The first thing that pulled me out of sleep was my phone vibrating somewhere under my pillow.

I frowned without opening my eyes.

Whoever it was had terrible timing.

The room was still dim. One curtain had slipped open during the night, allowing a strip of pale winter sunlight to fall across the floor of my hostel room.

My desk was a disaster. Printed lesson plans, chart papers, psychology notes, a half finished reflective journal, sticky notes with reminders for internship observations, two uncapped sketch pens, and my laptop sat exactly the way I had abandoned everything around one thirty in the morning.

My head hurt.

Not terribly.

Just enough to remind me of yesterday.

The farewell.

One of our seniors had finally completed her internship and received confirmation for a temporary teaching appointment at a private school.

The department had organized a small farewell inside the girls' hostel common room. Music. Food. Endless photographs. Teachers dropping by for a while. Girls crying dramatically as though everyone was leaving the country forever.

Someone had smuggled in alcohol.

I had refused for almost an hour.

Then someone had reminded me that my own B.Ed. would finish in another two or three months. Someone else had started making emotional speeches and then someone had pushed a glass into my hand.

One glass had quietly become two and after that, I remembered laughing far more than I usually did.

I remembered dancing terribly.

I remembered my roommate recording enough embarrassing videos to blackmail me for the next ten years.

That explained the headache.

The phone vibrated again.

I stretched an arm beneath the pillow, found it blindly and finally looked at the screen.

Papa Calling.

My eyes flew open,"Oh God." I sat upright so quickly that my blanket landed on the floor and i looked at the time.

Nine twenty-eight.

"...Main gayi." Papa always called early whenever he was free. He already knew my timetable better than I did and if I picked up sounding sleepy...

No.

Absolutely not.

I cleared my throat three times, ran a hand through my hair and sat straight. Then accepted the call.

"Good morning, Papa."

His voice carried the same steady warmth it always did,"Good morning, beta."

I smiled automatically,"Haan Papa."

"Beta College nahi gayi abhi tak?"

My heart skipped,"No... matlab... Papa actually..." I stood up immediately and began walking around the room as though movement would somehow make me sound more awake.

"Aaj meri first lecture late hai. Extra morning methodology class cancel ho gayi thi kal hi. Toh maine socha thoda notes complete kar leti hoon room mein."

Smooth.

Very smooth.

I looked at the mirror. My hair looked like a bird had built a nest over my head.

Notes complete.

Wonderful lie.

"Hm." That single sound from him always made me nervous because he never interrupted he simply listened and then asked questions,"Kab niklogi?"

I looked around desperately. My roommate's timetable hung on the cupboard.

Ten thirty.

Perfect.

"Bas Papa... around ten thirty."

His voice remained calm,"Attendance maintain hai? Aur Assignments?aur Reflective journal?"

I looked toward the table where the reflective journal lay open exactly where I had thrown it,"...Almost complete."

"Almost ya complete?"

I closed my eyes,"I'll complete it today papa. Abhi toh time hai..."

"Hm." There was absolutely no judgment in his voice and that somehow made me feel guiltier.

"I'll finish it before sleeping."

"Good." He continued in the same calm tone,"Final semester mein unnecessary backlog mat create karna. Ab internship aur practical observations important phase mein hain. Internal assessment bhi isi period mein complete hoga."

I sighed,"I know, Papa."

"Proffesor ka feedback kaisa chal raha hai?"

I smiled,"Good."

"Tujhe kya lagta hai tera Class control kaise rahega..?"

My tone softened,"I think I'll do good."

"The children?"

"They'll be adorable."

He chuckled softly,"Teachers usually don't use the word adorable after handling forty children together. I hope baad mein bhi tumhari tone aise hi rahe..."

"It will."

"I know you will do good."

I walked towards the window. Outside, girls hurried across the hostel courtyard carrying files and lesson plans.

Someone shouted for an auto.

Someone else was still drying her hair. Life had already started and mine had barely begun. Papa spoke again,"Shristi bete I called because I transferred some money this morning toh woh check kar lena..."

My eyebrows lifted,"Papa..."

"Hostel fees ka next installment bhi aa raha hai. Books bhi leni hongi. Internship ke liye stationery alag lagegi."

"I still have money."

"Haan. Aur jo maine bheje hain woh bhi rakho."

I sighed dramatically,"Papa..."

"Argument mat karo mere sath."

I smiled to myself every single time.

Every month.

Same conversation.

He never let me spend from the savings Maa had left for me and always said the same thing,"As long as I'm earning, meri beti apni savings ko haath nahi lagayegi."

I had stopped arguing years ago.

My eyes drifted toward the framed photograph on my bedside table.

Maa smiled from behind the glass.

It was one of the few pictures where she wasn't looking at the camera.

She had been looking at Papa and someone had clicked the picture without either of them noticing.

I had been eight when she left.

A road accident.

People always said death came suddenly.

I only remembered silence afterwards. Papa had learned how to tie my school ribbons despite his duty hours he had learned how to make my tiffin. How to attend parent teacher meetings alone and how to become both parents without ever saying he was trying.

Some mornings I still missed her.

Every morning, I thanked God for him then his voice pulled me back,"Acha aur sunao kya chal raha hai wahan? Beta..."

"College hi chal raha hai papa..."

"Placement ke baare mein kuch discussion hua?"

"A little."

"You've decided?"

"Papa..."

"Haan?"

"I still want Army Public School."

His answer came without hesitation.

"Hm.”

I smiled because i knew he already knew,"I've always wanted that."

"I know."

Army Public Schools recruited teachers through their own selection process. Fresh B.Ed. graduates could apply whenever vacancies opened. Written screening, interviews, teaching demonstrations, document verification, everything depended on merit and the recruitment cycle.

Growing up in Army stations had shaped me long before I understood what teaching meant. I knew the classrooms. I knew the children who packed up friendships every two or three years because postings changed.

I knew what it felt like to arrive in a new school halfway through the session and pretend you weren't scared and so naturally I wanted to teach those children.

Papa had never forced that dream.

He simply understood why it existed.

"Jab notification aaye," he said, "prepare properly. Demo lesson pe special focus rakhna. Army Public School mein discipline aur classroom handling equally important hote hain."

"I know papa.."

"And private schools mein bhi apply kar dena simultaneously. Experience har jagah valuable hota hai."

"I will."

There was another small pause.

I leaned against the window now trying to sound casual required more effort than solving assignments,"So..."

"Hm?”

I tried not to smile but failed halfway,"Aapki Unit mein sab theek hai na papa ?"

His tone softened,"As of now, yes."

I frowned,"As of now?"

"Routine field deployment hai. Sab kaam mein lage hain.."

"Hmm..." I opened my gallery absentmindedly and the first picture wasn't even a proper picture.

It was Karan's hand holding a paper cup of tea during one winter posting.

He had absolutely no idea I had clicked it , the second photograph was blurred because he had turned exactly when I pressed the button.

The third was during a unit function where everyone else had been looking at the camera.

He had been looking somewhere else.

The fourth...

My favourite.

Only half his face and the rest hidden behind aviators. I zoomed in anyway.

"So quiet today?" Papa asked.

I tried to sound genuine,"Haan?"

"Tum generally itni chup nahi rehti."

"Oh... bas... headache hai thoda."

That much was true.

"Dawai le lena shristi beta..."

"I will."

I hesitated and then asked as carefully as possible,"Waise... woh.. officers jo recently field gaye the...They settled properly? I mean abhi toh.."

"Routine adjustment hota hai initial weeks mein."

"Hmm."

"Tumne Kyun pucha ?"

I immediately straightened,"Nahi... bas... aap log bhi toh busy rehte ho. Isliye poochha."

"Haan. Busy toh rehte hi hain."

He continued speaking about logistics, weather and work in the same composed manner he always did.

He never discussed operations.

Never discussed locations.

Never discussed names unnecessarily.

Operational security had been a part of my life since childhood and i never asked twice.

Still...

Somewhere between every sentence...

I kept hoping he'd casually mention one name but he didn't. Probably because he had no reason to and I certainly couldn't ask,"So," Papa said after a while, "hostel ka khana improve hua ya abhi bhi complaint register bharna padega?"

I laughed,"It has improved."

"Sach?"

"Haan."

"Tab toh chamatkar ho gaya toh aaj Breakfast mein kya khaya?"

"..."

"Shristi."

"...Papa..."

"Maine pucha khane mein kya Khaya? Beta.."

"I was about to eat..."

He sighed quietly,"I had a feeling."

"I'll eat."

"Proper breakfast."

"I know."

"Aur Juice bhi."

"Papa..."

"Haan?"

"I'm twenty five. Main bachi nahi hoon koi.."

"I know but I'll remind you when you're forty five too."

I laughed again.

This time properly.

He heard it and i knew he smiled too.

"Achha," he said, "mujhe meeting ke liye nikalna hai. Take care of yourself beta..."

"You too."

"And beta."

"Haan?"

"Late night celebrations occasionally theek hain."

My eyes widened,"...What?"

"Kal raat bhi maine bohot baar try Kiya par tumne uthaya nahi toh Hostel warden ko call kiya. Unhone bataya Farewell function achha raha."

I froze completely.

"And she also mentioned you girls slept very late."

I stared at the ceiling.

Finished.

Absolutely finished.

"Papa I...We were just.. celebrating."

"Haan. I guessed, Bas apna dhyan rakho."

"I will."

"And headache ke saath empty stomach college mat jaana."

"Ji, Papa."

"I'll call in a few days."

"I'll wait."

"Bye, beta."

"Bye, Papa."

The call ended.

I looked at the silent screen for a long moment and then slowly buried my face inside the pillow,"Oh God..."

He knew.

Maybe not everything.

Definitely enough.

I stayed there for another minute before stretching lazily across the bed.

Every muscle protested and the blanket somehow found its way back over me. College suddenly felt very far away,"Five more minutes," I murmured to absolutely nobody.

My phone was still in my hand.

Without thinking, I opened the gallery again.

Karan.

Same photograph.

Same half smile hidden behind those sunglasses. I traced the edge of the screen with my thumb and smiled despite myself,"Major Saab..." A yawn escaped me,"I hOpE you're EatInG ProPerlY."

The room was quiet again.

Outside, the hostel continued its noisy morning.

Inside, I hugged the pillow closer, kept looking at his photograph, and allowed myself five stolen minutes before the real world demanded attendance sheets, lesson plans, internships, and another ordinary day without him.

After five minutes i pushed the blanket away with a dramatic groan and forced myself to sit up.

"Waah, Shrishti Bajwa," I muttered while rubbing my temples. "Kya personality hai teri. Room dekh ke lag raha hai kisi ki baraat yahan ruk ke gayi thi."

I stretched both arms above my head until my back cracked pleasantly. The headache had become lighter after Papa's call.

Still there.

Manageable.

I picked up my towel and clothes before walking towards the common washroom by now the corridor had finally started waking up.

Someone was brushing their teeth while humming a Bollywood song.

Somebody else was arguing over whose bucket it was, then a pressure cooker whistled somewhere downstairs.

One girl ran past carrying half-dried notes in one hand and toothbrush in the other.

Typical girls' hostel.

I smiled.

This chaos somehow felt comforting.

Nearly forty minutes later, I stepped back into my room with wet hair wrapped inside a towel. The hot shower had finally washed away the headache.

