He spoke again his voice still deep. Still controlled."Yeh bhi tumhara ghar hai. Kisi aur ka thodi?"

She shook her head, tears slipping freely now."Nahi lagta aisa."

He stood up and walked two steps toward the window then checked outside briefly.

Habit.

Pride.

Security.

Then turned back she was still curled, wiping her face furiously as if ashamed for a moment he hesitated.
Then did something stiff awkward.

He walked closer to the bed and sat not too close-but nearer than before the mattress dipped slightly she felt it immediately.

Her breath hitched he cleared his throat."Fauj mein aadat dalni padti hai," he said, tone firm but lower now. "Har cheez pehle din se apni nahi lagti."

She tried to calm herself it wasn't working."Mujhe laga..." she began, then stopped.

"Kya laga tumhe mehel hoga? Haan?"

She didn't answer.

He waited but when she remained silent, he said quietly,"Main tumhe dara nahi raha bas sach bata raha hoon."

That surprised her.

She turned slightly, just enough to see his outline in the dark."Main jaanti hoon par aaram se..," she whispered.

Another sound from outside.

A dog barking.

She flinched again but this time without thinking he reached out his hand stopped mid-air for a second then landed, stiffly, on her upper arm.

She went completely still her sobbing paused out of shock. He seemed equally aware of the contact but his voice remained steady. "Yahan koi khatra nahi hai. Koi kuch nahi karega. Main hoon na yahan." His thumb moved once-barely-a restrained pat.

Almost mechanical but intentional.
She stared at his hand as if it were something unbelievable.

Village husbands did not speak like this.

They did not explain fear they did not check windows twice they did not say "no danger." They either ignored tears or silenced them. He continued, still looking ahead rather than at her,
"Rona band karo. Aaram se Saans lo."

Instruction.

Not softness.

But it worked.

She inhaled shakily.

Exhaled.

Again.

Slowly, the trembling eased.

He did not move his hand but he did not pull her closer either distance still existed between them but it was now bridged slightly.

After a minute he said, "Kal subah parade ground dikhaunga. Din mein sab alag lagta hai. Ek do baar contonment mein ghumne jaogi toh apne aap sab theek lagne lage ga."

She nodded faintly tears drying on her cheeks then silence returned but not as sharp as before.

After a few moments, he removed his hand and Stood up. Then walked back to his side of the bed lay down again.
And the distance resumed but something had shifted.

She lay there quietly her eyes open but heart calmer now but not still .In the darkness, she whispered softly, "Main koshish karungi."

He did not respond but after a second, he said into the quiet,"Koshish nahi. Seekhna padega sab."

When she closed her eyes the silence did not feel like rejection. It felt like something was being built slowly but sleep did not return to her. She lay stiffly on her side, eyes open in the dark.

He had said,dil kathor banana padega.
The words echoed how? Strong like him? Strong like the wives outside who laughed loudly and walked confidently? Or strong like the women back home who endured silently?

Her mind refused to settle after a few minutes, she whispered hesitantly

"Ek baat poochun aapse?"

He did not respond immediately.

He was exhausted. Bone-deep tired. Muscles aching from drills, briefings, responsibility. Dawn would come fast.
Still,"Haan," he said finally, voice low.

She swallowed."Yeh..firing.. practice wali roz hoti hai?"

"Kabhi roz. Kabhi nahi. Halat pe nirbhar karta hai."

"Halat jaise?"

He turned slightly onto his back, staring at the ceiling."Border pe tension ho toh drills badh jaati hain."

She hesitated."Border... matlab woh Pakistan ki taraf?"

The word came out small but the air in the room shifted. Even in the dark, she could feel it his jaw tightened.
"Haan, Pakistan."

She gathered courage."Maine suna hai... wahan se kabhi bhi...anjan log ghus aate hain?"

He let out a slow breath."Anjan log nahi. Fauj hai wahan ki aur kuch b..."

