The faint hum of carnival music echoed from outside as Roshni washed her hands, her reflection shimmering faintly in the mirror. For a moment, she simply stared at herself - the glow of Diwali lights from outside flickering across her face.
Her lips curved into a soft, thoughtful smile.
"Aaj ka din... ajeeb tha, lekin accha tha," she murmured quietly.
She remembered the way Sameer had walked beside her - silent, disciplined, yet oddly protective.
"Woh aadmi bura nahi hai... mera pati bas apne jazbaat chhupa leta hai," she thought, her smile deepening.
"Dil toh unka bilkul bachon jaisa hai... bas unke aas-paas jo deewarein hain, unhe todna hoga mujhe."
Still smiling at the thought, she stepped out of the washroom.
The cool evening breeze carried the laughter of children. Nearby, a few kids were playing near a small tent. One of them shouted excitedly, "Oye! Dekho, mujhe kya mila!"
The others gathered around, curious. A little boy held up a small device, its tiny red light blinking.
"Yeh toh watch hai!" he giggled. "Dekho, time chal raha hai! Aur yeh... tee... tee... awaz aa rahi hai!"
Roshni paused mid-step. Something in that faint beeping sound twisted her gut.
She walked toward them, forcing a gentle smile. "Baccho, kya dekh rahe ho? Dikhao zara mujhe."
The boy quickly hid it behind his back. "Nahi didi, yeh mera hai!" he said with a pout.
Roshni knelt down, voice soft but steady. "Main promise karti hoon, jo tum bologe woh main dungi... bas dikhao zara."
The boy hesitated, then opened his small palm.
For a heartbeat, Roshni forgot to breathe.
It wasn't a toy.
It was a time bomb.
The tiny screen flashed red: 00:30:00
Her fingers trembled. The world seemed to blur, the sounds of laughter fading into a dull hum. Sweat beaded on her forehead, sliding down her neck. She quickly wiped it with her dupatta.
"Didi... kya hua?" one of the girls asked innocently. "Aap dar kyun rahi ho?"
Roshni forced a shaky smile. "Kuch nahi beta... tum sab mere paas aao."
She gathered them close, her heart pounding so hard it almost hurt. Gently, she took the device from the boy's hand and hid it behind her dupatta. Moving quickly, she crouched near the grass and placed the bomb between two heavy stones.
Her mind raced. "Abhi aadha ghanta hai... bachon ko pehle hata leti hoon, phir Sameer sir ko bula kar bomb diffuse karwaungi. Agar maine abhi chillaya... toh bhagdar mach jayegi. Bahut log mar sakte hain."
She straightened and looked at the kids. "Sunno, baccho. Parking ke paas ek bhaiya honge - olive green shirt mein, haath mein shopping bags honge. Unhe bolna, washroom ke paas ek bomb hai. Theek hai? Jaldi jao!"
The children, sensing the seriousness in her tone, nodded and ran off toward the parking area.
Roshni exhaled shakily. The night air felt heavy now, every breath tight in her chest. She turned back toward the direction of the washroom - toward the bomb.
"Ab mujhe wapas jaana hoga... logon ki zindagi daav par hai."
And then-
A blinding flash.
A roar so loud it shattered the air.
The ground heaved violently beneath her feet.
Roshni barely had time to turn before the shockwave hit - tents collapsed, stalls burst into flames, metal and glass flying like dust in the wind.
The world went white.
A burning pain tore through her body as something heavy struck her shoulder. She stumbled, her knees buckling, and then darkness swallowed her whole.
Her last fading thought was Sameer's calm, unreadable face - and her own unspoken prayer.
"Bas unhe kuch na ho..."
Just a few meters away from the women's washroom, a man leaned casually against a food cart, pretending to scroll through his phone. His eyes, however, never left the group of children - or the woman who had just joined them.
He watched as Roshni crouched, spoke softly to the kids, and carefully took the small blinking device from the boy's hand. His expression hardened instantly.
"Shit... she's seen it."
He pressed the phone tightly against his ear and muttered under his breath, voice low and clipped.
"Boss, situation badal gayi. Bomb bachon ke haath mein tha - ek aurat ne dekh liya hai. Lagta hai police se related hai... ya training li hui hai. Woh usse diffuse karne ki koshish karegi."
A pause. A deep, gruff voice responded from the other end.
"Kitna time hai blast mein?"
"Thirty minutes. Lekin agar woh active ho gayi... toh log evacuate kar denge, plan khatam ho jayega."
The man's jaw clenched. His eyes darted toward the washroom.
"Boss, main abhi manual trigger karta hoon. Explosion turant hoga."
"Do it," came the cold reply. "Aur sun... koi witness na bache. Samjha?"
The man nodded grimly. "Understood."
He quickly slid the phone into his pocket and adjusted the small transmitter strapped to his wrist - a faint red light blinking in rhythm with the bomb's timer. His hand hovered over the switch.
Then, he turned to leave - but froze.
At the parking lot, he spotted a tall man standing with a few others - Sameer Pandey. His sharp eyes, disciplined posture, and alert presence struck an old chord of recognition.
The man's brows furrowed.
"Yeh... maine ise pehle kahin dekha hai. Par kaha...?"
"Arre Rafiq!" one of his accomplices hissed from behind. "Kya kar raha hai? Chal jaldi! Time kam hai!"
He blinked, snapping out of it. "Haan, aa raha hoon."
As they hurried toward the exit, he glanced one last time over his shoulder. Sameer was standing under the lamp post, arms folded, scanning the carnival crowd with quiet suspicion.
For a fleeting second, their eyes almost met - a flicker of intuition passing between predator and protector.
The man turned away, vanishing into the shadows.
Behind him, the red light on his transmitter blinked faster.
And moments later...
a flash tore through the night sky.
Smoke hung thick in the air. The once-bustling fairground was now wrapped in chaos - screams, cries, the shrill wail of alarms. Dust rose like fog, mixing with the smell of burning wood and gunpowder.
Sameer stood still. His eyes, sharp as ever, were fixed on the smoldering remains of the washroom area - the very place where the explosion had just erupted. The noise around him faded for a moment. He heard nothing. Not even the sound of his own heartbeat. Only the echo of a single thought - Roshni.
Three minutes. It had only been three minutes since the blast. Yet it felt like his entire world had stopped breathing.
He didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't even realize that his fists were clenched so tightly his nails had cut into his palm.
Then -
"Bhaiya..."
A trembling voice broke through the haze. Sameer turned sharply.
A group of children - faces blackened by dust, eyes red from crying - came running toward him. One little boy, barely six, held onto his hand with trembling fingers and whispered between sobs,
"Bhaiya... woh... bomb... Roshni didi..."
For a second, Sameer's mask cracked. A single tear slid down from the corner of his eye - quick, silent, forbidden. He wiped it before anyone could notice, his expression snapping back into the cold composure of an officer.
He knelt down to the boy's level, voice calm yet heavy with a pain only he knew how to bury.
"Baccha... batao, kya hua?"
Another child, hiccupping through tears, said,
"Roshni didi ne bola tha aapko bulane... par hum... der se aaye..."
Sameer exhaled slowly. The air burned in his chest. He patted the boy's head gently.
"It's okay. You did good."
He stood up, his voice turning firm - the commanding tone of an IPS officer returning to the battlefield.
"Ishita!"
Ishita ran to him, her face pale.
"Sir?"
"Take these kids to my SUV. Lock the doors. Don't let anyone near them. Their safety is our responsibility now."
"Yes, sir." She hurriedly gathered the children, her heart racing.
