispered, "No one needs to know."
Her heart gave a small flutter.
Ishita came and sat beside her, pulling the pillow away playfully.
"Ab bata bhi de," she said softly. "Sameer sir ne kya kaha?"
Roshni looked down, twisting the edge of her blanket shyly.
"Woh... kuch nahi Ishu," she murmured. "Bas... kal ke liye bola. Bahar le jaane ke liye. Dhanteras pe."
For a moment, Ishita's eyes widened — and then a gentle smile spread across her face.
"Woh khud bola?" she asked softly, as if confirming something that mattered more than it sounded.
Roshni nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Haan... khud."
Ishita smiled warmly, pride shining in her eyes. She reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Roshni's ear.
"Dekha, maine kaha tha na... thoda waqt do. Officer Sameer Pandey apni style mein pighlega."
Roshni chuckled, eyes shyly falling to her lap.
"Unka style thoda... ajeeb hai Ishu," she said softly, half laughing, half blushing.
"Bas wahi toh," Ishita said, lying down beside her. "Ajeeb log hi sabse khoobsurat kahaniyaan likhte hain."
Roshni looked up at the ceiling, her heart light and fluttery. The fairy lights painted tiny golden stars on the walls — like promises of something new.
The two friends lay side by side, smiling silently.
Outside, the night breeze carried the faint scent of pine and the faraway echo of laughter from the boys' hostel.
And somewhere deep inside, for the first time, Roshni felt a quiet, hopeful warmth — a beginning that was just starting to bloom.
The clock inside the Himalayan Civil Academy struck 12:43 a.m.
The campus lay wrapped in silence — the kind that carries whispers of the unknown. The cold night breeze brushed against the walls, making the corridor lamps flicker faintly.
In one of the rooms, Sidharth woke up with a jolt.
His sharp instincts, honed by years of discipline, caught something — a faint metallic clang... followed by a sound like earth being disturbed.
He sat up immediately, eyes narrowing.
For a moment, he stayed still, listening. There it was again — scrape... scrape... like someone digging.
Quietly, he slipped off his bed, grabbed the small flashlight from his table, and slid his service gun from the drawer.
His steps were silent as he moved through the dim corridor, the shadows of window grills dancing across his face.
The sound was coming from outside — near the training ground behind the main building.
He descended the stairs, his senses sharp, finger resting near the trigger.
As he reached the open area, the cold night air hit him hard.
He scanned the ground — empty. The soil looked untouched. Only the faint rustling of leaves filled the air.
"Who's there?" he called out firmly, his voice cutting through the silence.
No answer.
Only the hollow echo of his own question.
He took a few cautious steps forward.
Then suddenly— a faint sound of movement behind him.
In a split second, Sidharth turned — his gun aimed straight ahead.
The flashlight beam hit a figure — standing barely a few feet away.
It was Ishita.
Her eyes wide, breathing uneven, a small kitchen knife trembling in her hand.
For a moment, both froze — the night air between them thick with tension.
Then Sidharth exhaled sharply, lowering his weapon.
"Ishita?" he said, voice half stern, half relieved. "Yeh kya hai? Itni raat ko... chhuri lekar ghoom rahi ho?"
She blinked, caught completely off guard.
"Sir... main..." she stammered, her breath visible in the cold. "Maine... kuch awaz suni thi. Mujhe laga koi bahar hai. Safety ke liye le li thi."
Her tone was nervous but honest.
The faint moonlight fell on her face — her hair slightly messy, eyes anxious yet strong.
Sidharth studied her for a moment — the firmness in her grip, the fear hiding beneath her calm.
He lowered his gaze, holstering his gun. "Hmm... mujhe bhi laga tha koi hai," he said quietly, walking closer. "Lagta hai hum dono hi bina wajah dar gaye."
Ishita gave a soft, embarrassed smile. "Lagta hai sir, IPS training se pehle horror training leni padegi."
Sidharth couldn't help but chuckle lightly — the tension melting away.
"Maybe," he said, his voice softer now. "But next time, please... don't come out like this alone. Knife se zyada dangerous cheez hoti hai — tumhara dar."
She smiled faintly. "Aur aapka gun?"
He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Gun toh sirf danger ke liye... par tum toh khud hi threat lag rahi thi."