He sighed stopped himself from completing what he started then his voice sharpened slightly."Woh desh humara dushman hai. 1971 bhool jaane wali cheez nahi hai. Wahan ke logon se hume koi dikkat nahi. Khud bhi jeyin aur hume bhi jeene dein. Par nahi aa jate hain yahan bhadkane ke liye. Humare desh ko..humari dharti mata ko..1971 mein dikha diya unko..kya hai unki aukaat. Jitne bhi shaheed hue haina...ek se ek veer hain. Un sabke ke balidaan ke vajah se humara desh yahan hai..aur woh Pakistani.." he stopped himself again realising he was practically lecturing her now.

There was something in his tone now-cold steel. She had heard stories of the war, but in fragments. Women whispering. Men lowering voices.

He did not lower his."Unhone humari maa pe hamla kiya. Humare jawan mare. Humne bhi jawaab aur diya aisa diya ki kabhi bhool nahi payenge aur aage bhi dete rahenge."

The intensity made her throat go dry.
She had never heard anyone speak like that-so certain. So unfiltered.
She whispered,"Wapas bhi aisa kuch ho sakta hai kya?"

"Jab tak woh desh waisa hi hai, kuch bhi ho sakta hai. Sudhrenge toh Bach jayenge warna un salon ko hum.."

She pulled the blanket slightly closer around herself."Aur..agar ladai phir ho gayi toh?" she asked softly.

There was a pause.

Then,"Toh main toh jarur jaunga."

Statement of fact.

Her chest tightened again."Aap daroge nahi?" she asked before she could stop herself.

He turned his head toward her in the faint light from outside, she could just make out his outline. "Dar har aadmi ko lagta hai par darne ka haq maine ussi din chodd diya tha jis din kasam khayi desh ki suraksha karne ki,"

He said evenly. "Aur agar tum ab mere sath ho toh tumhe bhi darna nahi nahi. Darne ki aadat choddni padegi."

The words settled heavily in the room.

She gulped he continued, voice lower now but steady."Fauj mazaak nahi hai, Tejas. Yeh koi aam naukri nahi. Yeh zimmedari hai. Agar kal order aaya, toh main bina pichhe dekhe jaunga chache piche koi bhi ho. This is my life...yeh meri zindagi hai jo desh ne naam hai."

Her fingers clenched into the bedsheet. She did not know whether that scared her or made her proud maybe both for sometime silence stretched then, because her mind would not stop,"Fauj mein... sab log... peete hain?"

His brow creased faintly."Kya?"

"Sharab," she clarified hesitantly.

He exhaled then admitted,"Mess mein hoti hai. Parties mein hoti hai. Bahot Thakaan ke baad kabhi kabhi aadmi peeta toh hai hi. Kya galat hai isme?"

She swallowed."Bahot jyada?"

He almost huffed."Control mein."

She gathered more courage.
"Aur... cigarette?"

He did not answer immediately then-

"Haan."

Simple.

Honest.

Her stomach dropped she hated cigarettes the smell the idea her father had never touched them.
She hesitated again."Roz?"

"Jab tanav zyada ho."

His tone had shifted slightly-less patient now. He was tired but she kept going."Sharab peeke... aadmi badal jaata hai?"

That made him turn fully toward her now."Tum kya poochna chahti ho?"

Her heart pounded wildly she almost stopped but if not now-when?"Maine suna hai... fauji... kabhi kabhi... gussa karte hain. Biwi ko marte hain. Sawal karne pe."

The words tumbled out quickly before courage failed the silence that followed was thick he stared at her in the dark."Tumhe lagta hai main aisa hoon?" he asked slowly.

She shook her head immediately.
"Nahi... par main nahi jaanti na aapko jyada..jitna maine suna woh..."

He sat up slightly his voice no longer sleepy he was now fully in Captain mode,"Dhyaan se suno tum..."

She instinctively straightened under the blanket.

"Fauj discipline sikhati hai. Jung ladne wale aadmi agar ghar mein hi haath uthane lagen, toh woh sipahi nahi rehte. Gunde ban jaate hain. Hum suraksha karna sikhaya jata hai bahar bhi aur andar bhi. Main nahi janta tumhe ye kisne sikhaya ya bataya kuch honge jo aisa karte hain main nahi karta. Na karna chahta hoon."

"Mardangi chillane ya maarne se sabit nahi hoti. Seena choda karke desh ke liya khade hone mein hoti hai."