The room instantly filled with the fragrance of jasmine shampoo and sandalwood soap.

I laughed,"Perfect." Music always made getting ready easier then i reached my cupboard and pushed the door open with my shoulder, dropped the towel over the chair and immediately switched on my little silver music system.

Within seconds Atif Aslam's voice filled the room.

Perfect.

Getting ready without music should honestly be declared illegal.

I opened my cupboard and unlike every stereotype people had about Army brats, I owned more clothes than books.

Papa blamed Delhi.

I blamed good shopping.

Some mornings I wore jeans with fitted tops, some days long skirts, sometimes dresses and sometimes crisp shirts with denims.

Sometimes salwar suits when I genuinely felt like wearing one and once I had even worn a saree to college.

Big mistake.

I started laughing while pulling out a pair of dark blue bootcut jeans,"Oh God..." That saree incident , i still remembered it perfectly because that day. That freaking day Karan had somehow managed leave for just one evening.

Exactly one.

And my plan was simple.

College.

Straight to our date.

Date according to me and a official meeting according to him. A dinner night with me and Papa.

No hostel.

No changing.

So naturally my brilliant brain decided to wear the saree from morning itself and i had looked absolutely stunning even I admitted that. Half the girls in college refused to believe I had draped it myself.

Everything had gone beautifully.

Until Professor Meenakshi spotted me,"Miss Bajwa."

I had smiled sweetly,"Yes ma'am?"

She folded both hands,"Are you attending college today or somebody's reception?"

"It... it is just a saree, ma'am."

"I can see that."

"And I like sarees very much ma'am."

"You also like attendance?"

"...Yes."

"Wonderful. Then kindly remember you are enrolled in B.Ed. and not participating in Miss University."

The entire corridor had burst into laughter and somehow...

It got worse. While climbing the library stairs, my heel stepped on the pallu and i almost rolled down six steps. Only my own reflexes saved me and for three weeks everybody called me Saree Madam.

Even karan teased me so much. Which was surprising for me because he Almost never did something like that. I could still hear his shameless laughter,"'Tumhe pata hai problem kya hai tumhari?'"

"'Kya?'"

"'Tum collage mein student se zyada kisi Yash Raj films ki heroine Zyada lag rahi ho...'"

"'Accha? Agli baar date pe tracksuit pehen ke aaun?'"

"'Tumhe kisne kaha ki yeh date hai? And anyways... Saree hi pehenna unit functions mein.. it looks good.'"

"'Bas Good? Bologe...'”

He had looked away for a second and then muttered softly almost like he didn't want to admit it but couldn't hold himself,"'You look beautiful when you smile like this...'"

I tucked a strand of hairs behind my ear,"Maine saare ke baare mein pucha..."

He looked at me and then down at his drink,"Tumhari wajah se achi hai.."

I laughed at the memory before shaking my head,"No more sarees for college."

At least...

Not for a while.

I finally settled on dark blue bootcut jeans, a white fitted top with tiny blue floral embroidery near the neckline, and a light denim jacket because Delhi mornings were still slightly cool.

Simple silver hoops.

A slim chain.

Watch.

Done.

I dried my hair properly before clipping back the front sections with a butterfly clip, leaving the rest open.

Little kajal.

Mascara.

Gloss.

Tiny amount of compact. Exactly enough to look fresh after barely sleeping then a smiled at myself through the mirror"Beautiful." The smile widened,"Karan would've still found something to tease."

Obviously.

I picked up my college diary.

Today's schedule.

Educational Psychology.

Gone.

Attendance gone with it.

School Management.

Teaching Methodology.

Micro Teaching.

Lesson Plan Submission.

School Internship discussion.

I rubbed my forehead,"Oh God..."

B.Ed. wasn't like graduation where people disappeared for days and magically appeared before exams.

Every lecture connected to practical work, every assignment went inside teaching files and every lesson plan was evaluated.

Attendance mattered because we had to complete school internship hours before the university allowed us to sit for final examinations. Professor Meenakshi always noticed absentees.

Unfortunately..she also liked me

Which somehow made getting scolded even worse. I genuinely loved attending classes.

Teaching had never sounded boring to me.

Maybe because Maa never made it look boring and i never understood why some people made it look that way.

Teaching children felt like watching little universes opening every single day.

Every child asked questions adults stopped asking years ago.

Every child believed impossible things without embarrassment.

I loved that.

I loved explaining stories instead of memorising them.

I loved blackboards and colourful charts, tiny handwriting trying very hard to stay inside notebook margins.

Somewhere deep inside...

I think Maa had planted that dream.

She wasn't a school teacher but she used to volunteer in Army welfare schools whenever postings allowed.

Sometimes she taught little children poems.

Sometimes English alphabets.

I still remembered sitting outside one classroom colouring flowers while Maa taught English poems inside.

Children surrounded her during every break.

Some wanted help with homework.

Some wanted stories.

Some simply wanted hugs.

One tiny little girl had once refused to go home because Maa had promised to teach her paper boats the next day.

That little girl had cried for fifteen straight minutes and maa laughed the entire time while making another paper boat. Sometimes just sat beside those who struggled.

I remembered sitting on tiny blue plastic chairs while she patiently helped a little boy write the letter B.

The boy had looked ready to cry.

Maa had smiled,"Aise nahi beta... dekho... pehle seedhi line... phir do gol pet." The boy had laughed, so had I.

That memory had stayed. Maybe dreams really travelled like that.

Quietly from one heart to another.

Papa always wanted me inside Army Public School.

He trusted Army schools.

Army culture.

Army discipline.

Army children.

Army background helped me understand the environment.

It gave familiarity.

It never replaced merit and papa respected that. He simply believed I'd belong there and truthfully...so did I.

My phone rang.

Riya.

Thank God.

I answered immediately,"HELLO!"

"Madam uth gayi?"

"Please proxy laga de yaar.."

There was complete silence and then..

"Hatt main nahi karungi..."

"Riya please yaar."

"Shrishti Bajwa."

I gulped,"Haan."

"Tumhein pata hai na Educational Psychology ka first lecture Professor Meenakshi leti hain?"

I nodded sympathetically,"Pata hai."

"Unhone aaj attendance register khud circulate kiya."

"..."

"Proxy ka sapna bhi mat dekh."

I dramatically fell backwards on my bed,"Main barbaad ho gayi."

"Hui toh ho."

"Yaar sirf ek lecture."

"Sirf ek lecture?" she laughed. "Kal lesson plan submit nahi kiya. Aaj lecture miss. Agle hafte internship review. Tu degree lena chahti hai ya motivational speech?"

I tried the last weapon, emotional blackmail,"Please sympathy dikha thodi..."

"Nahi."

"Friendship?"

"Nahi."

"Pyaar bhi nahi ?"

"Bilkul nahi."

I laughed loudly,"Fine. Ab bata timetable mein kya hua?"

"Workshop preponed."

"Meri toh watt lag gayi."

"Haan."

"Professor gussa hongi na ?"

"Bahut."

"Kitna bahut?"

"Utna bahut ki agar tu dus minute late bhi aayi toh pehle tujhe dekhenge... phir attendance register dekhenge... phir tujhe dobara dekhenge."

I covered my face with both hands.

"Hai Rabba"

"Bhagwan."

"Kal Woh punjabi simran ke saath do peg maar liye the Maine..." Both of us started laughing,"Waise kitni der mein niklegi?"

"Thirty minutes."

"Impossible."

"I know."

Call disconnected.

I immediately opened another contact.

Nandini Ma'am.

Actually Nandini Di.

Three years senior. Teaching at Army Public School, Delhi Cantt and one of the funniest women I had ever met.

She answered after three rings.

"Haan Bajwa." I tried to sound polite,"Good morning Di."

"Itni meethi awaaz. Bata kya kaam hai."

"Di aap har baar aisa kyun bolti ho?"

"Kyunki bina kaam ke tum mujhe kabhi phone nahi karti."

"Galat ilzaam hai..."

"Haan?"

"Main kabhi kabhi genuinely bhi yaad karti hoon."

"Aur Phone?"

I admitted,"...nahi."

"Dekha."

I smiled while searching for my dupatta,"Di actually APS recruitment ke baare mein poochna tha."

"Hmm.”

"Hmm."

"Aap free ho aaj?"

"Aaj school ke baad ho jaungi."

"Main aa sakti hoon?"

"Aa sakti ho. Lekin ek condition ki Coffee tum khilaogi, aur pastry bhi."

I sighed,"...Done."

"Cold coffee aur Cab ka fare."

I narrowed my eyes,"Di aap mujhe loot rahi ho."

"Haan."

"Army ki senior officer wali feeling aa rahi hai?"

"Bilkul."

I laughed,"Achha seriously batao na."

Her voice became gentler,"Dekho Shrishti... recruitment process time ke saath thoda update hota rehta hai, lekin basic cheezein same hain. B.Ed complete karo. Good percentage maintain karo. APS screening test ke pattern ko samjho. Baaki classroom mein bachche surname dekh ke respect nahi dete. Teacher achhi ho toh woh khud pyaar karte hain."

I quietly listened,"Hmm."

"Tum waise bhi bachchon ke saath naturally achhi ho."

I couldn't hold my excitement anymore,"Sachi ?"

"Haan."

"Pakka?"

"Haan baba haan.."

"Di jhooth toh nahi bol rahi?"

"Bilkul nahi. Lekin ek advice."

"Boliye."

"Classroom mein bachchon se itni friendship mat kar lena ki woh tumhe attendance hi dena bhool jaayein. Aur baaki ke distractions se bhi door reh.."

"Distractions? " I repeated softly, almost with fake innocence as i knew what she was talking about.

Karan.

Karan Rathore.

I didn't understand Karan because of one conversation.

I understood him because people can control their words for a very long time.

Their habits eventually betray them.

When I think back now, years later, my memories don't begin with dramatic confessions or impossible coincidences.

They begin with ordinary afternoons in Kashmir when I had went to meet papa after my 12th boards, with dusty roads inside the cantonment, with officers rushing between duties while

I invented increasingly ridiculous excuses to be wherever Lieutenant Karan Rathore happened to be after i had his photo as my proof.

The same photo currently on my wall.

I was eighteen.

He was twenty two and I was shamelessly convinced that destiny had personally selected me to irritate that man for the rest of his life.

The first thing I ever liked about him had absolutely nothing to do with personality.

He was simply... unfairly handsome.

I still remember whispering to my friend outside the Officers' Mess,

"Yaar, is bande ko dekh. Isko Army ne recruit kiya hai ya kisi film se uthake laaye hain?"

She burst into laughter,"Shristi, tujhe har dusra banda handsome lagta hai."

"Nahi." I kept staring across the lawn.

"Yeh wala na alag hai. I flirted with him. Aur bande ne ek baar ache se reply bhi nahi diya..."

He was tall enough that even in a crowd of officers he stood out. His olive-green uniform sat perfectly across broad shoulders that years of academy training had carved into muscle.

His sleeves remained folded exactly the same way every single day. His hair was always trimmed to regulation length. Clean shave. Calm face. Straight posture.

The kind of man who looked like he belonged on an old recruitment poster. Later I found out why half the cantonment aunties kept saying,

"Bilkul apni maa pe gaya hai."

His mother, Tara Rathore, had modelled years before marriage.

The genes had done their job brilliantly. I wish I could say I first noticed his kindness.

I noticed his face.