There was silence for a moment — charged yet gentle.
The flashlight flickered, and for a brief second, their eyes met — his sharp, protective gaze and her soft, searching one.
A gust of cold wind blew between them, carrying the scent of wet earth and pine. Ishita shivered slightly.
Without a word, Sidharth took off his academy jacket and placed it gently over her shoulders.
"Ab chalein," he said, turning toward the stairs.
Ishita followed quietly, clutching the jacket close.
As they walked back through the dim corridor, their shadows stretched long on the walls — two officers in training, caught between duty and something that neither of them could name yet.
Just before parting, Sidharth glanced back and said softly,
"Good night, Officer Ishita."
She smiled, her voice barely a whisper. "Good night, sir."
And as the door closed behind her, both carried the same unspoken thought —
something had changed in that quiet midnight encounter.
The morning sun fell softly over the Academy, painting the stone pathways golden.
It was 10 a.m., the breakfast bell had just faded, and laughter still echoed in the air. The half-empty campus — with many trainees gone home for Diwali — still buzzed with warmth and excitement among those who stayed behind.
The grounds were already alive with motion.
A few workers were hanging strings of marigold garlands along the training building balconies, while others tested long loops of fairy lights across the courtyard. The scent of fresh paint, sweets, and morning chai mingled with the crisp mountain air.
Near the central hall, Vihaan stood with his hands on his hips, watching a worker fix a strand of lights loosely on the wall.
"Arey bhaiya, thoda ache se lagaiye na!" he said, tilting his head like an art director inspecting his masterpiece. "Isko thoda round round lagaiye... jaise film set pe lagate hain... hero entry wala look chahiye!"
The worker frowned, wiping sweat off his forehead.
"Bhaiya, aise hi thik lagta hai... faltu ka jhanjhat mat karaiye. Diwali hai, fashion show nahi."
Vihaan rolled his eyes dramatically. "Arre bhaiya, aap samjhte nahi! Jab light jalegi na... pura academy chamkega! Bas mujpe bharosa rakhiye!"
Without waiting for a reply, he dashed toward the main hall like a man on a mission.
Inside the common hall, a group of candidates sat cross-legged, sipping coffee, gossiping, and making plans for Diwali puja. Laughter and chatter filled the room.
Suddenly, Vihaan's voice echoed —
"Suno, suno, suno!!"
Everyone turned toward the doorway.
There he was — arms wide open, grinning ear to ear like a politician about to make a campaign promise.
Roshni, who was sitting near the window munching on chips, squinted and said, "Ab kya natak hai Vihaan? Subah subah academy ke seedhiyon se gir gaya kya? Cho lagi kahin?"
A burst of laughter spread through the hall.
Vihaan put a hand dramatically on his chest. "Roshu Aaj ka idea hamare academy ke itihaas mein likha jayega! Har saal wahi purana decoration hota hai — teen ladi lights, do phool, aur ek thali me diya. Iss baar... kuch alag karte hain!"
Ishita, who was busy scrolling through her phone, looked up teasingly. "Aur kya kar lenge tu, Shah Rukh Khan ke film set jaisa decoration?"
"Exactly!" Vihaan said, snapping his fingers. "Iss baar hum sab milke decorate karenge! Apne haath se! Har corner, har wall — humare team ka effort dikhega!"
There was a small murmur of excitement. Arjun leaned back in his chair. "Tu serious hai kya, bhai? Itna kaam kaun karega?"
"Arjun," Vihaan said with exaggerated confidence, "agar hum desh ke liye jaan de sakte hain, toh academy ke liye thoda decoration nahi kar sakte?"
Roshni laughed, shaking her head. "Drama band kar. Chal, bata kya plan hai."
And that was all he needed.
Within minutes, the hall was buzzing with energy. Vihaan had somehow convinced everyone — boys, girls, seniors, even a few trainers — to help. The workers were dismissed politely, and the trainees took over the project like a mini festival task force.
Montage – The Decoration Begins:
Roshni and Ishita stringing marigold garlands along the staircase railings, petals scattering on the floor.
Arjun climbing a ladder to hang fairy lights along the balcony, joking that he deserves extra marks for "height bravery."
Karan and Vihaan rolling out long sheets of colorful cloth — orange, red, and yellow — from one end of the corridor to another.