Sameer turned back to his team. His tone was like steel.
"Arpit - inform the academy. We need police force, paramedics, and doctors here immediately. Treat this as a level-one emergency."
Arpit nodded and rushed off with his phone.
"Sidharth, Vihaan, Ishita - with me. We're searching for survivors. Move!"
But none of them moved. Not a step.
Vihaan's eyes were red, voice shaking with barely contained rage.
"Sir... what about Roshni ma'am?"
Sameer's jaw tightened.
"Vihaan, first answer me - are you training to be an IPS officer or an emotional fool? Out there, not just Roshni - dozens of civilians were present. Our job is to save them all. Control your emotions. This is the ground reality of duty."
Vihaan's fists clenched. His voice rose, breaking through the command tone.
"Sir, I think you've forgotten - before being an officer, you're her husband! Maybe you don't care, but she's my best friend. I'm not an IPS officer right now - I'm just a man who won't leave her there!"
He turned sharply and ran into the crowd, shouting Roshni's name.
Ishita stepped forward, her eyes soft but steady.
"Sir, let him go. Vihaan's like that. He'll listen once he finds her. You just... you just focus on the others. We're with you."
Sameer gave a small nod. "Go."
Sidharth added quietly, "I'll check for any pulse or survivors nearby. We'll cover this zone."
Then he and Ishita moved quickly, tending to the injured, pulling debris aside.
Sameer remained still for a heartbeat. His stone face hid a storm inside.
(Sameer's POV)
"Roshni... I told you once - never take risks without me. And yet you did. Why? Why can't you ever think of yourself first?"
He looked at the fire. His throat burned with unspoken fear. "Everyone says I don't show emotions. They think I don't care. Maybe that's good. Because if they saw what I'm feeling right now - they'd know how weak I really am."
His fingers brushed against his wedding ring, blackened slightly by dust.
"You can't leave me like this, Roshni. Not you. Not when I never even told you... how proud I was of you. How much I..."
He stopped himself. Straightened his shoulders. His eyes hardened once more.
He took a deep breath, scanning the wreckage -
"Sameer Pandey doesn't break," he murmured under his breath, "not until she's found."
He picked up a fallen stick of bamboo, shoved it into the debris, and began clearing the ruins with his own hands - no hesitation, no command - just sheer, raw desperation masked as duty.
The clock on the wall showed 6:42 p.m.
The Director of the Himalayan Civil Academy, Mr. rathor , sat stiffly in his chair, eyes locked on the large TV screen across his desk.
The newsroom was flashing bold red banners
BREAKING NEWS: BLAST AT CITY FAIR - MULTIPLE CASUALTIES FEARED
SECOND BOMB SUSPECTED - POLICE ON HIGH ALERT
The news anchor's urgent voice filled the silent room.
"Our sources confirm that this wasn't an accident. A second bomb has already been planted, location still unknown. Police and paramedic teams have reached the spot, but the situation remains tense. The public is advised to stay away from crowded areas..."
Menwile - Blast Site
The area was chaos incarnate.
Sirens howled. Ambulances lined the road. Police in olive uniforms tried to push the growing crowd back.
Broken tents lay scattered, twisted metal frames jutted out like wounded bones. The ground was littered with shattered glass, torn flags, blood, and ash.
Sameer Pandey moved through it all like a shadow of purpose.
His uniform was smeared with soot, his face streaked with dust. But his eyes - cold, sharp, unflinching - carried a storm no one could read.
He lifted heavy poles, overturned debris with bare hands, his breath heavy but silent.
To the media and bystanders, he looked emotionless - a machine of duty.
But deep inside, beneath that steel façade, was the scream of a husband who had lost sight of his wife.
Nearby, Dr. Sidharth , his sleeves rolled up, was on his knees beside an injured woman, pressing gauze against her bleeding leg. His hands were steady, his voice firm.
"Pressure rakho... breathe, ma'am, just breathe..."
A reporter shoved a mic toward him.
"Dr. Sidharth! You're an army doctor, sir. How do you feel facing a situation like this? Is it like being back on the border?"
Sidharth froze mid-bandage, staring at the reporter in disbelief. The woman on the ground was still bleeding, yet they wanted a soundbite.
His patience snapped.
"Feel? You're asking how I feel?" he said, voice rising. "People are dying here! If you want to help, pick up a stretcher. Otherwise, move!"
The reporter hesitated, stammering something, but Sidharth pushed the mic aside and continued his work, muttering,
"Ye camera leke nahi, dil leke aao... tab samjho zindagi kya hoti hai."
The cameraman turned, searching for another angle - and spotted Sameer.
Sameer was lifting a fallen metal beam alone. His veins stood out against his arms as he gritted his teeth, pushing through the pain. Beneath the debris lay two survivors, one unconscious, one crying for help.
He dragged them out, called to a medic, and went right back in.
The reporter ran toward him, voice loud and eager:
"Sir! Sir, are you in charge here? How did this blast happen? Any idea who's behind it?"
Sameer turned slowly, his eyes meeting the camera lens.
The crowd fell silent for a heartbeat.
His voice was calm - too calm.
"I don't know."
And then, colder -
"But if I find out... they won't get a second chance."
He turned away before another question could come, his boots crunching through broken glass, heading back into the smoke.
Elsewhere, Ishita and Arpit were guiding survivors toward the ambulances.
Ishita's voice trembled as she helped a wounded mother and her child.
"Easy... careful... you'll be okay."
Her palms were red, her hair covered in dust, but she didn't stop.
Arpit, meanwhile, was talking rapidly on the radio.
"Base, this is Officer Arpit. Blast site partially secured. Requesting backup. We've got civilian casualties - some critical. Repeat, we need immediate medevac!"
And then there was Vihaan.
He wasn't thinking like an officer anymore - not even close.
He was thinking like a friend, like a brother who refused to believe she was gone.
He ran through the ruins, calling out her name.
"Roshni! Roshni! Can you hear me?"
His voice echoed through the dust. He stumbled, cut his hand on a sharp edge, but didn't care. He kept digging, pulling away pieces of broken tent and burnt cloth.
Around him, people yelled, sirens screamed, the ground still smoked - but he didn't hear any of it. Only the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
For a second, he stopped - staring at the place where the washroom once stood. Half of it was reduced to rubble, but under one corner, he saw something - a piece of cloth, pale pink, covered in dust.
His breath caught.
"Roshni..." he whispered, his eyes wide.
He dropped to his knees and began clearing the debris with frantic hands, every move desperate, wild.
The air was thick - with smoke, dust, and the metallic scent of blood.
Somewhere far away, sirens wailed, but here, in this shattered corner near the collapsed washroom, all was muffled - like the world itself was holding its breath.
Vihaan's hands trembled as he moved another slab of concrete, his fingers bleeding, nails chipped.
He had been calling her name for what felt like forever.
"Roshni! ...Tu sun rahi hai na? Please... ek baar awaaz de de."
His throat was raw, eyes burning from the dust and the tears he refused to wipe.
Then - something glinted under the debris.
A delicate shimmer of silver.
He froze.
It was a bracelet - twisted slightly, dust clinging to it, but unmistakable.
His own bracelet.
The same one he'd once tied on her wrist years ago when she'd said she liked it.
"Tujhe pasand hai? Toh le jaa... mere paas aur kuch nahi, dosti ka nishaan samajh ke rakh le."
Her laugh had been light then, teasing.
"Pagal! Bracelet bhi koi friendship symbol hota hai kya?"
"Ab se hoga," he'd said, smiling.