Everything else came later.

Including the problem that he refused to notice mine.

The second week, I smiled whenever he crossed paths with me. He gave one polite nod and the third week, I started saying good morning.

"Good morning, Lieutenant."

He nodded again,"Morning ma'am."

The third week I had graduated to walking beside him,"So... parade khatam hogayi ? Aaj weather kitna achha hai na?"

"Hmm."

"Aap..."

He looked at me,"Ma'am kya Bajwa sir office mein hain?"

I blinked,"...Hain."

"Thank you." Then he walked away and stood there blinking,"Thank you kis baat ka? Oye.. Mr.." He had already disappeared and there i should have given up but instead I developed what Papa called "operational planning."

If Karan's company returned from field exercise at four, I somehow needed to buy toothpaste at four.

If he went to the library, suddenly I wanted a novel.

If officers had volleyball in the evening, I developed a shocking interest in sports. If the Mess served jalebi...Well... Jalebi was obviously my favourite dessert that day. In fact every single day.

One afternoon I caught Lieutenant Siddharth watching me from across the parking area. He leaned against a Gypsy, arms folded and waited until Karan disappeared inside Battalion Headquarters then he looked at me.

"Excuse me. Tum free ho?"

I smiled,"Haan."

"Mere saath chalo."

I frowned,"Kyun?"

His expressions didn't change,"Bas aise hi."

Suspicious.

Very suspicious.

Still, curiosity won.

We walked toward the canteen.

Neither of us spoke for almost five minutes and finally I asked,"Tum interrogation karne laaye ho kya ?"

He looked genuinely confused,"Kis cheez ki interrogation ?"

"Mujhe bhi nahi pata. Army waale log bina reason ke itna serious kyun rehte ho?"

A corner of his mouth twitched,"Tum serious hone ka chance hi nahi deti."

I nodded,"Haan woh toh hai."

He ordered two kahwa. One for himself and one for me. I happily accepted free Kahwa. After another minute of silence, he finally spoke.

"Ek baat poochun?"

I smiled again,"Poocho na..."

"Tum roz Karan ke aas paas kyun ghoomti rehti ho?"

I answered without embarrassment,

"Kyuki mujhe woh pasand hai."

He stared,"You just... admitted that?"

"Haan."

"Itni easily?"

"Maine koi crime thodi kiya hai aur waise bhi..." I made an unimpressed face,"Main tumhare dost ki tarah darpok nahi hoon.."

He actually blinked,"Tum ajeeb ho."

"Mujhe kabhi kabhi log yehi bolte hain."

He rubbed a hand over his forehead before saying quietly,"Shristi, ek genuine advice doon? Bura mat maana."

I took another sip,"Haan bolo..."

His voice remained calm,"Karan ke peeche mat pado."

I frowned,"Par Kyun?"

"Woh waise banda nahi hai."

"Kaunsa?"

"Jo tum soch rahi ho."

"Oh hello? Tumhe kaise pata main kya soch rahi hoon?"

He sighed,"Mujhe nahi pata."

"Exactly."

He looked down at his tea,"Tum hurt ho jaogi."

I smiled,"Tum uske best friend ho toh obviously uski side loge."

He sighed,"Main kisi ki side nahi hoon."

I teased him, and pouted sadly,"Oh! Koi baat nahi Phir meri side aa jao."

"Army posting choice nahi hoti."

"Dosti toh choice hoti hai." He looked at me for almost ten seconds and then quietly said,"Maine kab bola ki main tumhara dost hoon?"

"Abhi toh kaha..."

"Maine bola?"

"Nahi."

"Phir?"

"Maine decide kar liya."

His shoulders dropped in surrender.

"Tumhe pata hai tum bohot zyada irritating ho."

"I know."

"Roz aise hi rahogi?"

"Haan." He finished his tea,"Bhagwan Karan ko shakti de."

I smirked faintly, but muttered innocently,"Shakti toh pata nahi par Shristi zaroor milegi.."

He choked on his kahwa. And Started coughing, I laughed so loudly that two jawans turned around , that was how it began. And over the next several weeks I became an unofficial headache in Lieutenant Siddharth Singh's schedule.

If he was reading reports, I sat opposite him. If he was drinking tea, I stole half the biscuits and if he was repairing something on his bike, I kept handing him the wrong tools.

"Shristi."

"Hmm?"

"Ten number spanner." I confidently handed him a screwdriver.

He looked at it then at me,"Army Public School mein teacher banne ka plan hai?"

"Haan."

"Bachchon pe reham karna."

"I'll teach nursery at first bro..."

"Woh aur dangerous hai."

"I'll teach them confidence."

"Tum pehle tools pehchanna seekh lo." I grinned then he shook his head and continued working and slowly

without either of us realizing...

Silences became comfortable.

He still wasn't expressive, he just simply stopped asking why I was there. One evening he caught me staring toward the parade ground again,"Kya dekh rahi ho?"

I shamelessly shoved another popcorn in my mouth,"Tumhare bsf ko.."

He looked towards the ground and spotted karan,"Pata hai."

I smirked,"He looks nice while running. So hot."

He looked unimpressed,"He looks exactly the same every day."

"Tumhe samajh nahi aayega..."

"Acha?"

"Tum jealous ho."

"Kis baat ke?"

"Mere crush se."

He laughed.

An actual laugh.

Very small.

Very rare.

Then immediately looked away as though he regretted letting it escape.

Sometimes Siddharth genuinely tried to help me but Karan silently stopped him and that fascinated me more

If I asked Siddharth,"Kal movie chaloge sab? Tum karan ko le aana na please.." Before Siddharth answered, Karan would simply look at him.

No words.

Just one calm look.

Siddharth immediately changed direction,"Kal kaam hai."

I frowned,"Abhi toh free thi na poori unit.."

"Haan... ab nahi." After three or four such incidents I finally cornered Siddharth,"Sid."

"Hmm."

"Ek baat sach sach bol."

He crossed his arms,"Bolo."

I sulked,"Tum dono aankhon se baat karte ho?"

He frowned,"Kya?"

I didn't hold back,"Mujhe lagta hai tum log telepathy use karte ho."

He almost smiled,"Nahi toh."

"Jhooth."

"Seriously."

"Nahi seriously bata."

He tried to leave but i blocked his way,"Sid yaar please..."

"Shrishti."

"Karan tumhe signal deta hai na meri help mat karne ka?"

He became very quiet. Long enough for my smile to fade and finally he answered honestly,"Kabhi kabhi."

"Maine bola tha."

"Uski reasons hain."

"Mujhe bhi sunni hain."

"Woh main nahi bata sakta."

I folded my arms,"Friendship code hai kya ?"

His tone remained the same,"Haan. Bro code hai.."

I groaned,"Kitna irritating code hai sid, tum isse tod do."

"Nahi tod sakta. Maine hi banaya hai.."

I shot him a betrayed look dramatically,"Tum dono ek jaise ho."

"Nahi."

"Bilkul same."

He smiled faintly,"Tumhari observation weak hai."

I leaned towards him,"Accha? Toh improve karwa do."

He looked toward Battalion Headquarters where Karan had just stepped outside and then quietly said,"Observe us. Hum jo bolte hain usse kam, jo karte hain usse zyada samajhna."

At that time I thought he was simply escaping my questions, years later I realised he had answered everything.

From that day onward, I started watching actions and actions never lied.

After two weeks. The message sat on my phone for almost twenty minutes before I finally pressed send.

Reached Delhi.

Nothing else.

No smiley.

No drama.

No miss you.

I had promised myself during the train journey that I would stop behaving like an eighteen-year-old who revolved around one lieutenant.

Delhi was new.

College was new.

Hostel was new.

Life was supposed to become new too.

Papa had hugged me at the station longer than usual before returning to Kashmir.

I had cried after the train left because for the first time in my life I wasn't going back to a cantonment. I was going somewhere that didn't know my surname, didn't know my mother, didn't know the smell of parade grounds after rain.

I was going alone and somehow the only person I wanted to tell that to was the one who had spent months pretending I didn't matter.

I locked my phone,"If he wants to reply, karega. Nahi karega toh bhi theek hai."

And The reply came forty seven minutes later.

Hostel gate 9 p.m. ke baad mat cross karna. Delhi Kashmir cantt nahi hai.

Safe rehna.

That was all.

No Glad you reached.

No Take care.

I stared at the screen for almost five minutes and then smiled so hard my roommate looked concerned.

"What happened?"

I shook my head,"Nothing." She snatched my phone before I could stop her,"Yaar...Bas itna?"

"Haan."

"Aur Ye ladka tujhe pasand hai?"

I smiled proudly,"Haan."

"Ye toh principal lag raha hai."

I laughed into my pillow,"You don't understand. Woh na alag hai..."

"No, seriously explain. Main bhi sunu."

I took my phone back carefully,"He remembered hostel timings jabki I never told him the gate closes at nine."

She frowned,"Then how does he know?"

"My father mentioned it once while talking to someone. Jab we were there last week dinner time, woh bhi tha.."

"So he was listening?"

"He always listens."

She rolled her eyes,"Tum pyaar mein dangerous level pe ho."

Maybe or maybe I had simply started paying attention to him the way he unknowingly paid attention to everything around him.

The second semester swallowed me whole.

Lesson plans.

Assignments.

Micro-teaching.

Attendance.

Internal assessments, practice observations and our professors kept reminding us that schools looked at discipline even before marks,"If you want recommendation letters," our pedagogy professor said one morning, "earn them."

I never missed classes.

I reached before attendance.

I completed files on time, built charts until two in the morning. Life slowly found a rhythm and Karan became...

Quiet.

Some weeks we exchanged nothing, some weeks one message and sometimes two. Usually because I had started one. One evening I gave myself another lecture.

Enough.

If somebody wants distance...

Give him distance.

I deleted our chat but Didn't block him. Didn't remove his number. I just simply stopped reaching out. One week passed then another and then another.

Life became busy enough that I genuinely forgot to check whether he had texted. Until one afternoon my phone vibrated while I was eating watery hostel rajma.

Unknown number.

I answered,"Hello?"

Silence.

"Phone kyun change kiya tumne ?"

My spoon froze because i recognise that voice faster than anything.

"Karan Rathore ?"

He voice sounded exhausted,"Hmm. Phone change Kiya..."

"I didn't."

"Tumhara WhatsApp DP gayab hai. Aur tumhara koi message.."

My lips curved sheepishly, So he was waiting. He was scared. So i tried to act smug,"Toh tum wait kar rahe the."

For two minutes there was silence.

I grinned,"Kya hua? Theek ho na?..."

He sighed and tried to sound sarcastic,"Bas Sid pooch raha tha.."

I smiled ofcourse he'll deflect,"Okay fine. I removed it."

"Why?"

I smiled despite myself,"Bas." Then his familiar, calm voice,"Waise Bajwa sir mentioned internal practicals chal rahe hain. Files complete?"

I placed the plate aside and leaned on the table, dragging words lazily, almost softly,"Almost complete..."

"'Almost' ka matlab?"

"I have two lesson plans left aur motivation hi nahi aa raha hai..."

"Kal submit hain? Aur motivation nahi aa raha ? "

"Haan."

"Toh phone rakho aur complete Karo...."

I burst into laughter,"Seriously?"

"Haan."

I teased him,"Itne din baad phone karke daantne ke liye call kiya?"

"Tum padh lo."