The training ground slowly transforms — from a plain open space into a vibrant celebration of colors and light.
Every corner shimmered — white fairy lights draped over the iron gates, flower chains winding around pillars, paper lanterns swaying gently in the mountain breeze.
From one end of the ground to the other, the lights created a golden arch that met perfectly in the center — where a large open space awaited.
That space was special — the altar for Lord Ganesha and Goddess Lakshmi, where the evening Diwali puja would take place.
They surrounded it with rangoli in bright hues of blue, pink, and orange — a galaxy of patterns glowing under the sun.
By 2:30 p.m., the final touches were done. The air was filled with the mixed scents of flowers, paint, and sweet sweat from laughter-filled effort.
Vihaan stood in the middle, arms spread wide. "Dekha! Maine bola tha na — Paris se kam nahi lag raha!"
Roshni, brushing her hair off her face, smiled proudly. "Paris nahi... yeh to pure India ka dil lag raha hai."
She checked her watch — 2:45 p.m.
Her eyes widened.
"Ishu!" she said quickly, running toward Ishita, who was arranging diyas. "Mujhe ready hona hai — Sameer sir ne 3 baje parking mein bulaya hai."
Ishita turned with a teasing grin. "Acha ji! Special Diwali outing, hmm?"
Roshni bit her lip, hiding a shy smile. "Bas, aise hi. Officially outing... unofficially I don't know."
Ishita laughed and nudged her. "Jaa madam, main yahan sambhaal leti hoon. Tum ready ho jao. Aur haan, make sure Sameer sir ki aankhen wahin atak jaayein."
Roshni blushed deep red. "Ishu!"
"Jaa, jaa!" Ishita waved her off playfully. "Aaj se toh tumhari Diwali shuru!"
Roshni turned and ran toward the hostel, her dupatta fluttering behind her, heart racing with excitement and nervousness — unaware that this Diwali would light not just lamps, but something deep within her and Sameer too.
The golden sunlight fell gently across the wide training ground, glinting over the strands of fairy lights that hung like glowing vines from one corner to another. Marigold garlands framed every pillar, and colorful dupattas rippled softly in the cool mountain breeze. Paper lanterns swayed overhead, their reflections dancing in the polished brass diyas lined neatly along the pathways. The air smelled of fresh flowers, incense, and the faint sweetness of laddoos being prepared somewhere nearby.
Arpita walked in, her crisp white kurta swaying lightly as she took slow steps toward the center of the ground. Her eyes widened in pleasant surprise.
The academy had never looked this beautiful.
The place was alive — not just with colors, but with the laughter and chatter of trainees.
She turned to one of the workers who was fixing the last line of lights.
"Bhaiya," she asked, smiling slightly, "iss baar itni khoobsurat decoration kisne karwai? Pichle saal toh sab kuch itna normal tha."
The worker wiped his forehead and said with pride,
"Madam, iss baar toh sab bachchon ne milke kiya hai. Aur idea toh uss ladke ka tha... naam kya tha... haan, Vihaan! Bahut badmaash hai lekin dimaag tez hai. Sab uske kehne par hi hua."
Arpita's lips curved upward. Vihaan.
She turned her gaze toward the group near the fountain — a few candidates were laughing, tossing petals at each other, and there he was — Vihaan — animated, teasing his friends, his eyes bright, his hair messy with bits of marigold stuck to it.
A soft admiration flickered in her eyes. He has potential, she thought. Maybe more than even he realizes.
Vihaan, meanwhile, was laughing at something Karan said when he suddenly noticed her — Arpita ma'am was looking at him.
His laughter froze mid-air. His heartbeat quickened.
"Arre yeh kya ho raha hai..." he muttered under his breath. "Bijli ke bina current lag raha hai kya mujhe?"
As Arpita started walking toward him, Vihaan's inner panic grew.
"Oh no, oh no! Ma'am idhar aa rahi hain! Bhag jaun kya? Lekin agar bhag gaya toh lagega ma'am se darr gaya... nahi bhagna... par agar unhone dil ki dhadkan sun li toh Vihaan, tu toh gaya!"
He pretended to adjust a string of lights, hoping she'd turn away — but her voice came, calm yet commanding.
"Candidate Vihaan, wait!"