And now... seeing it again - covered in soot, still wrapped around her wrist - it shattered something inside him.
"Roshni..."
His voice broke as he threw the last piece of debris aside.
There she was.
Her face pale, a thin streak of blood tracing down her forehead, her hair tangled in dust. Her dupatta was half-burnt, half-soaked, but she was breathing - faintly.
"Roshni!" he gasped, dropping to his knees.
He lifted her gently, placing her head in his lap. His tears fell freely now, splattering against her cheek.
"Uthh na yaar... uthh! Please! Tu meri best friend hai na? Uthh jaa..."
She didn't move.
He shook her lightly, voice cracking.
"Tu hamesha lecture deti thi na mujhe - 'Vihaan, responsible officer ban, brave ban...' ab khud kya kar rahi hai, haan? Aise chhod ke jaayegi mujhe?"
His tears ran down, streaking muddy lines across his face.
"Tu promise kiya tha... hum dono ek saath IPS banenge, desh serve karenge... ab kya, main akela karu?"
He clutched her hand tighter, whispering hoarsely,
"Please Roshni... aankhein khol le... mai promise karta hoon tujhse kabhi jhagra nahi karunga, kabhi mazak nahi udaunga... bas uth jaa yaar, bas uth jaa."
Then, like a fragile miracle - she coughed.
Vihaan froze.
Her body shuddered weakly, and her eyelashes fluttered open.
He laughed through his tears, voice trembling.
"Pagal ladki! Dekh, meri besti hero ban gayi! Zinda hai tu!"
Roshni blinked slowly, her lips dry, her voice barely a whisper.
"Vihaan... tu... tu ro raha hai?"
He sniffed, wiping his cheek roughly.
"Rota? Main? Haan haan, hass raha hoon main! Itni chot lag gayi tujhe aur tu mujhe lecture de rahi hai!"
She managed a faint smile.
"Tu... tu hamesha... drama karta hai..."
He exhaled sharply, his heart twisting at her broken voice.
"Drama nahi, reality check hai, madam Mother Teresa! Desh ki seva karne se pehle apni jaan bhi zaroori hoti hai! Khud ka bhi soch kabhi!"
She opened her mouth to answer - but then Vihaan froze.
A deep, cracking sound echoed above them.
He looked up - the iron beam that had been hanging half-loose from the cement base was now bending, groaning under its own weight.
Dust rained down.
The beam swayed once... twice... then tilted dangerously toward them.
Vihaan's heart slammed in his chest.
He whispered hoarsely, "Oh no..."
He tried to move Roshni, but she winced, too weak to stand.
He wrapped his arms around her protectively, shouting instinctively -
"Roshni, jhuk jaa! Jaldi!"
And at that same moment - across the smoke and chaos - Sameer Pandey saw it.
From twenty meters away, his eyes caught the flash of Vihaan's white shirt... and the faiten brown of Roshni's dupatta.
For a heartbeat, his world stopped.
She's alive.
But then he saw the cracking base above them - the heavy steel beam seconds away from collapsing.
"V I H A A N!" he shouted, voice raw. "MOVE!"
The noise drowned his words.
He ran - boots thundering against the ground, every breath ragged, eyes locked on them like his soul depended on it.
Time slowed - the beam creaked louder, Vihaan turned slightly, Roshni's fingers clutched at his shirt -
And the moment froze there -
the air trembling, the dust swirling around them like fragments of fate -
right before everything came crashing down
The chaos still hadn't settled. Sirens screamed, the acrid smoke from the blast still hovered in the air, and the ground trembled under the weight of panic and pain.
When the iron beam came crashing down, Sameer didn't think - he just moved.
He sprinted forward, cutting through the dust and noise, his boots pounding the debris-strewn ground. In that heartbeat, instinct overtook thought - and as the beam fell, Sameer shoved Vihaan aside and planted himself squarely between the steel and them.
The impact was brutal - a dull, cracking sound echoed as the beam grazed his back, dragging against the cement before slamming into the ground behind him.
A sharp hiss escaped his lips, but he didn't flinch.
His olive-green shirt ripped open from the back, crimson spreading fast, staining the fabric.
Tiny fragments of concrete scattered, and droplets of his blood landed across Roshni's white kurti - soft, pale fabric now speckled with dark red.
Vihaan's voice broke through, hoarse and panicked.
"Sir! Yeh kya kiya aapne? Bohot khoon nikal raha hai!"
Sameer didn't respond at first. He just stood there - chest heaving, eyes locked on Roshni, who was blinking weakly, trying to focus.
"Roshni..." he breathed, voice low, trembling under its calm. "Hey... look at me. Tum theek ho?"
But before she could answer, she winced - a flash of pain crossing her face - and her eyes rolled back.
Her body went limp.
"Roshni!"
The composure cracked - just for a second.
Sameer's heart clenched as he knelt beside her, lightly patting her cheek, his blood staining her skin.
"Hey... uthho. Don't do this to me. Roshni!"
But she didn't respond.
Without wasting another breath, he slid one arm beneath her knees and another around her shoulders, lifting her - bridal style.
Pain seared across his back, but he didn't even wince this time. He just gritted his teeth, jaw locked, and started walking toward the ambulances.
Vihaan followed, his voice shaky but earnest.
"Sir, main le leta hoon! Pressure se aapka back saa aur khoon niklega!"
Sameer didn't slow down. His voice was calm, but it carried weight - like steel wrapped in silk.
"Candidate Vihaan," he said quietly, "thank you for finding my wife... risking your life for her. Lekin ab uska dhyaan rakhna mera farz hai."
Vihaan stopped - speechless - as Sameer disappeared into the smoke with Roshni in his arms.
The scene outside the ambulances was chaos - medics shouting, people crying, stretchers being rushed in and out. Ishita was guiding two injured kids toward safety, while Arpita was helping an elderly man into a stretcher.
When Sameer appeared, everyone froze for a moment.
He walked through the crowd - shirt torn, face smeared with dust and sweat, carrying Roshni as though she weighed nothing. Blood trickled down from his shoulder blade to his arm, but his grip on her never loosened.
Sidharth looked up from treating another victim, his eyes widening.
"Sameer! Oh God... kaha mili?"yee
Sameer placed Roshni gently on the stretcher. His voice was steady.
"Muja nahi mili... Vihaan ko mili thi."
Sidharth turned, spotting Vihaan just outside the ambulance, eyes glistening with exhaustion and pride. A faint, grateful smile tugged at Sidharth's lips before his attention snapped back to Sameer.
"Yaar, tu dekha hai apna haal?" Sidharth said, his doctor's tone slipping in. "Khoon beh raha hai, khada bhi mushkil se hai! Chal, dressing kar du!"
Sameer shook his head. "Main kar lunga. Tum pehle Roshni ko dekho." plese
"Pagal mat ban," Sidharth shot back, frustration rising. "Yeh koi academy drill nahi hai!"
But before he could argue more, Arpita climbed in with the first-aid box.
"Sidharth tum Roshni ko dekho. Main handle karti hoon."
Sidharth exhaled and nodded, instantly shifting focus to Roshni. "Fine."
Arpita turned toward Sameer, her voice soft but firm.
"Sameer, udhar ghum jao. Mujhe wound clean karna hai."
Sameer didn't respond. He stood still - staring blankly out the ambulance door, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond the chaos.
When she stepped closer and touched his arm gently, he blinked, almost startled back into the moment. He took the kit from her hand wordlessly.
"I'll do it myself," he said, his tone calm but hollow. "Tum jao, dekho kisi aur ko zarurat hai."