Her breath slowed.

He continued,"Sharab peena alag baat hai. Sharab ke bahaane badtameezi karna alag. Woh namardon ka kaam hota hai. Main koi janwar nahi jo.."

She had never heard a man differentiate like that.

"Aur tumse sawal karne pe haath uthane ka sawaal hi paida nahi hota
Main koi master hoon? Jo sawaal galat hoga toh saza dunga tumhe," he added, voice firm.

She blinked."Sachi mein?"

His tone sharpened again, but not angrily."Main apne ghar mein izzat chahta hoon. Dar nahi. Tum insaan bakri thodi ho jo chup chap rahegi sawal jawab toh karogi hi."

She felt something shift inside her again she hesitated one last time.
"Aur...waise baki aur auratein?"

He narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Kaisi auratein?"

"Maine suna hai... faujiyon ke... doosri jagah bhi..." She could barely finish the sentence.

Other women.

He stared at her for a long moment then let out a slow breath."Yeh sari bakwas bateein kisne bhari tumhare dimag mein?"

She didn't even look at him now she couldn't.

His voice turned steely again."Main dinbhar us registan mein apni duty karta hoon. Orders na ho tabhi yahan aa pata hoon. Aur tumhe lagta hai in sab ke beech main kisi aur...Yeh jo bhi fizool ki bateein rakhi hain dimaag mein unhe nikaal do."

Her cheeks burned she was embarrassed but totally relieved.

He lay back down very clearly tired now but he spoke one last time, voice heavy with exhaustion yet sharp with pride."Main bhartiya amry ka afsar hoon. Maine training mein khoon paseena diya hai. Main dushman se ladta hoon, apni biwi se nahi. Aur apne desh ke khilaaf kisi se naram lafz sunna pasand nahi hai mujhe. Samjhi? Bas itna hi janna kafi hai mere bare mein. "

She nodded quickly."Theek hai. Aaj ke baad nahi puchu gi." After a minute, she whispered softly,."Par mujhe cigarette ki smell pasand nahi."

He was silent for a few second then, tired but straightforward,"Kam karne ki koshish karunga."

She muttered absent minded mimicking him,"Koshish nahi kar.."

He raised his eyebrow. She
immediately shut up. And looked down. But he didn't say anything.

It was not a promise but not dismissal either and that was enough. Her chest warmed unexpectedly and outside, the cantonment had gone fully quiet now. She lay there staring into the dark a little less afraid a little more aware.

Beside her lay a man who might drink, might smoke, might speak harsh truths about war but who had just told her clearly he wanted respect in his house.

He had just closed his eyes, finally.
Breathing slower his body finally surrendering to exhaustion and then-
"Aur ek baat..."

His eyes did not open this time he was clearly done with conversation."Kaho ab kya hua? Aaj mujhe sone bhi dogi ya nahi," he said, voice already heavy with sleep.

She hesitated then the questions rushed out in small, careful pieces.
"Bas yeh aakhri hain Aapko... kaunsa khana sabse zyada pasand hai?"

He opened one eye slowly."Abhi?"

"Haan."

He stared at the ceiling. "Rajma chawal," he answered after a pause. "Aur bajre ki roti makhan ke saath."

She nodded eagerly in the dark, as if he could see."Meethe mein?"

"Gajar ka halwa."

She stored it away immediately.
"Aur... kapde?"

He turned his head toward her.
"Kya?"

"Matlab... aapko kaise kapde pasand hain?... jo main pehnu? Main kaise kapde pehnu?"

There it was the real question he exhaled slowly."Tejas..."

She rushed to explain."Bas jaanna tha. Taaki main... waise hi reh sakun."

Silence.

He studied her outline."Tum kyun badalna chahti ho? Maine toh.."

She swallowed."Badalna nahi. Par... pasand jaanna zaroori hota hai."

Her tone was small. Careful.

In her world, wives adjusted.

That was normal.

He spoke after a moment. "Mujhe saaf-suthra rehna pasand hai. Shor sharaba nahi zyada chamak dhamak pasand nahi mujhe."