He froze mid-step. Slowly, he turned around, trying to control the nervous twitch of his hands.
Arpita came closer, her dupatta brushing softly in the breeze. "Was this your idea?" she asked, glancing around at the decorations.
Vihaan stammered, "Y-yes... ma'am. Mera idea tha... bas sab milke kiya."
"Hmm," Arpita nodded, "you're quite talented, Vihaan."
Then, noticing how he kept avoiding her gaze, she added firmly, "Face me when I'm talking to you."
Vihaan hesitated, then turned fully toward her. A tiny droplet of sweat rolled down from his temple; his ears had gone a shade of red.
"Do you have fever?" she asked, her tone softening as she took a small step closer.
Hearing her say his name — Vihaan — made his heart skip again. He swallowed hard. "N-no ma'am, I'm fine," he said quickly, stepping back a little. "Do you... need something?"
Arpita smiled faintly. "No, I just came to appreciate your work."
He nodded awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "Thank you, ma'am."
As he turned to leave, she spoke again. "Vihaan?"
He froze. "Ji, ma'am?"
"If you don't mind," she said lightly, "I'm going shopping for Diwali decorations and gifts. I was thinking... since you seem to have such a good sense of color and design, maybe you could join me and help me pick a few things?"
His eyes widened. "M-ma'am, me? Main kaise aapke saath—"
"Kyoon?" she interrupted gently, raising an eyebrow. "Tum nahi ja sakte? Koi problem hai?"
Vihaan's mind raced — Arpita ma'am... with me? His heart felt like it might burst out of his chest.
"N-no ma'am! No problem! Bilkul nahi!" he blurted out, smiling nervously.
"Good," she said, clearly amused by his flustered state. "Then come to the parking area in forty minutes. We'll go together."
Before he could even reply, she walked off — graceful, confident — leaving Vihaan standing amid marigolds and fairy lights, his heart still hammering in disbelief.
He placed his hand on his chest, whispering to himself,
"Forty minutes... Vihaan bhai, ab toh tu gaya. Diwali se pehle hi dil phook gaya!"
Parking Area, Afternoon 3:00 p.m.)
The soft autumn breeze swept through the academy gates, carrying with it the faint scent of marigolds and wet soil. The Diwali decorations shimmered under the daylight — strings of fairy lights glinting lazily against the metallic reflections of parked vehicles.
Sameer sat in his black SUV, engine off, one arm resting on the steering wheel. He wore an olive-green shirt, the sleeves rolled up just below his elbows, veins visible and strong. The first two buttons were casually open, giving a glimpse of his sharp collarbones. His black pants fit perfectly — neat, structured — like the man himself. His aviator glasses rested on the dashboard, his hair slightly tousled by the wind sneaking in through the half-open window.
He glanced at his watch — 3:05 p.m.
A faint smirk crossed his lips. "Late again, Mrs. Pandey..." he muttered under his breath.
Just then, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed across the parking lot.
Roshni appeared — breathless, adjusting her dupatta with one hand and clutching her phone with the other. She wore a simple white kurti, light blue jeans, and a brown dupatta loosely draped around her neck. A single silver bracelet dangled from her wrist, glinting whenever sunlight touched it. Her messy bun had a few loose strands of hair framing her face — effortlessly beautiful, like she hadn't even tried.
Sameer's gaze lifted from the steering wheel — and for a moment, he simply stared.
There was something disarming about her — simplicity wrapped in stubborn grace.
Roshni, unaware of his eyes on her, quickly opened the SUV door and slipped inside, still busy adjusting her dupatta and fixing her seatbelt.
Sameer's gaze lingered, his heartbeat slow and steady but his mind restless. He wasn't thinking of the road, or the plan, or even the destination. Just... her.
Her face glowed softly under the afternoon sun that filtered through the windshield. The curve of her lips as she frowned at the seatbelt, the small pout she made when the metal clicked in — every little gesture drew him in deeper.
When Roshni finally looked up, she caught him staring.
Her brows knit slightly. "Kya hua? Aise kyun dekh rahe ho?"
But Sameer didn't flinch. His eyes gave nothing away — no smile, no hint of emotion — just that unreadable, calm stare.
Inside, Roshni's thoughts spun fast — He's looking... but thinking what? I can never read that man.