Arpita frowned, her brows knitting.
"Kaise karoge? Back par chot lagi hai, Sameer!"
He met her gaze - emotionless, yet something fragile flickered beneath.
"Zindagi bhar sab kuch khud se hi to kiya hai, Arpita.
Tumhe kaha na, main kar luu gaa."
There was no anger, no pride - just quiet finality.
Arpita stared for a second longer, her throat tightening.
Then she nodded faintly and turned away, her eyes shimmering.
As she stepped out of the ambulance, Vihaan noticed the tear that slipped down her cheek - quick, silent, unacknowledged.
He looked from her to Sameer - that man of iron, standing inside the ambulance, holding a blood-stained bandage in his own trembling hands - and for the first time in his life, Vihaan realized something:
Even the strongest soldiers... bleed quietly.
Sameer sat on a half-broken iron desk beside the shattered remains of a roadside shop. The smell of dust and blood still lingered in the air. His shirt lay tossed aside, soaked and torn beyond use. The faint light of dusk slid down his shoulders, revealing the deep gash on his back and the bruises scattered across his chest and arms.
Each time he dabbed the antiseptic on his wound, his breath hitched, but his expression stayed calm - controlled, as if pain had long been his companion.
That's when Vihaan saw him.
The young candidate paused mid-step - eyes catching the sight of his senior officer, shirtless, wounded, sitting against a backdrop of broken glass and twisted metal. For a moment, he just watched - the quiet strength, the pain masked under discipline, and the heavy calm that only experience could forge.
Then, without saying anything, Vihaan walked over.
"Sir," he said softly, "mai help kar deta hoon."
Sameer didn't look up immediately. "It's fine, Khurrana. I can manage."
But Vihaan ignored him. He picked up the cotton pad from Sameer's hand and dipped it into the antiseptic.
When the liquid touched Sameer's back, he flinched slightly - not from pain, but from surprise.
Silence stretched between them - only the faint hiss of antiseptic and the distant sound of ambulance sirens filled the air.
After a few seconds, Vihaan spoke - his voice calm but heavy with guilt.
"Sir... I'm really sorry for my behaviour today. Mujhe laga aapko Roshni ki parwah nahi hai. I reacted without thinking. Even I-"
Sameer cut him off quietly.
"Vihaan," he said, tone firm but not cold, "in this situation, anyone could react like that. It's not your fault. But..."
He turned slightly, his steady eyes catching Vihaan's.
"As a future IPS officer, you must learn one thing - never let emotions cloud your judgment. What you did today came from your heart, but out there in the real world, emotion can make you weak. It can blur your sense of duty."
Vihaan looked at him, eyes steady, determination soft but clear.
"Sir, you're right. I shouldn't have lost control. Lekin..." He paused, then said quietly, "emotion isn't a weakness. Emotion makes us human. Uske bina hum kya hain? Emotion ke bina life bilkul chai bina cheeni jaisi hai - kadwi, adhoori."
Sameer didn't respond immediately. His eyes softened just a fraction, but his voice stayed even.
"Mr. Khurrana... you have much to see. When you meet people who use emotions as weapons, you'll understand what I mean."
Vihaan didn't look away. "Sir, mujhe pata hai duniya mein aise log hain. But because of those people, hum un logon ko kaise saza de sakte hain jo sach mein dil se pyaar karte hain? Jo galti nahi karte?"
Sameer turned toward him fully now - tall, silent, unreadable.
He hadn't expected this kind of calm wisdom from the young man who, just hours ago, had argued with him like a storm.
Before he could answer, a voice called from the distance -
"Sameer! Jaldi yaha aao!" It was Sidharth, shouting from near the ambulance.
Sameer exhaled slowly, glancing in that direction.
"I'm coming," he said, then looked back at Vihaan.
"Mr. Khurrana... you were right - at least, about your place and your feelings." He paused, his tone softening for a rare moment.
"I understand what and for whom you were speaking. But maybe..."
He gave a faint, half-smile - the kind that didn't reach his eyes.
"Maybe Roshni and I... aren't meant to be understood by anyone. Our path is the same, but our thoughts are not. Aur mere hisaab se... alag soch wale log ek rasta saath nahi chal sakte."
And with that, he picked up his shirt, slung it over his shoulder, and walked toward the ambulance - his back still streaked with drying blood, his steps steady, almost too composed.
Vihaan's POV:
I watched him go - the man everyone called perfect. Calm. Unshakeable. Unemotional.
But what I saw today wasn't perfection... it was loneliness dressed as control.
"Sir," I whispered to myself, "aapne jo bola wo sahi hai... par aapne apni life ka ek class miss kar diya - human feelings."
He said discipline, logic, and detachment are the path to strength.
But he forgot - those things are survival, not living.
"You were right, sir... but whatever you call emotion, that's not weakness. It's life itself."
Vihaan looked toward the ambulance, where Roshni lay inside, unconscious but safe - and Sameer stood beside her like a silent shadow.
"You told me I haven't seen the world," Vihaan murmured, "but maybe you've seen too much of it. The wrong part of it."
He glanced at the evening sky turning orange, the academy flag fluttering faintly in the distance.
"And soon, sir..." he said under his breath, "...you'll learn what your real world is - because destiny always finds a way to teach."
The chaos had finally begun to settle. Sirens faded into the distance, smoke thinned in the night air, and the once-crowded blast site was now a blur of flashing lights and broken silence.
Sameer stepped down from the ambulance, his face still streaked with dust and dried blood. His eyes were focused - sharp, but shadowed by something he didn't want to admit.
He looked at Sidharth, who was adjusting the stethoscope around his neck.
"Kaisa hai?" Sameer asked, voice steady but tight.
Sidharth glanced at the chart, then back at him.
"Vitals normal hain. Maine checkup kar liya, she's fine." she is very luckey that she survive
For a brief second, Sameer's shoulders dropped - the weight of hours lifted like a silent breath leaving his chest. His eyes softened.
But Sidharth added quietly, "Par... ek cheez. CT scan karwana zaroori hai. Mujhe doubt hai ki andar koi internal injury ho sakti hai. Abhi tak kuch visible nahi hai, but we can't be sure."
Sameer's gaze darkened a little. "So she's fine or not, Sidharth? Mujhe sirf itna batao."
Sidharth met his eyes steadily. "Yes, she's fine, Sameer. For now."
Sameer gave a single nod - a small, restrained sigh escaping him.
"Okay then," he said firmly. "We're dispatching back to the academy."
He turned toward his team, his voice slipping back into command mode.
"Arpita, Vihaan, Ishita - good work today. Tum log wapas academy jao. Sidharth, take your Scorpio with Ishita. I'll follow."
Everyone nodded - tired, silent, but proud. Vihaan and Arpita exchanged a brief look before getting into her car.
Sidharth and Ishita climbed into the Scorpio, its headlights cutting through the fading smoke.
Sameer looked around once more - at the paramedics, the police, the media still buzzing with questions.
He called out to the paramedic team, his tone brisk but respectful:
"Good job, everyone. Victims ko hospital shift karo. Injured logon ka full medical update Himalayan Academy headquarters bhejna. Clear?"
"Yes, sir!" they chorused.
Sameer gave one last nod and turned away.
Then, he went back to the ambulance door - and looked at her.
Roshni lay unconscious on the stretcher, her face pale but peaceful now, strands of hair falling across her cheek. The blood on her temple had dried; her breathing was soft, steady.