"Karan..."

"Hmm?"

"I thought tum bhool gaye ki shristi naam ki ladki bhi hai.." He stayed quiet long enough that I thought the line had disconnected and finally,

"Main busy tha."

"I know."

"Tu bhi busy thi."

"Haan."

"Bas."

The call ended.

Three minutes.

Exactly three minutes. I looked at my phone for a long time.

He had called.

Not texted.

Called.

Just to make sure I was studying and when Months later Papa visited Delhi for an official conference. I met him outside the guest house. While we were having dinner he casually said,

"Waise Rathore ka phone aaya tha kal."

I almost dropped my spoon,"Achha?"

"Hmm."

"He said your university area mein kal kuch student protest tha. Bola tha tu hostel pahunch gayi ki nahi pooch lena."

I looked down at my plate.

Papa continued eating as though nothing unusual had happened.

"He keeps track of news surprisingly well. Shayad delhi se hai toh he always updates me jab usse pata chalta hai..."

I hid my smile,"Hmm."

Papa smiled faintly,"Responsible officer hai. Keh raha tha families yahin hain agar kabhi zarurat ho toh hesitate mat kijiyega."

Responsible officer.

If only Papa knew.

I didn't ask another question.

I couldn't trust my voice.

And when Winter vacations brought me back to Kashmir for a week. Snow had settled over the roofs buy everything smelled exactly the same.

Cold air.

Wood smoke.

Fresh uniforms. I hadn't seen him in nearly five months, I even promised myself I wouldn't run after him. That promise survived exactly twenty three minutes.

The moment I spotted him near Battalion Headquarters, my legs forgot every speech I had prepared.

He was speaking to two jawans. File tucked beneath one arm and cap in hand. I walked straight toward him.

"Good morning leutinent and to be captain..."

He looked up and for one second...his eyes softened which is as almost impossible to notice but then discipline returned,"Morning."

"I came yesterday."

"I know."

"You know?"

"Sir told."

I blinked,"Oh." But then I smiled teasingly, devilishly,"So... kaise ho?"

"Theek."

"Unit mein sab kaisa chal raha hai? Aur maine toh sunna hai you're getting promoted soon? "

"Theek hai. And abhi kuch final nahi hua hai..."

I folded my arms,"Tumhare dictionary mein aur words nahi hote?"

He looked genuinely thoughtful.

"Hote hain."

I took a step closer, deliberately,"Toh mere saamne bhi use kar liya karo."

He took step back which made me grin again,"I don't waste them."

I laughed,"Accha ji ?"

"Hmm."

"Mujhe laga bachpan mein kisi ne fine laga diya hoga tumpe."

He genuinely looked confused, and i found that cute,"Kis baat ka?"

"Har extra sentence pe." One jawan standing nearby coughed to hide a smile but to his bad luck, Karan noticed,"Sooraj."

"Ji, sahab."

"Tum log jao."

"Ji."

The jawans left immediately. I watched them disappear before looking back at him,"You sent them away."

"Haan."

I smirked,"Private baat karni thi?"

He cleared his throat but I immediately noticed how his ears turned pink,"Nahi."

"Phir?"

"Tum unke saamne mujhe pareshaan karti."

I gasped dramatically,"Maine kya kiya?" He finally looked directly into my eyes,"Tumhe pata hai."

"I don't."

He almost smiled,"I have work."

"Lekin mujhe baat karni hai tumse

we met after so many months..." I took another step closer, "Aur tumhe kuch poochna nahi?"

"Padhai kaisi chal rahi hai?"

"Achhi."

"Aur Hostel kaisa hai ?"

"Achha hai woh bhi.."

"Theek hai."

I blinked,"Bas?"

"Tumne khud hi saare answers de diye." I laughed so loudly that an officer passing nearby looked at us.

Karan immediately stepped half a pace away again by instinct.

Habit.

Distance.

I noticed it.

He noticed that I noticed and his expression tightened slightly and I pretended not to. Instead I looked toward the snow covered trees.

"I miss Kashmir, i miss Papa...Aur thoda sa tumhe bhi." His jaw moved once and then he looked away toward the parade ground.

Wind carried dry chinar leaves across the road. After several quiet seconds he spoke without looking at me.

"Delhi achhi jagah hai you focus udhar rakho. Apne career pe..."

"I do."

"Good."

"You think about me?"

He didn't answer.

I asked again,"Karan..."

"Hmm."

"Question poocha Maine..."

"I heard."

"Answer?"

He slowly turned toward me. There was exhaustion in his eyes that hadn't existed a year ago. Field postings had carved themselves into his face,"You should think about your exams. Aur mujhe call karne ki try mat karna.. I'll be out of station. I am opting for sf..."

I stared at him in disbelief,"Sf? Jaise Para sf? "

He nodded,"Isiliye..." Then sighed, almost exhausted,"Naye friends banao. Apna career banao.. apne exams pe focus karo.."

I smiled,"I'm asking about yours."

"Mere exams khatam ho gaye kabke."

"I wasn't talking about academy."

"I know."

We stood there looking at each other.

Neither of us moved.

Neither of us smiled.

The wind lifted the corner of the newspaper. My fingers tightened around it,"You remembered it all."

"Hmm."

Months.

He had remembered a conversation from months ago then adjusted the file beneath his arm,"I have to go."

"Karan."

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

He nodded once and walked away.

Halfway across the road he stopped without turning around,"Shristi."

"Haan?"

"Delhi mein koi.. koi tang toh nahi kar raha na?" I laughed through eyes that suddenly felt warm,"Koi nahi hai. Hoga toh tumhe bata dungi..."

He nodded once and then continued walking and bumped into the door.

Everyone stared at him in disbelief. He looked embarrassed and cute at the same time. I laughed so loudly at the memory that the girl in the next room knocked on my open door.

She leaned inside. Hair still messy and toothbrush in her mouth,"Madam..."

I looked at her,"Hmm?"

"Mujhe secret source se pata chala hai ki Tera lecture gaya."

"Pata hai."

"Professor Meenakshi already tera naam le chuki hain."

"Oh no."

"Woh boli... 'Miss Bajwa generally absent nahi hoti. Hope everything is alright.'"

I immediately sat upright,"Seriously?"

"Haan."

"Bas main nikal rahi hoon."

She pointed at my bed, "Pehle bag pack kar and shoes pehen aur phone rakh.. Waise Shristi." She rolled her eyes dramatically,"Tujhe teacher banna hai."

"Bilkul."

"Pehle student toh ban ja."

She disappeared laughing.

I looked around my room which was a mess of books, Files , lesson plan folder , attendance diary. Water bottle and a lot of pens. Everything waiting.

Outside, the hostel had completely come alive and inside, my day had officially begun.

"Kaun hai woh kismatwali jo Major Saab ki chitthiyan padhne wali hai?"

The words slid through the freezing air of the patrol base and landed exactly where Rathee intended them to....directly on my collar.

I didn't look up from the notebook balanced on my knee. The pencil kept moving, graphite scratching against paper that had gone slightly damp from the moisture in my breath.

Minus seven degrees at two in the afternoon.

The Gurez Valley spread itself out beyond our position like a landscape painted in blue white and grey, the snowline sitting heavy on the shoulders of the mountains that ringed us in.

The Kishanganga River somewhere below, frozen along its edges, moving black and slow through the centre.

The pencil stopped and i lifted my head. Major Suryakant Rathee stood four feet away with both hands buried inside his pockets and a grin that had been testing my patience since the day he joined our team a month ago.

Army Medical Corps.

A man who believed that every silence was an invitation to fill it.

"Kya baat hai Major Singh, I am just asking." He shrugged, the grin widening. "Teen hafte se roz likh rahe ho. Itni lambi prem kahani kaun padh raha hai?"

The other two sat around the kerosene stove near the mouth of the lean to, their rifles propped against the rock wall behind them.

Juanid was dismantling his field radio, earpiece dangling loose around his neck, fingers working the contacts with a screwdriver tip.

Kabir had a packet of glucose biscuits open in his lap and was eating them one at a time, dipping each into a tin mug of black tea.

None of them spoke as they knew better. I set the pencil down along the spine of the notebook and let my gaze rest on Rathee until his grin flickered at the edges,"It's nothing you should be concerned about..."

He smiled, that idiot smile which somehow irritated me more than the cold weather. "I'll have to admit, you're very secretive..."

I didn't entertain him, but he continued anyway. "Actually, dekhiye, ab aapki team ka medic hoon. Main toh dekhte rehna padta hai ki team physically aur mentally dono tarah se fit hai ya nahi..."

I shifted slightly. "Aap khud mentally theek hain?" The words escaped me before I could stop myself.

Junaid tried his best to hold back his laugh, but it didn't work. Kabir elbowed him lightly, and both turned away, but I could still see their shoulders shaking.

Rathee looked at them for a second, then looked back at me and kept staring. Ever since he'd been with us, that man had stared at me as if I were some lab case and he was about to write a medical journal on me.

"Major sahab, maine suna hai aapki team ka rule hai ki... focus on glory, not girls."

"Sahi suna hai," I admitted without thinking twice. I tightened my bootlaces once. "Isliye team ki efficiency.."

He cut me off mid sentence. "Team ki efficiency, Major? More like team mein bichare hidden lovers..." He smiled, looking at Junaid, who immediately looked down. "Is rule ke peeche koi personal wajah hai, Major? Because as far as I can see, aap khud isi category mein aate hain..."

I felt my jaw tighten despite the freezing cold numbing my face. "Aap thodi der chup reh sakte hain?"

He made an unimpressed sound and nudged me with his shoulder, now sitting beside me as if he were my best friend or we'd known each other for years. I raised a brow. He continued, "Ab bata bhi dijiye... kaun hai?"

I sighed. Clearly, there was no way to end this conversation without turning it into an argument.

"My mother."

"Teen roz se roz letter maa ko? Itna toh koi apni biwi ko nahi likhta, aur maa ko toh bilkul nahi."

Kabir choked on his biscuit.

Juanid kept his eyes on the radio but his shoulders were shaking.

I folded the notebook shut and tucked the pencil inside its spiral binding.

The cover was olive green, worn at the corners, the cardboard beginning to fray. I slipped it back where it belonged and buttoned the flap.

"Major Rathee..."

"Boliye, Major Saab."

"Jaise aap baat kar rahe hain, us hisaab se aapne kabhi apni maa ko ek khat nahi likha hoga, na..." I shook the snow off my shoulder and gave him a look. "Toh yeh baat aapki samajh mein nahi aayegi."

He grinned, clearly about to say something absurd, but I didn't spare him the chance. I continued, "Toh aap bas wahi kijiye jo karne ke liye aap yahan hain."

The grin did something complicated then..half apology, halfdefence..and he shifted his weight from one boot to the other. "Arey nahi nahi, main toh bas..."

"Bas kya?”

"Kuch nahi, Sir." His hands came out of his pockets and hung at his sides. "Mazaak kar raha tha."

The letter was one of many.

The ones I actually posted to Maa were written on the first of every month, regardless of where we were..a patrol base in the Gurez, a forward post in Siachen or a transit camp in Udhampur..

And they contained what she needed to hear. That I was eating well. That the weather was manageable. That the work was routine. Lies dressed in filial duty.

But these letters.

The ones I wrote and never sent.

They lived in the small steel trunk I kept in my quarters back at base, and they had been accumulating since long before I made Major.