Breaking the silence, Sameer spoke, voice low and controlled.
"So... where do you want to go?"
Roshni's mouth fell open in disbelief.
"Matlab? Le jaa toh aap rahe ho na, mujhe kaise pata hoga kahan jana hai? Aur agar aapko khud nahi pata, toh bulaya kis liye?" she fired rapidly, words tumbling like bullets.
"Sir, ek kaam kijiye, rehne dijiye! Aapse nahi hoga! Mujhe—"
Before she could finish, Sameer leaned slightly forward and pressed his hand gently but firmly against her lips.
"Shhh..." his voice dropped to a whisper. "Kitna bolti ho tum, Roshni. Ek second toh ruk jao."
Her eyes widened — not in fear, but surprise. The warmth of his palm, the faint callouses of his fingers, the sudden nearness — her heart skipped.
She tried to mumble something — "Main zyada bolti..." — but before she could finish, he placed his hand back again, this time covering her mouth completely.
"Stay silent, Mrs. Pandey," he said quietly, his tone dipping lower, teasingly dangerous. "Warna main..."
He stopped mid-sentence, his words hanging in the air. His eyes softened as they wandered over her face — her eyes that refused to blink, her small earrings swaying, the lavender fragrance escaping from her hair.
Roshni blinked, her gaze asking silently, 'Warna aap kya karenge?'
Sameer's lips curved, barely a whisper escaping them.
"...warna main kuch aisa kar dunga," he said slowly, leaning just close enough that she could feel his breath, "jo tumhe poori ride mein bolne nahi dega."
For a heartbeat, the world stood still.
Roshni froze, her breath caught. His face was just inches away — she could feel the warmth of his skin, smell his woody cologne mixed with the faint scent of coffee. Her eyelashes fluttered shut on instinct.
Sameer smirked, watching her. Instead of what her heart feared — or secretly hoped — he leaned sideways, his fingers brushing past her waist, and clicked the seatbelt into place.
Click.
Roshni opened her eyes slowly — realizing what just happened — and her face turned crimson.
Sameer sat back in his seat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other casually resting by the gear. His expression was unreadable again — except for that small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Roshni turned her face toward the window, trying to hide the color flooding her cheeks.
Sameer glanced at her once more, amusement flickering in his eyes. "What are you thinking, Mrs. Pandey?"
Roshni bit her lip, replying quickly, "Kuch nahi... aap chaliye, sir."
"Hmm," Sameer said softly, the smirk deepening. "As you say, Mrs. Pandey."
The SUV engine roared to life. As they rolled out of the academy gates, the fading marigold decorations gleamed in the rearview mirror — behind them, the academy shimmered in gold and light. Ahead of them, the open road stretched into the valley — quiet, endless, and full of unspoken words.
And for the first time in a long while, Sameer Pandey's lips curved into a real smile — one that reached his eyes.
Menwile Ishita
Near the water filter, it was quiet.
Ishita stood there alone, sweat glistening faintly on her temples. She had been working for hours — lifting, decorating, running up and down the stairs. Her throat felt dry, and her pulse was still uneven from the excitement. She filled a glass with water, took a deep breath, and reached into her pocket.
Her phone buzzed — alarm tone: "Pills, 3:30 p.m."
Her eyes darted around, making sure no one was nearby. She quickly took out the small white bottle, her fingers trembling slightly. Anxiety Control – 0.5mg.
She opened it, slipped one tablet into her palm, and placed it on her tongue. The pill dissolved bitterly as she swallowed it with a gulp of water, closing her eyes for a second as if willing the calm to return.
Just then—
"Ishita...
The voice, low and deep, startled her. She froze, the glass nearly slipping from her hand. Quickly, she shoved the pill bottle back into her pocket and turned around.
Standing behind her was Dr. Sidharth.
He wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, his expression sharp but curious. His gaze immediately caught the nervous tremor in her hand and the half-empty glass of water.
"Tumhari tabiyat theek hai?" he asked, brows narrowing slightly.
Ishita stammered, "Sir... wo... main... bas ek... vitamin ki tablet le rahi thi."
Sidharth tilted his head, eyes still fixed on her. The tone of her voice — the hesitation — didn't sit right with him. He wanted to ask more, to read through the lie written all over her face. But he chose to let it go... for now.