Without a second thought, Sameer bent down and lifted her again - bridal style - careful, gentle, almost reverent. The world seemed to fade around them. The weight of her against his arms was light, but the feeling in his chest wasn't.
He placed her carefully in the passenger seat of his SUV, fastening the belt around her with slow precision, his eyes lingering on her face longer than he intended.
Then he went around, slid into the driver's seat, and started the engine.
The SUV rolled forward, headlights cutting through the dim road - silent except for the hum of the engine and the soft rhythm of Roshni's breathing beside him.
Sameer's POV -
The road stretched endlessly before him - empty, quiet, and yet, for the first time in years, his heart wasn't.
Why did I feel that?
The moment he saw her lying beneath the debris, everything else had vanished - command, training, logic - all gone.
It wasn't duty that made him run. It wasn't instinct either.
It was something... else. Something he couldn't name.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. His hands still had traces of blood - hers and his - both mixed.
Why her? Why does it feel different when she's in pain?
He glanced at her briefly. The way her head rested lightly against the seat, her lips parted in faint breaths, .
Sameer's jaw clenched.
You're an officer, Sameer pandey. Control yourself.
He could hear his inner voice, cold and strict - the same tone he used to lead men, to suppress emotion, to keep boundaries clear.
But tonight, that voice wasn't winning.
His heart whispered louder.
What if something had happened to her?
The very thought made his chest tighten.
He slowed the car slightly.
You've faced border missions, gunfire, betrayal... but one girl's silence is shaking you like this?
He exhaled, long and heavy.
Maybe Vihaan was right. Maybe emotions didn't always make a man weak - sometimes, they reminded him he was still human.
He looked at her once again, a small, fleeting smile ghosting over his lips.
"You're stubborn as hell," he murmured quietly, his voice almost lost in the wind.
"Always running toward danger, always testing my patience... Roshni."
For a brief second, he almost reached out - his hand lifting halfway to brush away a loose strand of her hair.
But he stopped.
His fingers curled back around the steering wheel.
The officer in him won - for now.
As the SUV curved through the dark hills toward Himalayan Civil Academy, Sameer drove on in silence.
But inside him, a storm was beginning - the kind that even discipline couldn't suppress.
The SUV's engine had barely stopped when Sameer stepped out, his arms still wrapped around Roshni. She was unconscious but peaceful, her head resting lightly against his shoulder.
As he carried her down the quiet corridor of the Himalayan Civil Academy, his boots echoed against the marble floor.
Just then, Director Rathore appeared from the opposite side. His gaze flickered from Sameer's bruised face to Roshni in his arms - resting so effortlessly against his chest.
Rathore's voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp.
"Officer Sameer. In my office. Fifteen minutes."
He didn't wait for a reply, simply turned away, leaving Sameer standing frozen for a second before resuming his stride toward Roshni's quarters.
Inside her room, Sameer gently placed her on the bed. He turned to leave, but a faint murmur stopped him.
"Paani..."
Roshni's voice - soft, half-asleep.
Sameer looked around, spotted a water bottle on the windowsill, and hurried to her side. He supported her head with one arm and brought the bottle close to her lips. She drank slowly, eyes still closed, then slumped forward - right against his chest.
For a moment, Sameer froze. Her heartbeat brushed against his uniform; her hair smelled faintly of rose and antiseptic.
(Sameer's thoughts): "Yeh ladki... hamesha museebat mein girti hai... aur phir shanti se so jaati hai. Cute troublemaker."
He smiled faintly - and immediately straightened, realizing it.
(Sameer muttered): "Kya kar raha hai tu, Sameer. Smile? Seriously?"
He turned to place the bottle back when he noticed the mess around - clothes strewn everywhere.
"God... yeh kamra hai ya battlefield," he sighed.
Finding the blanket in the mess, he tugged it free - but a scarf got tangled around his foot, and in one swift moment, he slipped- right onto the bed.
The blanket whooshed over both of them.
Roshni's eyes fluttered open - dazed.
Her heartbeat raced as she saw Sameer above her, half tangled in the blanket, their faces dangerously close.
Her hand moved instinctively, touching his face - just to check if it was real.
"Mr. Pandey...? Aap... aap sach mein ho?" she whispered.
Sameer blinked, startled, his voice low but firm.
"Of course, Mrs. Pandey. This isn't a dream."
Roshni, still half-dreamy, smiled softly.
"Pakka? Kyunki agar main abhi aapko... kiss karne jaaun, toh aap gayab ho jaate ho sapno mein."
Sameer's eyes widened - speechless.
(Sameer's thought): "Great. Perfect timing. My wife's sense of humor works even in semi-conscious state."
Before he could speak, footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Without thinking, he grabbed the blanket and covered both of them again.
Roshni gasped.
"Yeh kya-"
He quickly pressed a finger on his lips. "Shhh..."
Vihaan's voice came from outside.
"Roshni? Tu andar hai kya?"
The door creaked open.
From the doorway, Vihaan saw a lumpy blanket on the bed.
"Arre, so gayi kya? Bechari... poora din itna hua."
He stepped closer to adjust the blanket.
Underneath, Roshni squeezed her eyes shut in panic. Sameer's jaw clenched, not daring to move.
Just then, Ishita entered behind Vihaan.
"Arre Vihaan! Kya kar raha hai tu? Sone de use," she scolded, pulling him back. "Dekh na, bechari kitni thak gayi hai."
As Vihaan turned, Ishita's eyes caught something - a pair of olive-green shoes sticking out from under the blanket.
A tiny smirk tugged at her lips.
"Ohhh... so that's why madam is sleeping peacefully," she murmured under her breath.
"I'll handle her," Ishita said quickly. "Tu canteen jaa - Arjun bula raha tha."
Vihaan shrugged and left, still muttering.
When Ishita was sure Vihaan had gone, she closed the door quietly, turned the lock, and folded her arms with a knowing smile.
Then, she looked toward the bed.
"Sameer sir, ab aap nikal sakte ho," she said softly, her tone dancing between amusement and mischief.
The blanket shifted hesitantly. A tousled Sameer sat up, his uniform slightly wrinkled, expression perfectly composed - except for the faint red tinge creeping up his neck.
Roshni sat frozen beside him, her hair a little messy, eyes wide like she had just been caught stealing exam papers.
"Ishita, main... woh-aisa kuch nahi tha," Roshni began, words tumbling over each other.
Sameer stood up immediately, adjusting his uniform.
"I know," Ishita replied sweetly, raising an eyebrow. "Sirf blanket ka issue tha, right?"
Sameer cleared his throat. "Ms. Ishita, please take care of her. I'm going."
His voice was flat, professional - but his ears told a different story.
"Yes, sir," Ishita said, biting the inside of her cheek to hide her grin. "Good... night."
As the door closed behind him, Ishita waited two seconds - then turned to Roshni, arms still crossed and a full teasing smile spreading on her face.
"So, Mrs. Pandey..." she began in mock seriousness, "kya baat hai, romantic entry, dramatic fall, and cozy blanket moment - you're really living in a Bollywood script, huh?"
Roshni's face turned redder than the first-aid kit on the side table.
"Shut up, Ishita! It was nothing like that!" she protested, throwing a pillow at her.
"Oh really?" Ishita caught the pillow mid-air. "So, explain this 'nothing'. Because from where I saw, our Mr. Sameer Pandey looked like a hero straight out of a drama scene - shirt slightly untucked, blanket over both of you, and you looking like the lead actress waking up in a dream."
Roshni groaned, covering her face with the blanket.
"Uff, Ishita please! You're making it sound weird."