She blinked."Shor-sharaba?"

"Zyada gehne, zyada chamak, zyada natak."

She instinctively touched her bangles.

He noticed."Yeh theek hai," he added evenly. "Par roz-roz shaadi jaisa sajne ki zarurat nahi. Lekin agar tumhari marzi ho toh kar lena. Ek hafte mein apne aap thaak jaogi."

Her cheeks warmed.

"Suit ya saree?" she asked softly.

"Jo tumhe theek lage."

She frowned faintly."Par aapko?"

His voice sharpened just a fraction.
"Maine kaha na. Jo tumhe theek lage."

She went quiet for a second then carefully,"Baal khule pasand hain ya baandhe hue?"

He almost let out a tired laugh.
"Main parade inspect nahi kar raha yahan jo tumhari uniform tay karu."

She flushed."Main bas...jaana chahti thi aapko kya pasand hai."

He sighed, long and patient but clearly at his limit."Khule baal theek hain. Par kaam karte waqt baandh lena yahan garmi jyada hoti hai. Bas."

She nodded again, even though he couldn't see."Aur... shringar?"

He rubbed his forehead."Tejas, main din bhar camp mein rehta hoon. Wahan lali ya bindi ka hisaab nahi rakhta. Jo tumhe karna hai woh kar lena."

She hesitated."Thoda sa theek hai?"

"Thoda sa theek hai."

Relief again.

She gathered courage for the next one."Aapke dost jab aayein... main kaise baithun? Baat karun ya chup rahun?"

He turned fully toward her now.
"Yeh sawaal kisne daala dimaag mein?"

"Kisi ne nahi."She paused. "Bas... galti na ho jaye mujhse."

His tone softened slightly, but remained firm."Seedha baithna. Adab se baat karna. Jitna tumhara man kare utna bolna. Zyada bhi nahi aur kaam bhi nahi."

She absorbed every word like instruction."Aur agar mazaak karein woh log?"

"Samajh ke jawab dena. Had paar karein toh seedha mana kar dena."

Her heart beat faster.
"Akele mein bhi?"

"Haan."

No hesitation.

She nodded slowly then, in a smaller voice,"Aapne shaadi se pehle kaha tha... aap shaadi nahi karna chahte."

The room stilled.

He looked at her sharply.
"Yaad hai tumhe?"

"Haan kaise bhool sakti hoon."

Silence stretched.

"Tab bhi sach tha ab bhi hai," he said calmly. "Mujhe shaadi nahi karni thi. Mere jivan ka bas ek lakshay hai uske beech kisi aur ko koi jagah nahi de sakta.Fauj hi kaafi hai mere liye."

Her chest tightened slightly.
"Toh... ab? Ab bhi shaadi.."

He did not answer immediately finally,"Ab toh ho chuki hai shaadi."

She didn't know whether to smile or feel foolish she whispered one last hesitant question."Aap... kabhi pachtayenge toh nahi?"

That made him sit up halfway despite his exhaustion. His voice turned firm.
"Main jo faisla karta hoon, uska bojh uthata hoon. Pachtane ka aadmi nahi hoon. Har faisle ka anzam bhutna padta hai. Kuch anzam ache hote hain kuch bure."

Her breath steadied.

He lay back down again."Ab aur sawaal hai? Ya main so bhi sakta hoon? " he asked, not unkindly but clearly done.

She bit her lip but one last thing lingered."Main... theek hoon na?Aapko achi lagi na?"

The question was so soft it almost disappeared he was quiet for several seconds then he said, measured and direct,"Tum seedhi sadhi ho. Seekh rahi ho. Dar kam karo thoda. Baaki sab theek hai."

He turned onto his side, back toward her now. "Subah paanch baje uthna hai," he muttered. "Ab so jao aur sone do. Pehle woh Pakistani nahi sone dete yahan ab tum."

She bit back a laugh then She did not ask anything else because her mind was no longer racing with fear. It was busy arranging rajma-chawal, simple sarees, tied hair, measured laughter-
Even though her eyes had closed, her mind kept ticking.

At some point in the night she checked the small alarm clock near the table. 3:52 a.m.

Her heart jumped.