"Hm. Theek hai," he said finally, stepping a little closer. "Wo sab chhodo. Tum free ho kya abhi?"
"Sir, nahi— matlab haa... mai free hoon. Kya kaam hai?"
"Actually," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "bahar jaana tha. Kuch Diwali gifts lene hai, mummy-papa ke liye courier bhejna hai... socha, tum saath aa jao."
Ishita blinked, surprised. "Main? Sir, aap Arpita ma'am ke sath chale jao na, ya Vihaan, ya Arjun ko bula lo..."
Sidharth sighed softly, smiling faintly. "Arpita toh shopping ke liye already gayi hai. Staff ka bhi koi nahi mila. Aur main Ayodhya jaane wala tha parents ke paas, lekin tickets cancel kar diye."
He paused, voice lowering with an easy warmth. "Ab akela jaane ka mann nahi kar raha tha."
Her lips parted slightly. For a second, she saw not the senior officer or trainer — just a man, tired and alone, trying not to show it.
Still, she tried to keep things light. "Acha thik hai sir, main Arjun se bol deti hoon. Wo—"
Before she could finish, he moved — quick, silent. His hand caught her wrist, pulling her gently but firmly until her back met the cool tiled wall beside the water filter. The glass slipped from her other hand, clinking softly on the floor.
Her eyes widened — his were already locked on hers. They were too close.
The air around them felt heavier. Ishita could smell his cologne — subtle, clean, something like cedar and rain. Her heartbeat stumbled once, then twice.
"Ms. Ishita," he said quietly, his voice edged with a teasing challenge. "Main tumse pooch raha hoon. Will you come with me?"
She swallowed, eyes darting toward the corridor. "Sir... thoda door rahiye. Koi dekh lega toh bawal ho jaayega."
His lips twitched. "Aur bawal kyun hoga?"
"Sir... hum... hum dono..." she fumbled, her cheeks flushed.
"Hum dono ke beech kuch hai kya?" he asked softly, leaning just enough that his breath brushed her ear.
Her heart jumped. "N... nahi..." she whispered.
"Phir?" he asked again, voice low and calm but dangerously close. "Agar kuch nahi hai, toh itna darr kyu lag raha hai, Ishita?"
"Sir, wo... log galat samajh lenge..."
He smiled — a small, knowing, crooked smile. "Pehli baat — yahan koi samajhne wala nahi hai. Sab tumhare age ke hi hain, sab apne kaam mein busy. Aur doosri baat..."
He paused, his eyes searching hers. "Tum khud kya samajhti ho?"
Ishita blinked fast, trying to breathe normally, her palms flat against the wall. "Sir, mujhe lagta hai mujhe chalna chahiye..."
Sidharth leaned even closer — close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. "I need an answer, Candidate Ishita."
Her pulse raced. She couldn't look up, couldn't meet his eyes. "Sir, I... I don't know..."
For a few seconds, neither moved. Only the soft hum of the water purifier filled the air. Then, slowly, he stepped back — not far, just enough to let her breathe.
He smirked faintly, eyes still on her. "Theek hai. Ek shart par chhod deta hoon. Agar tumne haan kaha — aaj shaam mere saath chalogi."
She blinked. "Kya?"
He nodded. "Bas itna hi. No excuse, no Arjun, no Vihaan. Tum aur main."
Her lips parted to argue, but his expression left no space for refusal. The authority in his tone blended too naturally with the teasing glint in his eyes.
"Fine..." she muttered finally. "Main aa jaungi."
He stepped aside, gesturing toward the corridor. "Good. 20 minutes. I'll be waiting outside."
And as she hurried away, clutching her dupatta, her mind was chaos — anger, confusion, nervousness... and a strange flutter she couldn't name.
Behind her, Sidharth watched, a half-smile ghosting across his face. The late sun cast his shadow long across the floor as he whispered to himself,
"Let's see, Ms. Ishita... how long you can keep pretending."
The soft warmth of the October sun kissed the academy's parking yard as the gentle rustle of trees whispered through the calm afternoon breeze. Arpita adjusted her sunglasses and stood near her white car, her outfit sharp yet casual — a crisp white shirt tucked neatly into cream-colored cargo pants, her hair flowing in light curls that brushed her shoulders. A sleek tan purse hung on her wrist, and her car keys jingled softly as she twirled them around her fingers. Her eyes caught Vihaan approaching.