"Wahi toh!" Ishita laughed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Weird nahi, cute. And I swear, agar Vihaan ne dekha hota na, toh pura academy mein khabar phail jaati - 'Madam Roshni rescued, re-bandaged, aur sir ke saath blanket mein chhupi!'"
Roshni peeked out from under the blanket, glaring but smiling at the same time.
"Ishita, stop teasing! He was just... helping me rest, that's it."
Ishita tilted her head playfully.
"Haan haan, helping you rest. Matlab, itni care koi sirf duty mein karta hai kya?"
Roshni's eyes softened, her tone changing unconsciously.
"I don't know... but jab unhone mujhe uthaya tha, I felt safe. Like... even if the world was falling apart, he'd handle it."
Ishita noticed the shift in her expression and smiled gently this time.
"Aww... ab madam serious ho gayi. Lagta hai Himalaya ke sirf mausam nahi, dil bhi thoda pighal raha hai."
Roshni blushed deeper. "Ishita!"
"Fine, fine," Ishita said, raising her hands in surrender. "Main kuch nahi bolungi. Bas ek baat yaad rakh - Mr. Sameer Pandey bahar se stone hai, lekin andar kuch aur hi story chal rahi hai."
Roshni looked away toward the window where moonlight spilled across the room.
Her voice was soft, thoughtful.
"Maybe... I'm starting to see that."
Ishita smiled, patting her arm.
"Good. Now sleep, Mrs. Pandey. Kal subah tak sir bhi apne usual mode mein aa jayenge - 'discipline, duty, distance.' And I'll remind you of tonight when you start arguing with him again."
Roshni laughed faintly, lying back down. "You're impossible."
"Of course," Ishita winked, switching off the bedside lamp. "Somebody has to balance out you two love-struck IPS souls."
As the room slipped into darkness, Roshni's lips curved into a small, shy smile.
Her heartbeat was calmer now - but her thoughts weren't.
Because for the first time, she wasn't just thinking about Sameer Pandey the officer...
she was thinking about Sameer, the man behind the badge.
The director's office smelled of old paper and a faint lemon polish; sunlight slanted through the blinds in hard stripes across the carpet. Sameer walked in with his uniform folded in his arms, the dark smear of the day still clinging to him like a shadow. He set the bundle down, sat opposite Director Rathore, and tried to make his face an unreadable mask.
Rathore steepled his fingers and watched him with tired, patient eyes. The weight of the academy sat in the room - an expectation, a thousand whispered questions. After a long moment he tapped a folder on his desk.
"Sit," he said. "Tell me what we have. Start from the beginning - numbers, survivors, fatalities. Don't spare me the details."
Sameer inhaled, voice tight but calm. "Sir... roughly three thousand people were at the carnival. We managed to get about fifteen hundred out in time. There are fatalities and many with severe injuries - I don't have the final list yet. Rescue teams are still clearing debris."
Rathore's jaw tightened. "And Roshni?"
Sameer's throat closed. For a beat he said nothing, looking at the window as if the answer were written in the sky. Then, measured, he said, "Yes, sir. Roshni is among the survivors."
Rathore's brows rose; a flash of something - disbelief, annoyance - crossed his face. He tapped the folder again, voice low and hard. "We have reports of a second device spotted. Intelligence suggests the attackers intended to pull someone out of the crowd - a targeted strike. If the government believes this is an attempt to manipulate or terrorize a community, they will act. This is political, sameer. Not just criminal."
Sameer's hands tightened on the arms of the chair. He could feel the slow burn in his injured back, the ache that refused to be ignored. "I know, sir. I'll find them. I won't let a second blast happen."
Rathore watched him for a long moment - the director's gaze was precise, like a judge weighing testimony. "You always say that, officer. You say you will find them. But tell me this - why is it that you, Sidharth, Vihaan, Arpita, Ishita - you all seem to end up in the same places at the same time? Coincidence after coincidence. And Roshni Mishra - she has been dragged through danger before. Human trafficking, forced marriage attempts, now a blast. She winds up in harm's path, and you are always nearby. Are you telling me there is nothing between you two? No explanation?"
Sameer swallowed. He knew where this line of questioning could lead. If he answered fully, the director could use it to justify removing Roshni from the academy - to 'protect' her, or to eliminate an inconvenient complication. He also knew that revealing family secrets or the truth about a forced marriage would humiliate Roshni, whose pride had been a scarce, precious thing through all of it.
"It's personal, sir," Sameer said, carefully. "Not for the academy to air. It's not-" He stopped. The words would open a door he could not close.
Rathore's patience thinned. He slammed his palm down on the desk once, the sound ringing out. "Personal? Sameer, we're talking about lives. Coincidences don't explain repeated risk patterns. Either you tell me the full truth about your connection to Miss Mishra, or I make the decision that protects the academy - and possibly removes her from here."
The room seemed to shrink. Sameer felt every scar along his spine like a hot brand. The bargain was ugly and blunt: truth and ruin, silence and exposure. He imagined the way Roshni would look at him if she knew he traded her safety for the academy's calm. He imagined her leaving - losing the academy, losing her chance to become the officer she swore to be.
"Sir," Sameer said quietly, the officer in him iron-true, "both options are the same for her. If I speak, the academy will use it as cause to remove her for her own safety. If I don't speak - you will assume the worst, and she will still be marked. I will not make this decision in front of a desk. I'm sorry, but I won't humiliate her for the sake of an investigation."
Rathore rose from his chair, the director's face a mask of professional fury and helplessness. "You're naïve if you think secrets don't have consequences. You're not protecting her - you're gambling with every other life under your command."
Sameer stood, steadier than he felt. "Then I'll take the gamble. I'll find the perpetrators. I'll find the bomb. I'll bring you results before your patience - and the government's patience - runs out."
Rathore's lip curled. "You have one week, officer."
Sameer nodded once, curt and absolute, then turned to leave. He didn't wait for permission. As he reached the door Rathore called after him, voice softer now, threaded with an exhaustion that made the words almost pleading.
"Sameer - you brought danger into the academy's orbit. If your choices cost the academy its reputation, I will not be the only one who is disappointed."
Sameer paused with his hand on the knob, and for a fraction of a second the two men stood across from each other: one the steward of an institution, the other a man who had already paid a terrible price to keep one person alive. No apology, no justification - only a promise shaped in the set of his jaw.
"I understand, sir," Sameer said. "I take responsibility."
He left the office with the same quiet step he always used. Rathore watched him go - then, alone, he sank back into his chair and stared at the folder on his desk, the paper rustling in the silence like a question that would not be quieted.
Outside the office corridor, Sameer paused a heartbeat, pressed his palm to his sternum beneath his uniform as if to feel for the steady truths there. He thought of the light on Roshni's face when she'd laughed in the market; of the sound of children's voices; of the ache and the blood and the weight of a promise he had made with someone gone. He set his jaw. There was work to be done.
He walked away - not to run, not to hide, but into the storm.
End of scene.
The academy stood quiet under the blanket of night - corridors dim, the lamps flickering golden against stone walls. Crickets echoed faintly in the hills. The investigation had stretched into the late hours, and fatigue hung in the air like mist.
Outside the Director's Office
A man in a servant's uniform stood half-hidden behind the corner window - Rafil.
His dark eyes gleamed with something more than hatred; it was vengeance carefully sharpened over time. He had been the one who planted the bomb at the Dhanteras carnival - and now, fate had revealed something he hadn't expected.
From his position, he could see Sameer Pandey stepping out of Director Rathore's office, face stern and unreadable. Rafiq's lips curled into a thin, cruel smile.