Since the winter of my dad's death, if I wanted to trace the start of it.

His photograph appeared in my mind then..the one in his service dress, taken years before I understood what the uniform meant..and I felt the familiar pressure building behind my head.

A door slamming shut deep inside my chest. I locked it. I always locked it.

The letters were not to anyone, really.

They were for the part of me that had stopped speaking out loud sometime around the age of twenty, when I realised that words spoken to other people could be taken and used and lost.

But the paper did not interrupt.

Paper did not offer advice I had not asked for.

Paper received.

And Karan understood it.

He was the only one who did. Not the letters specifically..I had never told him about them..but the shape of the silence.

But he understood silences the way a cartographer understood maps, which was to say he could read the lines of a man's quiet and know exactly what kind of terrain it was hiding.

We had been together since I was born, two boys from completely different houses who had somehow ended up speaking the same language, and by now we could hold entire conversations in the space between sentences.

He was not at the patrol base.

He had taken a two man recce two hours ago, moving north east to check a shepherd's trail that Intelligence had flagged three days prior.

He would be back by sundown, and until then I was stuck with Rathee and his relentless determination to turn every interaction into a friendship.

The wind picked up. It came slicing down through the valley from the direction of the Habba Khatoon peak, and it brought with it the smell of snow that had not yet fallen.

The temperature gauge on Juanid's radio kit said minus twelve now with wind chill. My fingers were numb inside my gloves.

Kabir poured tea from the kettle into another tin mug and held it out to me.

"Sir yeh lijeye..garam garam chai."

I took it and the heat of the metal bit into my palm through the wool liner.

Rathee had retreated to the other end of the lean to and was pretending to check his medical kit, his back to me.

The man was a good medic. That I'll have to admit.

Excellent record along with his paratrooper activities.

Quick hands, steady under pressure, the kind of calm in a field trauma that you could not train into someone..it had to already be there.

But off duty, he was a Labrador retriever in human form, and I did not have the energy for it,"How much longer we staying out here, Sir?"

Junaid.

Finished with his radio, and was now looking at me with the patient expectation of a junior officer who knew better than to ask outright when we were going home,"Another week. Maybe two. Depends on what Karan finds on that trail."

"The cold is getting worse."

"Junaid we're in Gurez. The cold gets worse is the point."

Kabir laughed at that. A short bark that vanished into the wind.

I drank the tea. It was over brewed and bitter and exactly what I needed.

The notebook sat inside my pocket, its weight familiar against my ribs. The letter I had been writing..the third this week..contained all the things I could not say to anyone, least of all to my mother.

That the idea of bringing a woman into this life..the uncertainty, the long absences, the weight of my own choices.

That I did not trust love. I had seen what love did to a woman when her husband did not come home. I had lived inside the aftermath of it for ten years.

The door inside my chest rattled.

I locked it.

Movement at the tree line.

Two figures emerging from the white, moving with the careful economy of men who knew how to walk on terrain that wanted to kill them.

Karan first, his rifle slung across his chest, his face half-hidden by the balaclava. Behind him, Ansari, one of the NCOs, slightly shorter, keeping pace.

He reached the lean to and pulled down the balaclava. His face was reddened by the wind, his beard flecked with ice, and his eyes..his eyes were not right. Something burning low behind them,"Report," I said.

"Trail's active. Signs of movement, maybe two days old. Could be shepherds, could be not."

"We'll brief in ten. Get something hot in you first."

He nodded. Walked to his pack near the back of the lean-to. As he bent to unzip it, Junaid's boot caught the strap of the duffel lying next to it.

And Karan's personal duffel, the one he always carried, large, olive camouflage and weathered and always zipped shut ..and the bag tipped over.

It spilled.

Not much.

A few things.

But enough.

The same pen he had bought for Shristi last month. It made the corners of my lips curve into a small smile, but I held it back.

This idiot.

I knew that if Shristi ever found out, she'd be over the moon.

There were other things too. A small carved wooden box that rattled when it hit the rock floor. A silver keychain shaped like a mountain peak. A pair of women's woollen gloves, still with the tag on.

A snow globe, of all things, miniature flakes swirling inside a glass dome with a tiny painted monastery at its centre. And a photograph, face down.

Karan moved faster than I had ever seen him move outside of combat.

He was on his knees in two seconds, sweeping the items back into the duffel with both hands. His expression an expression I myself had seen only on rare occasions wasn't exactly anger, but something rawer.

"Kisne giraya yeh ?”

The entire lean to went silent.

Juanid stepped forward, his face pale. "Sir, mera pair laga. Galti se. I didn't.."

"Cheezein uthao aur rakh do. Abhi."

"Ji, Sir."

Juanid knelt and helped him. The snow globe vanished into the duffel. The gloves. The wooden box. Karan took the photograph and did not turn it over, just slid it between the folds of a spare shirt and zipped the bag shut with a single, decisive motion.

I watched him but he did not meet my eyes intentionally.

Rathee, who had been silent for the past fifteen minutes, shot me a smug look like he proved a point, opened his mouth. "Dekha Major Singh maine toh kaha hi tha team mein Aashiq toh bohot hain. Waise Major Rathore, woh snow globe toh.."

"Rathee." My voice cut across the lean to like a blade. "Medical check on Vinay. Abhi."

He closed his mouth.

Nodded.

Moved.

The wind picked up again, and somewhere in the valley below, a dog began to bark..a sound that carried strange and lonely across the snow.

I looked at Karan's duffel, now back in its place against the rock wall, and I thought about the years those items represented.

The places.

The postings.

All those things, bought and kept, yet never given. Waiting for Shristi, who was probably upset with Karan, perhaps thinking he didn't love her. And here was my stupid friend, collecting souvenirs he would never give her.

Love. I almost laughed.

The door in my chest stayed shut.

I pulled my jacket tighter and walked to the edge of the lean to, looking out at the Habba Khatoon mountain, which the locals said was named after a princess who had written poetry about loss and longing and the cruelty of men who leave.

Ironic.

I thought.

For a moment, the light shifted, and the peak blazed pink in the dying afternoon sun,"Briefing in five," I said.

Behind me, Karan was silent. The duffel stayed zipped.

Rathi's voice drifted over from the medical corner. "Vinay, apni aankh toh khol. Let me see the pupil reaction."

Karan walked past me with a cup of tea and stood at my shoulder. He did not say anything about the duffel or the photograph or the gloves.

He just stood there, watching the valley darken, and his presence was the only thing that had ever felt like understanding,"Sundar haina," he said quietly.

The mountains. The snow. The dying light,"Haan."

We stood there until the briefing began, and neither of us mentioned the things we were not saying.

The radio crackled with an incoming transmission from Battalion HQ.

"Suna hai Major Rathore ka duffel bag bhi kisi ladki ke naam ka hai. Kya baat hai, poori team hi prem rog ka shikaar lagti hai mujhe toh."

Rathee's voice cut through the grey morning like a blunt knife through frozen meat.

His grin had resurrected itself overnight, apparently, and he was standing near the kerosene stove with both hands wrapped around a mug of tea and his eyes fixed on Karan who was relacing his boots near the far wall of the lean to.

Karan did not look up. His fingers kept working the laces..pull, cross, loop, tighten..with the mechanical precision of a man who could do it blindfolded in the dark while someone was shooting at him.

"Rathee sahab, aapki medical degree kisi din aapki zabaan se zyada kaam aayegi," Karan said quietly. "Bas woh din dekhna baaki hai."

Thapa snorted into his tea. Even Junaid, who had been subdued since yesterday's incident with the duffel, allowed himself a small smile while he packed away the radio kit.

The temperature gauge read minus fourteen.

Minus fourteen at six thirty in the morning, cold biting into the Gurez Valley like a jaw closing on bone.

The Habba Khatoon peak was visible through a tear in the mist, its summit catching the first light and holding it there, pink and gold and utterly indifferent to the men huddled in a rock lean to at its base.

I had been awake since four.

The notebook was back in my chest pocket, the pencil tucked inside its spiral binding, and the letter I had written before dawn was addressed to

Maa.

It was the fourth one this week.

And the letter I wrote this morning did not mention any of my normal.

I don't want to get married.

It described the way Karan's duffel had spilled yesterday and the look on his face when it happened, a look I recognized because I had seen it in my own mirror after dad died..

The look of a man who was holding onto something because letting go was unthinkable.

The letter asked questions I would never send to her. Why do you want me to love someone when love only ever seemed to break the people who felt it? What is the point of marriage when one bullet can turn a wife into a widow and a son into a photograph on a mantelpiece?

The radio crackled,"Reporting ke liye aao. Sab log. Abhi."

Battalion HQ. The voice belonged to Colonel Bajwa, and something in his tone made every man in the lean to stop moving simultaneously, the way a forest goes silent just before a predator steps into the clearing.

I crossed to the radio set in four strides and picked up the handset.

"Major Singh receiving. Go ahead, Sir."

"Intel update. The shepherd trail Karan recce'd yesterday. Signals intercept picked up chatter overnight. Possible IED placement along the northern approach, about two klicks from your position. Could be a trap for a patrol. Could be a setup for something bigger. Either way, you're the closest team. I need you to move out in twenty, locate the device, and mark it for EOD. If there's hostiles in the area, you know the drill."

I nodded,"Understood, Sir. Any eyes in the sky?"

"Negative. Cloud cover is too thick for drone feed. You're going in blind beyond the sat imagery we sent last week, and that was before the snow shifted. You'll have to feel your way through."

"Roger that. Moving out in twenty."

The handset went back on the cradle. I turned to face the team.

Kabir was already on his feet, the glucose biscuits forgotten.

Junaid had the radio pack halfway onto his shoulders. Vinay stood near the entrance of the lean to with his rifle already in his hands, his eyes steady and unblinking above the balaclava he had pulled up over his face.

Karan was checking his weapon, the duffel zipped and secured against the rock wall where he always kept it. And Rathee ..Rathee was looking at me with a different expression now, the grin entirely gone, replaced by something sharper.

The medic's face. The one he wore when he was counting supplies and calculating how much blood a man could lose before shock set in.

"Rathee, you're on me. Combat medic protocol. You hang back until we clear the immediate, then you move in if there's casualties."

"Roger that, Major."

"Karan, you take point with Kabir.

Junaid, you're on comms and rear security with Vinay. We move in ten. Check your kit, check your weapons, and for God's sake, check your feet. Frostbite will take a man out of a fight faster than a bullet."

They scattered.

The next ten minutes were the ritual I had performed a hundred times before, in a dozen different postings across terrain that ranged from the glacier at Siachen to the forests of the Northeast.

Boots laced tight but not too tight..circulation matters more than warmth in this cold.

Gloves checked for holes. Weapon stripped, cleaned, reassembled, loaded and extra magazines in the chest rig.

Knife in the boot sheath and the notebook, always the notebook, zipped inside the inner pocket of my jacket where sweat and snow and blood could not reach it.

We moved out at 0700 Hours.

The trail wound north through a dense stand of deodar, their branches heavy with snow that had frozen overnight.

Karan held up a closed fist.

We stopped.

The valley had gone profoundly silent. Even the river seemed to have quieted, or perhaps we had moved far enough from its path that the sound no longer carried.

The only thing I could hear was my own breathing and the soft crunch of snow shifting under kabir's boot behind me.

Karan pointed.