He walked towards her with that quiet confidence — the kind that didn't need attention but somehow drew it anyway. He was dressed in an off-white shirt with two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, paired with black jeans that fit perfectly. His silver watch gleamed faintly under the sunlight, and his hair was slightly ruffled, giving him an effortless charm.
Arpita tilted her head, lips curving into a teasing smile.
"Vihaan... you're looking handsome in this dress today."
The words hit him like a spark — his ears instantly turned crimson. He looked down, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck with a shy smile.
"Uh... thank you, ma'am," he said softly, his tone barely audible.
Arpita raised an eyebrow. "Ma'am, huh?" She smirked and, with a playful flick, tossed the car keys toward him.
Startled, Vihaan caught them just in time, eyes widening. "Ma'am?"
"Do you know driving?" she asked, crossing her arms casually.
"Yes... yes, ma'am, I do," he replied quickly, straightening up.
"Good. Then you drive," she said, walking toward the passenger side. She slid into her seat gracefully, her perfume subtly filling the car — a mix of jasmine and something sharp, elegant.
Vihaan opened the driver's side door, exhaled softly, and sat down. The car door shut with a firm thud, sealing them in a pocket of stillness. He adjusted the rearview mirror — and for a brief moment, his eyes met hers in the reflection. She was watching him, an amused smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
He started the engine; the soft purr broke the silence. Slowly, he pulled out of the parking area, passing the academy gates as the guard saluted and closed them behind.
Arpita leaned slightly, watching his posture, the focused way he shifted gears.
"Impressive," she murmured. "Vihaan, you were a troublemaker in the beginning, but you're talented. Where did you learn to drive like this?"
Vihaan's jaw tightened. His eyes remained on the road. His fair skin gave away the blush creeping up his neck to his ears.
"I... um... learned during my UPSC preparation days," he began quietly. "My family... we didn't have anyone earning back then. Still don't. So, I worked for a courier company — sometimes on a bike, sometimes delivering parcels by van. That's where I learned."
His voice was humble, stripped of pride — just truth.
Arpita turned her face toward him, her earlier playful tone fading into quiet admiration.
"So... it's just you and your family at home?"
He nodded, his gaze distant. "Only my dadi maa. She's my world."
Her expression softened. There was a faint shimmer in her eyes.
"You know, Vihaan," she said gently, "people like us — officers, trainers — we have all the luxuries. Yet, sometimes... we forget what true happiness feels like." She paused, looking out the window as sunlight reflected off her glasses. "Money, power, recognition... they're not everything. Real happiness is family. The ones who have none... only they know what loneliness feels like."
Her words lingered in the car, heavier than silence.
Vihaan's heart clenched a little. He didn't say anything — but his grip on the steering wheel tightened. He could feel something stir — admiration, sympathy... or maybe something warmer.
A moment later, Arpita took a deep breath and shook off the heavy air.
"Yaar," she said lightly, "I started sounding like a philosopher again! Forget all that." She laughed, glancing at him. "You tell me, Mr. Talented Vihaan — apart from driving, what else can you do?"
Her teasing tone returned, playful and musical.
Vihaan chuckled softly, his mood lightening. "Ma— I mean, Arpita ji..." He smiled awkwardly as she raised a brow.
He corrected himself quickly, "Sorry! Arpita ji, I can do everything — just give me a command."
Arpita burst out laughing, throwing her head back. Her laughter filled the car like sunlight breaking through clouds.
"Really? Everything?"
"Even cooking," Vihaan said confidently. "One day, I'll make you taste my food."
"Hmm..." she smirked, turning her face toward him. "One day, I'll test that. If you fail, I'll report you to the academy mess staff!"
They both laughed, the tension melting into easy warmth.
Outside, the road stretched endlessly under the orange glow of sunset. Inside the car, the air carried the faint hum of unspoken emotions — a teacher and a trainee, two worlds apart, unknowingly driving closer.
And as the wind played with Arpita's hair and the sunlight painted Vihaan's face in gold, neither of them realized that this drive — that started as a simple ride — had quietly become something much more... a beginning neither had planned for.
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