Rafiq (muttering):
"Ab samjha... kaha dekha tha tujhe, officer. Academy mein, itne paas... itna door dhoondhne ki zarurat hi nahi thi."
He chambered a round into his silenced pistol, whispering,
"Agla blast yahin hoga - teri academy mein. Pehla nishana tu."
He took aim through the slit of the window, the barrel steady. But before he could squeeze the trigger-
Sameer was standing near the railing, lost deep in thought. The cold mountain air carried the echoes of the director's words through his mind.
"Why is Roshni always at the center of every danger? Is she just unfortunate - or something more?"
He frowned, shaking his head.
"No," he muttered under his breath, "Sameer, stop thinking like this. You work on proof, not assumption."
A strange feeling prickled at the back of his neck - the unmistakable sense of being watched. He turned sharply, scanning the shadows. For a second, he thought he saw movement near the corner of the wall.
"Sir... Sameer sir!"
Her voice snapped his focus. He turned toward her instantly. She was standing a few feet away in the corridor, wearing a simple white kurti and cardigan, her hair loosely tied - innocence wrapped in exhaustion.
When Sameer turned back toward the wall - the shadow was gone.
Maybe it was just his mind.
He exhaled slowly. "What are you doing here at this hour, Roshni? Didn't I tell you to rest?"
Roshni blinked, caught off guard. "Sir... mujhe thodi bhukh lagi thi. Canteen jaa rahi thi bas."
Rafiq, from his corner, saw her now - recognition dawning on his face like a curse.
"Yeh toh wahi ladki hai... jisne bachchon ke haath se bomb cheena tha," he hissed. "Aur yeh dono... dono saath? Samjha... Laila-Majnu. In dono ko hatana hi hoga pehle."
He slipped away into the darkness, whispering,
"Agla nishana, academy ke andar se."
The academy kitchen was almost asleep - faint hums of the refrigerator, the slow ticking of the clock, and the warm amber glow of a single yellow bulb.
Outside, mist veiled the grounds. But inside, amid the clinking of utensils and the faint aroma of fried garlic, there was a different kind of warmth - one that had nothing to do with the stove.
Roshni sat on the counter, her legs swinging gently. Her hair was loose, slightly messy from the long day, a strand falling across her cheek as she watched Sameer.
He had shed his uniform jacket; the black t-shirt beneath clung to his shoulders and arms, the soft sheen of sweat catching the light. His focus was absolute - sleeves rolled, knife moving swiftly as he diced carrots and capsicum with soldier-like precision.
She tilted her head, smiling faintly. "Sir, aap... khana bana rahe ho mere liye?"
Sameer didn't look up, only replied in that calm, clipped tone that somehow always managed to sound protective.
"Haan. Warna tum phir kuch ulta sidha kaa lo gii ,or kha ke apni tabiyat kharab kar logi. Tum abhi medication pe ho, aur recovery chal rahi hai."
Roshni made a face, pretending to sulk. "Mujhe laga IPS officers sirf logon ko bachate hain, soup nahi banate."
For the first time that night, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"IPS officer bhi insaan hote hain, Mrs. Pandey. Kabhi kabhi... cooking se peace milta hai."
His tone softened slightly at the end - a confession disguised as a fact.
Roshni chuckled softly, her laughter breaking the stillness like a windchime in quiet air.
The sound made him pause for half a second before he went back to stirring the wok.
The smell of sautéed garlic, corn, and black pepper filled the small room - comfort in its purest form.
Steam curled around them like a fragile cloud, turning the scene into something that felt suspended between reality and dream.
When the soup was ready, Sameer turned off the stove and poured it into a bowl. He handed it to her carefully.
"Careful. It's hot."
Of course, Roshni grabbed it immediately - and yelped. "Ah! Garam hai!"
The bowl tilted dangerously, but before it could spill, Sameer's hand shot forward, steadying both it and her trembling fingers.
Their hands overlapped - his firm, hers small and trembling.
For a moment, neither moved.
His gaze lifted, eyes locking with hers. The intensity there - quiet, restrained, but unmistakably real - made Roshni forget to breathe.
Then, his voice broke the silence.
"Mrs. Pandey," he said softly but firmly, "ek garam bowl bhi sambhal nahi sakti. IPS kaise banogi?"
Roshni pouted, cheeks puffing slightly. "IPS banungi desh ke liye..."
Then, her voice dropped - quiet, sincere.
"Par Mrs. Pandey toh aapke liye hoon, na. Agar main sambhal nahi paayi... toh aap sambhal lena."
The words slipped out like a confession she hadn't planned to make.
Sameer froze, just for an instant. His jaw tightened, a flicker in his eyes betraying something deeper - something even he couldn't name.
He finally sighed, took the spoon from her hand, and began to blow gently on the soup before offering it to her.
"Piyo. Dheere se."
Roshni obeyed like a child. She took a sip, her voice soft, breaking the comfortable silence.
"Sir... mujhe kisi touch se pyaar mehsoos nahi hota. Mera pyaar yeh choti choti care mein hai - aapke banaye soup mein, aapke scolding mein, aur aapke trust mein. Mujhe sirf yeh chahiye - aapka bharosa."
She looked up, eyes shimmering.
"Chahe duniya kuch bhi kahe... aap mera saath mat chhodiye."
For a long moment, Sameer said nothing. The yellow bulb flickered slightly, casting their shadows on the tiled wall.
He leaned back slightly, his voice quiet, almost a whisper.
"I'm not leaving you, Mrs. Pandey," he said.
"Chahe tum sahi ho ya galat... main tumhare saath rahunga.
Because I trust my choice. Aur main kabhi galat insaan nahi chunta."
Something shifted between them - not loud, not sudden - but like a tide that changes direction without warning.
The air grew still. Even the clock seemed to pause.
Roshni blinked, her lashes trembling. Her throat tightened as she tried to hold back the strange mix of tears and laughter.
Then she took another sip and suddenly coughed.
Sameer immediately leaned forward, concern flaring. "Roshni! Theek ho?"
He offered her water. She shook her head, smiling weakly. "Main thik hoon, Mr. Pandey. Bas... thoda pyaar zyada lag gaya soup mein."
He couldn't help the smile that escaped - the first full, unguarded smile she had ever seen from him.
It softened everything - the lines of his face, the discipline in his posture, even the distance he always kept.
A drop of water clung to her lip.
Without thinking, he reached for a tissue, wiping it away gently.
His fingers brushed her skin - and she froze.
Her heartbeat thundered, her breath caught. He felt the tremor in her hand and almost pulled back, but didn't.
Instead, he said quietly, "Soup over. Back to your room now."
She nodded slowly, still lost in the warmth of the moment. Her lips curved in a small, shy smile.
As they stepped out of the kitchen together, moonlight followed them through the corridor - long shadows walking side by side.
The morning sun poured a soft gold through the curtains of Arpita's room.
She was in her simple white T-shirt and grey lower, her hair tied neatly in a ponytail. She had just finished arranging her files when a knock echoed on the door.
Knock. Knock.
Arpita frowned. "Kaun hai?"
A voice came - polite, formal.
"Ma'am, Sameer sir ne aapko bulaya hai. Urgently."
Arpita opened the door. Outside stood a man in servant's uniform - quiet, professional, eyes lowered.
"Haan, bhaiya, bolo?" she asked.
The man - Rafiq, though she didn't know his name - repeated in a flat tone,
"Sameer sir ne bulaya hai neeche. Bahut urgent kaam hai."
Arpita blinked, puzzled.