Two fingers to his eyes, then a single finger down the trail.

I saw it. A wire. Almost invisible against the white, running across the trail at ankle height, disappearing into a snowdrift on the left side.

Tripwire.

Crude but effective.

"Juanid," I whispered. "Mark the coordinates. Send them to EOD. Tell them we've got a confirmed device, northern trail, two point three klicks from base."

"Sir."

I turned to Karan and made a series of hand signals. Swing right. Flank. Find the triggerman, if there is one.

Karan nodded and melted into the treeline with Kabir behind him.

Rathee was crouched ten metres back, exactly where he was supposed to be, his medical pack strapped across his chest.

His face was pale but his hands were steady.

I had heard, The man was a disaster in casual conversation and an artist in a field trauma, maybe it was time to witness it myself.

I held both versions of him in my mind and could not reconcile them.

"Rathee, stay low. If that thing goes off.."

"I know what happens when an IED goes off, Singh."

The reply was sharper than I expected.

I looked at him properly for the first time all morning. He was afraid and he was controlling it, and both things were visible at the same time.

A crack split the air.

Then another. Gunfire, flat and percussive, echoing off the valley walls like a door slamming repeatedly in an empty house.

It came from the treeline where Karan had disappeared,"Contact!" Kabir's voice, shouting from somewhere ahead. "Contact right, three hostiles, armed, engaging!"

I did not think. I never thought in these moments. Thinking was for before and after..the body knew what to do, and the body moved,"Juanid, stay on comms! Vinay, with me! Rathee, hold position!"

We pushed forward.

The snow dragged at my boots, and the cold air burned in my lungs, and somewhere in the back of my mind the door inside my chest rattled on its hinges because combat always felt like coming home to the worst version of myself, the version that existed only in the space between one heartbeat and the next, where fear and fury were the same thing.

I found Karan behind a fallen deodar, firing controlled bursts into the treeline.

Kabir was twenty metres to his left, covering the flank. The hostiles were somewhere ahead, their muzzle flashes visible through the mist like fireflies dying in sequence,"Two down!" Karan shouted. "One's moving east, heading for the high ground!"

"Vinay, cut him off! Go wide, go fast!"

Vinay vanished into the trees and then the IED went off.

Not the tripwire device on the trail. A second one. Closer.

The blast wave hit me in the chest like a physical fist, and the sound followed a half second later..a deep, percussive thud that I felt in my teeth and my spine and the soles of my feet. Snow and dirt and splinters of wood rained down around us,"Medic! MEDIC!"

Kabir's voice had gone up an octave.

I turned and saw him dragging Junaid backwards through the snow by the straps of his radio pack.

Junaid was conscious..I could see his eyes moving, his mouth forming words..but his left leg was not right. The snow around it was turning red.

Rathee was already moving before I could shout his name.

He crossed the distance between his position and Juanid's in what felt like three strides, dropping to his knees in the snow and ripping open his medical pack in the same motion.

"Tourniquet. Femoral. Abhi. Vinay, meri bag mein scissors hai, mujhe de. Junaid, meri taraf dekh. Meri taraf dekh. Aankhein khuli rakh."

His voice was utterly calm.

The same man who could not shut up for five minutes in the lean to, the same man whose jokes made me want to put my fist through a wall, was now moving his hands over Juanid's leg with the precision of a surgeon and the speed of a pit crew,"Sir," Junaid gasped. "Sir, mera radio.."

"Radio tera baap check karega. Tu abhi zinda rehne pe dhyan de.”

I left Rathee to his work and pushed forward to Karan.

The third hostile was still out there, somewhere in the mist, and Ansari had not reported back.

The cold was so intense now that my eyelashes were freezing together every time I blinked. Minus sixteen, maybe minus seventeen with wind chill. The kind of cold that killed men who stayed still too long,"Vinay, report!" Karan shouted into his radio.

Static.

"VINAY!"

More static.

And then.. a burst of gunfire, close, too close, and Vinay's voice cracking through the radio with the words I did not want to hear,"Hostile down sir, but I'm hit. Shoulder. Can't move my arm."

"Rathee!" I shouted. "Another casualty, incoming!"

"Understood, Singh! Juanid stable for now, tourniquet's holding!"

The next thirty minutes were a slow nightmare of snow and blood and the particular chaos of extracting wounded men from terrain that wanted to swallow them whole.

We got Juanid onto a makeshift stretcher..two rifles and a jacket dragged him back to the trail.

Kabir found vinay crouched behind a rock with his left arm hanging useless at his side and the hostile lying face down in the snow fifteen metres away, a clean shot through the chest.

Karan secured the perimeter while Rathee worked on Vinay's shoulder, packing the wound with gauze and muttering under his breath in a language I did not recognize, something that sounded like a prayer or a curse or both.

By the time we regrouped at the trailhead, the mist had lifted slightly and the EOD team had arrived to mark the tripwire device.

The immediate crisis was over.

The mission objective had shifted..

what was supposed to be a reconnaissance patrol had become a casualty evacuation, and we were four hours from the nearest field hospital with two wounded men and a hostile corpse that needed to be processed.

And Rathee was in my face

"Major Singh, humein abhi nikalna chahiye. Juanid ka tourniquet do ghante se zyada nahi tik sakta, aur Vinay ke shoulder mein major vascular damage ho sakta hai. Mujhe hospital chahiye, aur mujhe woh abhi chahiye."

"EOD abhi tak trail clear nahi kar paya hai. Agar hum abhi move karte hain toh doosra device trigger ho sakta hai. Hum wait karenge."

"Wait karenge? Aap sun nahi rahe hain kya? Do ghante. Uske baad Juanid ki leg permanent damage mein ja sakti hai. Gangrene. Amputation. Aapko pata hai woh sab.."

"Mujhe pata hai meri team ke saath kya karna hai, Major Rathee. Aap apna kaam kijeye aur mujhe apna karne dijeye."

"Apna kaam? Mera kaam yeh hai ki yeh aadmi zinda rahe aur apni taang ke saath ghar jaaye! Aapka kaam kya hai, Major Singh ? Ego satisfy karna? Thodi der rukna hai toh ruk jaate hain, Poori unit jaanti hai. 'Major adrenaline junkie Singh.' Suicidal mission pe jaana hai, jaaiye. But mere patient ke saath compromise.."

"Major Suryakant Rathee" My voice dropped to something dangerous. "You're a medical officer here, combat decision Aapke nahi hai. Agar main kehta hoon rukna hai, toh rukna hai. Samjhe?"

"Toh kya karoge, Sid? Mujhe court martial kar doge? Kyunki main apne patient ki zindagi bacha raha hoon?"

The lean to had gone completely silent.

Kabir was staring at the ground. Vinay, propped against a rock with his bandaged shoulder, was watching us with an expression I could not read.

Even Juanid, half conscious and pale from blood loss, had turned his head to look.

Karan stepped between us,"Bas. Dono. Chup." He was not shouting. Karan never shouted.

But his voice had a weight to it that cut through the cold and the tension and the adrenaline still singing in me.

He put one hand on my chest and pushed me back a step..physically pushed me, his palm flat against my sternum..and then turned to Rathi.

"Tum Medical situation batao. Bas facts. Bina drama ke."

Rathee swallowed. His hands were still bloody from Vinay's shoulder, and they were shaking slightly now, the calm of the field trauma fading into the aftermath. "Juanid ka tourniquet maximum do ghante aur. Uske baad limb ischemia ka risk exponential hai. Vinay ka wound stable hai abhi, but agar koi fragment nerve ke paas hai aur woh shift ho gaya toh permanent motor damage. Mujhe surgical evac chahiye, ideally ek ghante mein."

Karan nodded. Then he turned to me.

"Sid. EOD ka timeline?"

"Tees minute. Maybe forty five."

"Forty five plus evac time puts us at ninety minutes. Tight but doable. We split the team. Tu, kabir, aur main yahan reh ke EOD cover karte hain. Rathi, Juanid, Vinay, aur do NCO pehle nikalte hain, safe route se. Rathee can manage both casualties for the forty minutes it takes to get to the main road. Wahan se vehicle le kar base hospital and Rathee return back.."

I opened my mouth to argue.

"Sid." Karan's hand was still on my chest. His eyes met mine. "Tu sun. Rathee sahi bol raha hai. Tu bhi sahi hai. Dono sahi ho. But Juanid ki taang zyada important hai. Haan?"

The door inside my chest rattled.

I looked at Juanid on the stretcher. At his leg. At the red snow,"Fine."

I said it through gritted teeth, and it cost me something I did not want to name.

Karan stepped back. "Rathee, You love them to safe place and then return.

Abhi. Safe route, no heroics. Hospital pohoch ke radio check. Clear?"

"Clear, Major Rathore." Rathee was already gathering his pack, shouting orders to the NCOs, organizing the stretcher lift. He did not look at me and I certainly did not look at him.

The second team moved out five minutes later, disappearing down the southern trail into the mist. I stood at the edge of the lean to and watched them go until I could not see them anymore.

Until the white swallowed them whole, until the only evidence they had ever been there was the blood in the snow and the sound of Rathi's voice fading into the distance.

"Hold steady. Hold steady. Bas thodi der aur."

The EOD team finished clearing the trail at zero-nine-forty-seven. Karan, Kabir, and I began the long walk back to the patrol base through a valley that had stopped feeling like paradise and started feeling like a place that wanted to kill us.

The peak watched us go, its summit lost in cloud, and the River kept moving below, fast and dark and determined.

I kept walking. The cold bit into my face. The snow crunched under my boots,“

The information came through the radio after sometime.

“Major Singh, this is HQ. Drone feed finally cleared up for about two minutes before the cloud cover rolled back in. We have confirmed signatures seven klicks north of your position, near the old shepherd hut at the base of the ridge. At least eight warm bodies. They're dug in. Over.”

“Copy that, HQ. Moving to contact. Out.”

Eight. We were five, six if you counted Vinay's one good arm.

The odds were wrong, and the terrain was worse..

The shepherd hut sat in a natural bowl at the base of a steep ridge, approachable only from the south through a narrow defile that would funnel us into a kill zone if anyone was watching.

They would be watching. They had chosen the ground deliberately.

Karan had heard the transmission.

His face was unreadable, the way it always got before a fight..utterly still, as though someone had turned a key in his back and all the human softness had been locked away.

The duffel.

The gloves.

The snow globe.

None of that existed for him now. There was only the mission,“Defile approach won’t work,” he said. “They’re expecting us from the south. We go up and over the ridge. Come down on top of them.”

“That’s a sixteen hundred meter climb in full kit. With the snowpack, maybe two hours.”

“Two hours is better than dead in the defile.”

I looked at the ridge.

The snowline sat heavy on its shoulders, and the rock face beneath was sheer in places, broken only by narrow ledges and the occasional stunted pine.

It would be a brutal climb, and if any of us fell and there would be no extraction but Karan was right.

The defile was death.

“We climb.”

What I remember about those two hours is the sound of my own breathing and the way the cold turned the sweat on my skin to ice the moment I stopped moving.

Handhold.

Foothold.

Test the weight.

Pull up.

The rock was frozen, slick in places, and my gloves were not designed for this kind of work..the fingers kept slipping on the granite and behind me,

Kabir was muttering a prayer under his breath, a low chant that I could barely hear over the wind.