She carefully turned her head.

He was asleep.

Flat on his back now.

Breathing slow. Heavy. Completely unaware of the storm beside him.

She slid out of bed quietly.

Bare feet touching the cool cement floor.

Her anklets-she removed them first.

Carefully. So they wouldn't make a sound.

She folded them and kept them near the pillow.

Then she went to the small trunk.

Opened it slowly.

No creak.

She pulled out her second saree.

The only other one she had brought.

Soft pink.

Not bright. Not loud.

Cotton-silk blend with a thin golden border.

Simple.

But when she held it against herself in the dim light-

It made her skin glow.

She hesitated for a second.

Should she wear the heavier one?

No.

He had said-no shor-sharaba.

This was right.

She changed quietly in the bathroom area.

Cold water splashed over her face.

She braided her hair halfway, then paused.

Khule baal theek hain.

Her fingers trembled slightly.

She opened the braid.

Combed her hair again with oil lightly rubbed between her palms.

Left it open.

It fell long and dark down her back.

She stood still for a moment.

Had anyone here seen wives like this?

At 4 in the morning?

Probably not.

She took out a small round mirror.

Applied a thin line of kajal.

Very thin.

Not dramatic.

Just enough to deepen her eyes.

A small maroon bindi.

Tiny.

Pressed exactly in the center.

She hesitated over lipstick.

She had one.

Deep red.

Too bold.

She wiped most of it off with the edge of her dupatta, leaving only a faint natural tint.

Glass bangles-light pink and gold.

Not too many.

Just enough to make a soft sound if she moved.

She draped her pallu neatly over her head for a moment.

Then removed it.

He had not said to keep it always covered.

She adjusted it over one shoulder instead.

At 4:32 a.m., she looked at herself properly.

And for a second-

She did not recognize the girl in the mirror.

Not the frightened village bride of yesterday.

Not the crying girl from midnight.

She looked...

Graceful.

Soft.

Almost luminous in the early pre-dawn darkness.

The pink saree against her wheatish skin.

Long open hair.

Kajal-lined eyes that now looked deeper, steadier.

There was a quiet beauty in her.

The kind that was not loud.

Not painted.

But impossible to ignore.

In a rough, disciplined cantonment-

She looked like something rare.

She glanced toward the bed.

Still asleep.

She tiptoed into the kitchen.

Lit the stove quietly.

Put water to boil for tea.

Prepared dough for fresh rotis.

Cut onions carefully.

Every few seconds her eyes drifted toward the bedroom door.

Her heart kept beating faster.

4:45 a.m.

She wiped her hands on the edge of her saree.

Stood still for a moment.

He would wake any minute.

What if he didn't notice?

What if he did?

What if he thought she was foolish?

Her palms began sweating.

She heard movement.

A shift of blanket.

Then his voice-rough with sleep.

"Kitne baje hain?"

Her heart jumped to her throat.

"Paanch hone wale hain," she replied softly from the kitchen.

There was a pause.

Then he sat up.

He had not expected light in the house.

He had not expected the faint smell of chai already brewing.

He swung his feet off the bed.

Ran a hand through his hair.

And then-

He looked toward the doorway.

She stood there.

Back straight.

Hands lightly clasped.

Pink saree draped perfectly.

Hair open down her back.

Morning light just beginning to touch the edges of the window.

For a second He simply stared. His eyes lingered on her. Not because she hadn't done this yesterday too. But because he had not expected this effort.

At 4:45 a.m.

In an army quarter.

And For him. His eyes stayed on her for a second more and she looked down. He cleared his throat and looked away. His expression did not soften dramatically.

He did not smile widely but something changed in his eyes.

A pause.

A second longer than usual.

"Tum soyi nahi?" he asked evenly.

She shook her head slightly."Thodi."

His gaze moved once unintentionally from her hair to her face. Then back to her eyes."Subah-subah taiyaar hone ki kya zarurat thi?"

Her cheeks turned warm instantly.
"Bas... aap jaldi uthte hain. Socha..."

She didn't finish.

He stood up fully now.

Walked toward the wash area.

Stopped halfway.

Turned back.