Sameer never sent anyone to call her. If it was work, he either sent a message himself or came personally - he was that disciplined. Something didn't feel right.
Still, she said calmly, "Theek hai, main aati hoon. Aap jaayiye."
Rafil's tone didn't change. "Nahi ma'am, sir ne kaha abhi ana hai."
A strange unease twisted in her gut. "Itna urgent kya ho sakta hai?" she muttered under her breath, grabbing her phone and stepping out.
"Main aa rahi hoon," she said, locking the door behind her.
The moment she disappeared around the corridor corner, Rafil's expression changed - the polite mask slipping into a cruel smirk.
He glanced around, then quietly pushed the door open with a gloved hand.
Inside Arpita's Room
He stepped in, scanning everything with sharp eyes - the desk, the cupboard, her laptop. He moved quickly, searching through drawers and files, muttering in a low voice,
"Toh yeh hai academy ki 2 officer Arpita... dekhte hain, kis mission se judi hai tu."
He opened her wardrobe, rifling through folders, when the faint sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Arpita, walking briskly down the corridor, dialed Sameer.
The phone rang - no answer. She frowned and tried again. Still no response.
"Strange..." she whispered. "Sameer kab sa muja servent kaa through bulana laag ..."
Suddenly - Crash!
Her phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor just as someone turned the corner.
"Sorry, ma'am! I didn't see you!" It was Vihaan, breathless, holding a stack of files.
Arpita sighed, bending to pick up her phone. "It's okay, Vihaan."
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Sameer ne bulaya hai urgently."
Vihaan blinked. "Kya? Sameer sir toh Director sir ke saath gaye hain bahar. Maine khud dekha unhe jeep me jaate hue."
Arpita's heart skipped a beat. "What?"
She didn't wait another second. She turned sharply and ran back toward her room.
"Ma'am!" Vihaan called after her and followed quickly.
Inside the Room Again
The door was slightly ajar. Arpita froze just before entering, exchanging a look with Vihaan. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Vihaan, yahin ruko. Agar andar kuch galat dikhe - just call for help."
She slipped inside silently, like a shadow.
And there he was - the same "servant" - now digging through her bag. Her instincts screamed danger.
Her eyes darted toward the drawer near the door. She moved quietly, pulled it open, and retrieved the small revolver she always kept locked away.
Her hand was steady as she aimed it straight at him.
"Freeze! Don't move."
Rafiq straightened slowly, raising his hands halfway. Arpita circled him cautiously, gun still fixed on his chest.
"Who are you? And what the hell are you doing in my room?"
He didn't answer - only stared at her with those cold, mocking eyes. A slight twitch of his wrist - he was about to reach for something under his sleeve.
"Don't even think about it," Arpita warned.
But he moved - fast.
He swung his arm, trying to knock the gun aside, but she was faster.
She ducked, kicked his leg out from under him, and twisted his arm sharply behind his back.
He grunted in pain as she pressed the gun barrel against his temple.
"Ek move aur kiya toh yhai paa shoot kar dungi," she hissed.
"Vihaan! Inside - now!" she called.
Vihaan rushed in. "Ma'am!"
"Get a chair. Tie him up. And call the senior officer immediately!"
Vihaan obeyed without hesitation, dragging a chair and some rope.
"Ma'am, Sameer sir bas aa rahe honge. Maine unhe call kiya tha."
Arpita nodded. "Fine. Tab tak use control mein rakho."
Rafil laughed darkly, his tone full of venom. "Tu pachtaayegi, officer. Tum sab pachtaoge."
Arpita replied coldly, "Pehle apne baare mein soch, terrorist."
Vihaan tied him tightly. "Done, ma'am."
"Vihaan, nazar rakhna ispe. Main Sameer ko ek bar or call karti hoon."
She stepped out to the balcony to get signal and dial again.
Inside, Rafil glanced at Vihaan with a mocking grin. "Sunn, chhod de mujhe. Bach jaayega tu. Jo hone wala hai na... usse koi nahi bachega yha ."
Vihaan folded his arms. "Kya lagta hai tujhe,mera muu paa Pagal likha hai , main Arpita ma'am se dhoka karunga? Tere jaise gadar ke liyei."
Rafiq snorted. "Oho, lagta hai maamle personal hain. , ? chor usa or chal hath mila lee mera saa Itni acchi cheez milegi tujhe?mera Mulk mein tuu isa bhul jay gaa wasa bhii inn jasai auro kaa yhai kam hota hai,mardo koo rijahana or shyd tuja bhii isina...... ?"
Before he could say another word - Thud!
Vihaan's fist connected with his jaw. Blood sprayed from Rafil's lip as the chair rattled.
"Badtameez!" Vihaan barked. "Aurat ke baare mein bakwas karne se pehle sharam kar!"
tera mulk mai hota hoo gaa , Hmaraa ...Bharat mai yha Unha devi mana jata hai
Arpita, hearing the noise, ran back in.
"Vihaan! Stop!"
He froze, breathing heavily. "Ma'am, he was talking disgusting about you."
Arpita's expression softened slightly. "And that means you start beating him?"
"Yes, ma'am," Vihaan said bluntly, eyes blazing.
"He doesn't have the right to talk bad about you. Or any woman."
For a moment, silence filled the room - heavy but proud.
Arpita's voice finally broke it. "Calm down, Vihaan. Sameer aa gaye hain. He's coming upstairs."
The soft winter sunlight filtered through the tall trees behind thel Academy. Ishita sat quietly on a wooden chair in the backyard, a coffee mug in one hand and an academy manual in the other. The steam from her coffee curled in the air, and her brows furrowed as she read - deeply focused, unaware of the world.
That mug - the same one Sidharth had bought for her at the carnival - sat near her, almost like a memory she wasn't ready to let go.
Inside the medical wing, Sidharth leaned near the open window and smiled when he saw her. "Yaar, ye ladki toh sabsa zyada hi kitaabon se chipaki rahati hai... itna toh maine apni MBBS ke time par bhi nahi padha," he muttered, half amused, half admiring. "Aaj kal sab ladkiyan social media pe hoti hain, aur ye... books ke saath hi romance karti hai." kasa mujpa bhii itana focus dee deee .....
Unable to resist, he walked down to the backyard and pulled a chair beside her. The gravel crunched beneath his boots - Ishita noticed, of course, but didn't look up. She knew it was him.
Without asking, Sidharth picked up her mug and took a sip.
Ishita's eyes finally lifted from her book, a hint of irritation mixed with blush. "Sir... aap baar-baar meri coffee kyun pee lete ho?"
Sidharth smiled, leaning closer. "Koi problem hai?"
"Uska toh jawab mere paas bhi... nahi hai," she replied softly, pretending to read again.
"Ishita," he said, his voice a little serious this time, "I want to tell you something."
Her heart skipped. "Kya bolna tha, sir?"
He hesitated. "Actually, I..."
Before he could finish, his phone buzzed sharply. He frowned, checked the screen - it was an urgent call from headquarters. He picked it up.
"Yes, Sidharth here-what?!" His tone changed immediately.
Ishita straightened in her chair, anxiety washing over her face. "Sir, kya hua?"
Sidharth's voice dropped. "Arpita... she caught a terrorist in her room."
Ishita froze. "What?"
He stood up in one motion, already pulling his jacket on. "There might be more inside the academy. Ishita, stay here-"
But before he could finish, a loud gunshot echoed from the direction of the residential wing.
Sidharth and Ishita looked at each other in shock.
"Arpita!" they both shouted together - and ran.
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