By the time Rathee and Vinay with his one good arm regrouped with us He had stopped cracking jokes totally.

Somewhere around the six hundred meter mark.

Even he was silent now, his breath coming in short hard bursts, his medical pack banging against his spine with every pull upward.

Karan reached the summit first.

I saw him flatten against the rock at the top, then signal down..all clear, no sentries on this side. I pulled myself up over the edge and lay flat in the snow for a moment, my lungs burning, my arms shaking.

Minus sixteen now, and the wind at this altitude cut through my jacket like a knife through wet paper.

The shepherd hut sat three hundred metres below us, on the far side of the ridge.

Smoke was rising from a chimney hole in the roof.

Figures moving outside..two, three, four visible at any given moment.

They had a heavy machine gun set up facing the defile, exactly as Karan had predicted, and a second position overlooking the southern approach.

If we had come that way, we would have been cut to pieces before we saw a single hostile,“Kabir, take the machine gun position on my signal. Karan, you’re on the overwatch. Vinay, stay here with the radio and cover our backs. Rathee, you hang back until we clear the primary, then move in.”

“Copy that Major.” A chorus of quiet acknowledgments.

“Rathee,” I added, and something in my voice made him look up. “If this goes bad, you take whoever’s still breathing and you get back to the patrol base. No heroics. Clear?”

“Roger that.” His face was pale, his jaw set. The medic’s face again. “But it won’t go bad.”

I almost smiled. “Let’s go.”

The descent took fifteen minutes.

We moved in a crouch, using the snow covered boulders for cover, spreading out as we approached the hut so that we would hit them from three angles simultaneously.

I could see the hostiles clearly now..loose fitting shalwar kameez under heavy jackets, AK-47s slung across their chests, Pakistani accents audible even from this distance as they shouted to each other about tea and firewood and the cold.

One of them laughed, high and sharp and utterly casual, the laugh of a man who did not know he had twenty seconds left to live,“Now.”

Kabir's grenade arced through the grey air and landed precisely on the tarpaulin covering the machine gun position.

The explosion tore the hut side open.

The gunner’s body lifted and spun and came apart, and before the sound had finished echoing off the ridge wall.

Karan had put two rounds through the chest of the second man at the position, and I was moving through the smoke with my rifle up and the selector on semi automatic.

A hostile came at me from the left, his AK swinging up. I put a round through his thigh and he dropped, screaming, and I stepped over him and fired twice more into the man behind him..centre mass, centre mass .. and kept moving.

Behind me, kabir was shouting something in Garhwali, a war cry or a curse, and Karan was somewhere to my right, his weapon firing in controlled bursts that punctuated the chaos,“Chaar down! Do aur andar hain!” Kabir shouted.

“Tera right side clear hai?” Karan’s voice, calm as ever.

“Clear Sir !”

I kicked open the door of the hut.

The interior was dim and smoky, a fire burning in the centre of the dirt floor, and two men were scrambling for their weapons near the back wall.

The first one got his rifle up. I shot him in the face before he could fire, and the back of his head painted the wall behind him. The second one dropped his weapon and raised his hands, shouting something in Pashto, his eyes wide and white and terrified.

“Bahar chal bhadwe,” I said. My voice was someone else’s voice. “Abhi.”

He scrambled past me on his hands and knees.

Outside, Karan had the surviving hostiles lined up on their knees in the snow..three of them, including the one I had shot in the leg and the one who had tried to surrender.

Two were bleeding badly. The third was uninjured, and he was the one I wanted,“Search them. Everything. Documents, phones, maps. I want to know what they were planning.”

Thapa and one of the NCOs began rifling through pockets and bags while Karan kept his weapon trained on the prisoners.

The uninjured one was looking at me with an expression I recognized

hatred mixed with calculation, the look of a man who was trying to figure out what kind of captor I was going to be,“How many ?” I asked him, “Aur kahan kahan ho ?”

He spat.

The saliva landed on my boot and froze there almost instantly.

Karan moved faster than I could speak. He grabbed the man by the collar and hauled him upright, then flung him face first into the snow and put a boot on the back of his neck. “Dubara thookega toh teri zabaan kaat ke tere haath mein pakda dunga. Ab bol. Aur kitne aur kahan kahan hain?”

“F..fuck you,” the man said in accented English. “I tell you nothing.”

“Kabir,” I said.

Kabir stepped forward.

He had a knife in his hand, the blade already out..a Kukri, heavy and curved, The man on the ground saw it and his expression flickered.

“Dekh,” I said, crouching down until my face was level with his. “Tu mujhe bata sakta hai abhi, ya kabir teri ungliyan ek ek karke kaat sakta hai aur phir tu mujhe bata sakta hai. Dono tareeke se mujhe jawab mil jaayega. Farak sirf itna hai ki tu kitni ungliyon ke saath jahannum mein jayega...”

The man stared at the Kukri. The cold was eating into him now, and the blood loss from his companions was pooling red and steaming in the snow around his knees, and the knife was very close to his hand,“I.. will tell. I will tell.”

He told.

The plan was bigger than we had thought.

A coordinated attack on the convoy route near Bandipora, scheduled for three days from now.

The man gave us names and locations and frequencies, and Juanid, listening in on the radio up at the patrol base, was transcribing everything in real time for Battalion.

By the time the interrogation was finished, the two wounded hostiles had stopped shivering.

One of them was unconscious, his breathing shallow and irregular. The other was dead.. had died while I was questioning his companion, bled out into the snow without making a sound.

Rathee had tried to stabilize him, but the femoral artery had been severed by my first shot, and there was nothing to be done,“Singh, yeh zinda rehna chahiye intel ke liye.” Rathee was pointing at the unconscious one. “But I need to move him now. Aur yeh wala..” he gestured at the dead man “..yeh toh gaya.”

“Take the live one. Stabilize him. Kabir, help Rathee with the stretcher. We’re moving out in ten.”

Karan was still standing over the commander, his boot on the man’s neck.

He had not moved for the past five minutes, had not spoken, and his face was still that mask of pre combat stillness even though the fight was over.

“Karan.”

He looked at me.

“We’re done here. Let him up.”

“Haan.” He lifted his boot. The commander gasped and rolled onto his side, his face blue with cold and fear, his hands still bound behind his back with a zip tie.

We began the extraction. Kabir and Rathee took the wounded prisoner on the improvised stretcher..two rifles and a jacket, the same way we had carried Junaid a few hours ago.

Vinay covered the rear despite his bad shoulder, his weapon held awkwardly in his left hand but his aim still steady.

The NCOs flanked the terrorist, who was stumbling and weeping quietly as he walked, his feet numb inside his cheap boots, his breath coming in ragged white bursts.

Karan and I took point, moving east toward the extraction coordinates Battalion had sent through half an hour ago.

The snow was falling now, fat flakes that clung to our eyelashes and muffled the already muted light of the overcast morning.

The temperature had dropped to minus eighteen, and the wind had shifted, coming at us from the north-east with a bitter edge that made my face ache even through the balaclava.

My fingers were numb inside my gloves.

My shoulder..the left one..had been throbbing for the past hour, a deep ache that radiated down into my elbow and up into my neck, but I could not remember hitting it on anything during the climb or the assault.

Adrenaline, probably. The body’s way of hiding injury until it was safe to feel it but still the ninth man had been waiting.

The drone had missed him.

The perimeter search had left one blind spot near the broken ridge, a narrow stretch of rock and snow where the storm had covered movement and erased footprints.

He had stayed there through the entire assault, patient and silent, waiting for the right moment and now he was fiftee

n metres away.

The rifle came up.

The barrel turned towards Karan's back. For a fraction of a second, everything became painfully clear. The angle of the weapon. The distance.

The position of Karan's shoulder in front of me. The small movement of his head as he looked towards the extraction trail.

"Karan! DOWN!"

I moved.

There was no thought behind it. No decision. No calculation.

Only instinct.

The sound came before the impact.

A deafening crack split the valley.

For a moment, I thought it was another weapon firing and then the ground disappeared beneath me.

The explosion came from somewhere to our left, hidden behind the boulders where the last hostile had taken cover. A secondary device. A hidden charge. The force hit the mountain like a fist against stone.

The world turned white.

The air left my lungs.

I felt myself lifted and thrown backwards, my body hitting the snow several metres away. The cold swallowed me instantly. My back struck the frozen ground, the impact stealing whatever breath remained inside my chest.

For a few seconds, there was nothing.

No sound.

No movement.

Only a ringing inside my ears.

Then voices returned.

Far away.

Distorted.

"MAJOR RATHORE !"

Someone shouted.

Boots moved through snow.

A rifle dropped somewhere nearby.

I opened my eyes.

The sky above me was grey, covered by thick winter clouds. Snowflakes drifted down slowly, landing on my face and melting against the warmth of my skin.

Then I saw him.

For one impossible second, it was not the Gurez Valley.

It was Assam.

It was a different winter.

A different battlefield.

A different life.

The smoke was everywhere.

The smell of burning earth filled the air and somewhere beneath the sound of gunfire, beneath the shouting of soldiers and the chaos of a battlefield, there was another voice.

A voice I had spent years trying to forget,"Colonel Arminder Singh Chauhan took charge of the situation himself."

The voice belonged to an announcer.

A television screen.

A ceremony hall.

A year after he was gone.

I was sitting in the third term cadet uniform of the National Defence Academy, my back straight, my beret placed carefully on my lap, while my mother's hands trembled beside me.

The hall was full of people wearing uniforms.

People who knew my father.

People who spoke about him like he was a story.

I hated that.

I hated the way everyone knew the soldier he was.

I hated that nobody knew the man who used to come home late after duty and still sit beside mom and ask how her day was.

The screen behind the stage showed his photograph.

Colonel Arminder Singh Chauhan.

My father.

My mother looked smaller that day and that was the first thing I remembered.

Everyone looked at the uniform but I just looked at her.

The anchor continued,"During the operation in Assam, when the situation escalated and the team came under heavy fire from armed militants, Colonel Chauhan moved forward to coordinate the assault despite the increasing danger."

The hall became silent.

Even in my memory, that silence remained.

I had heard the official version many times, and had read the citation, i had memorised every word without wanting to.

A brave officer.

A courageous leader.

An exceptional act of valour.

Words.

Always words as words were easier than the truth because I had never seen what happened.

I had never stood there.

I had never heard those gunshots.

I had never watched him walk towards death and my mind created the image for me anyway.

It always had.

A forest in Assam.

Heavy rain hanging in the air. Dense trees swallowing sunlight. His men behind him, soldiers injured and his responsibility.

That was the part that stayed. My father had been the commanding officer. The man whose duty was to lead, the man whose decisions carried the lives of every soldier under him.

And somewhere in that forest, the line between leading from behind and standing beside his men had disappeared. In my imagination, I saw him moving through the trees.

Calm.

Steady.

The same way Karan moved before an operation.

The same way every good officer moved when fear had no permission to enter the body, the firefight had already taken its toll.

The militants had been pushed back.

The unit had almost completed the objective and then came the explosion.

A grenade.

A hidden charge.

A moment where seconds became the difference between several soldiers going home and several families receiving flags. My mind filled in the details it never had.

I saw dad look around, saw him understand and i saw the choice.

That was the part that haunted me.

The choice because somewhere inside me, I had built him into a man who belonged completely to the uniform.

A man who had looked at his own life and placed it below the lives of his men, a man who had given everything because that was what soldiers did.