"Thand lag jayegi. Dupatta theek se lo."

The words were practical.

But they carried something else.

She quickly adjusted her pallu more securely over her shoulder.

"Haan."

He nodded once.

Then went to wash up.

Her heart was pounding so loudly she thought he might hear it.

She touched her cheeks lightly.

They were burning.

In the quiet pre-dawn of 1977-

A soldier prepared for duty.

And his wife-

Blushing at 4:45 a.m., in a pink saree that looked far too beautiful for the harsh desert cantonment-

Waited for him to notice again.

He did not say anything more about the saree.

But when he finished getting ready, boots polished, olive greens crisp, belt pulled tight across his waist-he paused near the door.

"Chalo," he said simply.

She blinked. "Abhi?"

"PT ground dikha deta hoon. Subah ka parade dekhna ho toh dekh lo."

Her heart fluttered.

She adjusted her pallu again and followed him outside.

The early desert morning was colder than she had imagined. A thin mist sat over the sand. The cantonment was already awake-whistles, distant commands, boots striking earth in rhythm.

She walked half a step behind him.

Not because he told her.

But because it felt right.

When they reached the edge of the parade ground, he stopped.

"Yahin khadi raho," he said.

Rows and rows of soldiers stood in formation. Olive green like an endless sea. Commands echoed sharply.

"Dahine dekh!"

The sound of synchronized boots hitting the ground made her heart jump.

She had never seen something like this.

Not in her village.

Not in films.

This was different.

Real.

Powerful.

She searched instinctively.

Where was he?

And then she saw him.

Third row from the front.

Straight. Unmoving. Commanding.

Even from far away, she could tell which one was him.

Her chest swelled quietly.

Yeh mere pati hain.

For a brief second, he turned his head slightly while giving an instruction.

Their eyes met.

Just for a fraction.

No smile.

No expression.

But she felt seen.

Beside her, two other women stood.

One in a neatly ironed cotton suit. Another in a simple saree, hair tied in a bun.

They smiled politely at her.

"Nayi aayi ho?" one asked softly.

"Haan," Tejas nodded.

"Kis company?"

"Grenadiers."

They exchanged knowing glances.

"Achha hai. Yahan aadat ho jaayegi."

Tejas suddenly became aware of herself.

The pink saree.

The bangles.

Open hair.

Makeup.

In the pale morning light-it looked... extra.

The other wives were simple.

Practical.

Comfortable.

No heavy kajal. No bright bangles.

Her stomach dropped slightly.

Kal mujhe laga main kam hoon... aaj lag raha hai zyada ho gayi.

Why was it so difficult to find the right balance?

Yesterday she felt inferior.

Today she felt overdone.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly self-conscious.

After PT, he came toward her.

Sweat on his forehead.

Sleeves slightly rolled.

He stopped a step away.

"Thand lagi?" he asked.

She shook her head.

He glanced at the other wives and gave them a short nod.

"Ghar chalo. Phir main base dikhaata hoon."

She walked beside him now.

Not behind.

He showed her the motor pool. The small temple near the barracks. The mess building. The ration store.

She watched everything with wide eyes.

It was like a small world inside a larger one.

Soldiers laughing near the tea stall.

A jawan teaching his child to ride a tiny cycle.

A wife drying clothes in the winter sun.

It was... alive.

Not just strict and harsh like she imagined.

"Yeh sab dekh kar darr kam hota hai?" he asked suddenly.

She looked up at him.

"Haan."

He nodded once.

Later in the afternoon, he said, "CSD chalna hai."

Her eyes widened.

"Kal hi toh gaye the."

"Ab main apna samaan loonga."

She hesitated.

"Main... kal bahut paisa kharch kar chuki hoon."

He stopped walking.

"Tumne apne liye liya. Zarurat thi."

"Par..."

"Paise ki chinta mat karo."

His tone was firm.

Not angry.

Just final.

Inside the CSD canteen, she stayed close to him.

He picked up shaving cream. Aftershave. A packet of imported cigarettes.

Then he moved to another counter.

She froze.

Bottles.

Whiskey.

Rum.

He picked two.

Then another smaller one.

Her throat went dry.