The anchor's voice continued.

"Colonel Arminder Singh Chauhan displayed extraordinary courage and made the supreme sacrifice, saving the lives of his men during the operation." Supreme sacrifice.

Those words stayed with me, they followed me through NDA ,hey followed me through commissioning.

They followed me into every posting and into every valley where I wore this uniform.

The ceremony blurred after that.

I remembered mom's hands receiving the medal, the applause and i remembered Arjun sitting beside me, young enough that i wanted the shield him from that moment and old enough to understand why everyone was clapping for a man who would never come home.

I remembered looking at that medal and feeling something break inside me.

Everyone saw a hero.

I saw a father who had left behind a wife who waited at doors.

A son who searched for a face he could barely remember and a family that learned how silence sounded.

The memory shifted.

The stage disappeared.

The forest returned.

The blast returned.

The sound of metal tearing.

The image of soldiers falling and the impossible weight of knowing that the person you love chose everyone else.

My chest tightened. The snow beneath me turned into wet earth and the cold of Gurez became the heat of Assam.

I could smell smoke.

I could hear men shouting.

I could hear someone calling for their commander and I could hear my dad's name.

"Chauhan!"

The voice was unfamiliar.

A soldier.

One of his men.

Someone who had survived because he had not. My eyes burned, Tears mixed with the snow melting on my face.

Ten years.

Ten fucking years and that image still had the power to pull me apart.

I had spent my entire life trying to understand what kind of man could make that choice.

The answer had always terrified me because I understood him and yhat was the part I hated.

I understood him.

The uniform demanded pieces of you.

Time.

Comfort.

Family.

A normal life.

Everything became secondary and the nation came first. The men beside you came first.

The person wearing the uniform slowly disappeared beneath the responsibility of it and somewhere along the way, I had started believing that was the only way to be worthy of the uniform.

Give everything.

Every single thing.

Your body and soul.

Hold nothing back.

Leave nothing behind.

A soldier existed to be spent and the thought had lived inside me for years.

Quietly.

Patiently.

Waiting.

The same thought that made my mother afraid every time I left home.

The same thought that made marriage feel impossible because...

How could I promise someone a future when I had already accepted that my life belonged somewhere else? How could I ask a woman to love a man who had already prepared himself to leave her behind?

The blast around me faded.

The memory remained.

Then another sound entered.

"KARAN!"

Someone was shouting.

The real valley returned slowly.

The smell of smoke.

The snow.

The weight of my own body against the ground.

My eyes opened.

The explosion had thrown debris everywhere. Snow and dust covered the rocks around us. The last hostile was gone. The ridge was silent except for the ringing in my ears and the frantic voices of my men.

Karan was moving towards me. His face was covered in dirt and eyes were wide. For the first time in years, I saw something on his face that looked like fear,"Siddharth!"

I tried to answer but my throat refused. Something warm moved down the side of my face.

Blood or maybe snow. I could not tell.

The world started losing its edges and all the grey sky above me became the ceremony hall.

The snow became the smoke of Assam.

Karan's voice became the voice of my father and for one bloody second, I saw him. Not the soldier everyone remembered, not the photograph but just my dad. Standing somewhere beyond the smoke.

His uniform covered in dust.

His eyes calm.

His hand resting on my shoulder.

The way it had in the few memories I still carried,"Siddharth." His voice was quiet and familiar.

I tried to reach him but instead the darkness came closer,"Sid yaar, aankhein khuli rakh." Karan's voice pulled me back. His hands were on my shoulders, he was shaking me uncontrollably.

The valley returned.

The snow returned.

The pain returned but somewhere beneath all of it, the memory remained. The moment I had never witnessed and the moment I had spent my entire life imagining.

Then Rathee reached us. And immediately his hands were on me, cutting away my jacket and my shirt and the notebook in my chest pocket fell into the snow, its pages already blooming red,“Tourniquet lagao! Abhi! Uska brachial artery..”

“Kaunsa brachial, Rathee? Kaunsa brachial? Tu dekh toh sahi..”

“Mujhe pata hai mera kaam! Tu pressure hold kar!”

Their voices faded. The snow took them.

The peak watched from somewhere above the clouds and I let go of the world the way a man lets go of a letter he should have sent years ago, when he still had the chance.

Mom's face flickered somewhere in the closing darkness and I tried to reach for it the way I had never been able to reach for my father's face.

For a moment..a single moment..I thought I saw him too. Standing behind her in his service dress, his hand resting on her shoulder, his eyes steady, patient, waiting.

Then something sharp pressed against my neck.

A gloved hand.

Another beneath my shoulder.

Voices.

Close now.

Urgent.

The darkness loosened its grip just enough for the world to return in broken pieces,"...Sid! Oye... meri baat sun. Aankh band mat kar.."

Karan.

I knew that voice anywhere.

Someone tore open another layer of clothing, and the freezing mountain air hit my skin. My body flinched on instinct,"There... response aa raha hai."

Rathee's voice.

Calm.

Focused.

The same man who annoyed every living soul during quiet days sounded completely different now,"Singh meri awaaz sun pa rahe ho? Siddharth... aankhein meri taraf. Bas meri taraf dekho."

My eyelids felt impossibly heavy.

I forced them open.

Grey sky.

Snowflakes.

Faces leaning over me.

Rathee's gloves were already soaked red. His fingers moved quickly across my shoulder, my neck, my chest, checking, pressing, searching.

"Karan, pressure maintain rakho. Idhar... haan yahin. Continuous pressure. Lift mat hone dena."

Karan shifted immediately,"Kitna bleeding hai?"

"Enough hai ki mujhe baat karne se zyada kaam karna hai. Tu bas pressure hold kar." His medical pouch lay open in the snow beside him.

Bandages.

Israeli dressing.

Combat gauze.

Tourniquet.

Syringes.

Everything was spread around him with practiced order. He reached for the trauma shears again,"Mujhe left sleeve aur kholni padegi." The fabric disappeared beneath the blades.

Cold air rushed over torn skin.

I finally felt the pain.

It arrived all at once.

A burning pressure deep inside my shoulder. Something pulling every breath apart from the inside and the world blurred again.

"Sir!"

Rathee snapped his fingers once near my face,"Nahi... meri taraf dekho. Aankhein band mat karo abhi. Mujhe response chahiye."

My lips moved but nothing came out.

He leaned closer,"Kya bola aapne Major?"

"...Karan..."

"I'm here."

Karan's voice came instantly.

He was kneeling beside me, one knee buried deep in the snow, his gloved hands pressing hard against the dressing Rathee had packed into the wound.

His face carried streaks of dirt and powder from the blast and breathing was heavier than usual.

There was fresh blood on his sleeve.

Mine.

"Tere upar gussa baad mein karunga," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on me. "Abhi bas aankhein khuli rakh."

I wanted to answer.

My jaw barely moved.

Rathee looked up sharply.

"Leutinent Vinay!"

"Ji Sir !"

"Radio nikalo. Battalion ko casualty report bhejo. Priority Alpha."

Vinay was already unclipping the radio from his vest. Static filled the valley,"Sunray, Sunray, this is Alpha One."

More static.

Then..

"Alpha One, Sunray receiving."

"Officer casualty. Repeat, officer casualty. Major Siddharth Singh injured in blast. Suspected heavy shrapnel injury left shoulder and upper chest. Patient conscious. Active blood loss controlled. Request immediate CASEVAC. Grid reference follows..."

He read the coordinates carefully.

Each number sounded painfully clear through the ringing inside my ears.

The reply came almost immediately.

"Alpha One, copy all. Heli not available due to weather but ETA forty five minutes to road head. Reach extraction point as fast as safely possible...."

"For now keep patient warm. Maintain airway and circulation. Report any deterioration immediately."

"Roger, Sunray."

The radio clicked silent.

Ratheedidn't waste a second.

He pulled another pressure dressing from his pouch,"Karan, meri taraf dekho."

"Haan."

"Bleeding slow hui hai, band nahi hui. Dressing shift hui toh phir se open ho jayegi. Isliye tera haath yahin rahega. Bilkul yahin. Samjha?"

"Haan."

"Pressure kam hua toh mujhe bata dena. Main reinforce karunga."

"Fine."

Rathee checked my pulse again. His fingers rested against my neck then my wrist. His lips moved silently while counting,"Pulse fast hai..."

He looked at me again,"Tum... meri baat suno neend aa rahi hogi. Mujhe pata hai. Cold bhi hai, blast bhi hua hai. Lekin mujhe aapse baat karni hai. Aap jawab dete rahiye. Chhota sa hi sahi."

He tapped my cheek lightly,"Naam bataiye."

"...Siddharth..."

"Rank."

"...Major..."

"Unit."

I answered after a pause,"Para..5 para..". He nodded once,"Good."

His hands kept moving.

Blanket.

Thermal sheet.

Another dressing.

He worked continuously while speaking,"Karan, uska backpack."

Karan reached behind me without lifting the injured side,"Theek."

"Neck support."

"Done."

"Pain meds?"

Ratheeshook his head,"Abhi nahi. BP aur consciousness monitor karni hai."

Thapa had already moved twenty metres ahead with the NCOs. He scanned every tree line through his sight,"Area secure hai, Sir. Trail clear."

"Good."

Ratheefinally sat back for half a second and drew one slow breath.

Only then did he notice something half buried beneath the snow beside my shoulder.

The notebook.

Its olive-green cover was soaked dark.

Several pages had slipped free. Ink had dissolved into the melting snow.

He instinctively reached toward it but before he could touch it, Karan quietly picked it up.

The notebook felt heavier than paper should. The edges were damp. Blood had seeped across the first few pages.

Neither of them opened it. Karan brushed the snow away with his glove and slid it carefully inside his own jacket,"I'll keep it."

Rathee looked at him once and understood,"I understand."

No more words were needed.

"Karan."

"Haan."

"Ab move karna padega."

"Haan."

"Ready?"

"Ready."

Ratheelooked around the team.

"Suno sab. Casualty carry disciplined hoga. Shoulder side pe unnecessary movement nahi chahiye. Main head side rahunga. Karan left pe. Thapa rear coordinate karega. Ansari radio continuously open rakhega. Agar patient ki breathing change hui ya bleeding increase hui toh mujhe turant bataoge. Kisi ko bhi hero banne ki zarurat nahi hai. Safe pace maintain karenge. Samajh aa gaya sabko?"

"Haan, Sir."

"Good. Lift on my count."

He adjusted the improvised stretcher one final time and his voice stayed steady,"One..."

The valley waited.

"Two..."

Karan looked down at me once.

"Bas thoda sa aur, Sid." There was complete certainty in his voice.

"We're taking you home."

"Three."

The stretcher rose together. The snow crunched beneath their boots, the mountains remained silent. I watched the sky through half open eyes while the white clouds drifted slowly above the Habba Khatoon peak.

The cold no longer reached me the way it had before. The rhythm of boots moving together echoed through the valley.

One step.

Then another.

Someone kept talking near my head.

I recognized the voice.

Rathee.

"... Major... meri awaaz sunte rahiye. Bas baat karte rahiye mere saath... Kam se kam ladai hi kar lijeye..."

A faint smile tried to reach my lips.

The effort itself felt exhausting.

The sky blurred again.

The voices stayed with me and then everything slowly faded into the steady rhythm of boots carrying me down the mountain.