He had told her last night.

Main peeta hoon.

But seeing it...

Physically.

In his hand.

Was different.

He noticed her silence.

"Kya hua?"

She swallowed.

"Yeh... itna?"

"Yahan milta hai toh le leta hoon."

"Roz...?"

His jaw tightened slightly.

"Nahi."

She looked at the bottles again.

In her village, drinking meant chaos.

Loud men.

Broken homes.

Shame.

Her heart clenched.

He saw the flicker in her eyes.

"Fauji hoon," he said calmly. "Sharabi nahi."

The words were steady.

Controlled.

But carried weight.

She lowered her gaze immediately.

"Mainne aisa nahi kaha."

He paid for everything.

Walked out.

For a few minutes, they walked in silence.

Then he spoke again.

"Kal shaadi se pehle bhi kaha tha. Mujhe shaadi nahi karni thi. Par iska matlab yeh nahi ki main zimmedari se bhaagunga."

Her steps slowed.

He continued.

"Jo ho gaya, ho gaya. Ab tum meri patni ho. Main jo karta hoon, khul kar karta hoon. Chhup kar nahi."

No defensiveness.

No guilt.

Just fact.

She looked at him properly now.

At the man who stood straight in parade.

Who spoke less.

Who did not promise sweet things.

But did not hide either.

Her voice was small.

"Main sirf samajhne ki koshish kar rahi hoon."

For the first time since morning-

His expression softened just a fraction.

"Samajh jaogi."

And somehow-

That sounded less like a warning...

And more like time.

They were barely two lanes away from their quarters when a loud voice cut through the still afternoon air.
"Chauhan!"

Tejas stiffened.

Arminder didn't even turn immediately only when the footsteps came closer did he pause."Rajveer," he said flatly.

Captain Rajveer Singh Rathore came striding toward them, sleeves folded, cap tucked under his arm, grin wide enough to annoy half the regiment.
"Do minute," Rajveer said, slightly out of breath. "Bas do minute."

Tejas instinctively stepped half a pace back because yesterday, she would have smiled freely.

Today her mind hesitated.

Zyada khul kar baat karungi toh?
Unhe bura lagega?
Woh kya sochenge?

Arminder glanced at her.

He noticed the way she lowered her eyes."Kya hua?" he asked quietly.

"Kuch nahi," she replied softly.

Rajveer looked between them dramatically. "Arre bhabhi ji, maine kuch galat bol diya kya? Itni chup kyun ho gayi aap?"

She tried to smile politely.
"Nahi... main theek hoon."

Rajveer squinted playfully. "Chauhan, tumne dara diya kya?"

Arminder exhaled slowly.
"Baat kya hai?"

Rajveer leaned closer to him, lowering his voice slightly. "Yaar ek khabar hai. Par yeh tumhare matlab ki baat hai sirf."

Tejas immediately stepped back another inch."Haan, aap baat kijiye," she said gently. "Main andar chali jaati hoon."

Arminder's eyes flickered to her.
"Ruko phir kho jaogi yahin raho."

She stopped.

Rajveer blinked."Arre nahi bhabhi ji, aap rehne dijiye. Main bas Chauhan ko le jaa raha hoon do minute ke liye."

Arminder crossed his arms."Yahin bolo na Rajveer ab kahan jayenge."

Rajveer groaned. "Tum kab se itne shareef ho gaye?"

"Jab se shaadi hui," Arminder replied dryly.

Tejas's cheeks warmed.

Rajveer stared at him dramatically.
"Wah. Do din mein badal gaye ho?"

Arminder's lips twitched barely.
"Tu bhi kar le badal jayega."

Rajveer stepped back as if someone had shot him."Main? Shaadi?" He pointed at himself in exaggerated
horror."Chauhan, main azaad parinda hoon."

Arminder raised an eyebrow. "Zyada udne wale parindon ko bhi kabhi na kabhi pinjra mil hi jaata hai."

Tejas almost laughed but controlled herself.

Rajveer shook his head vigorously.
"Bilkul nahi. Main mast Malang hoon. Shaadi-wadi mere bas ki nahi."

Tejas, forgetting her hesitation for a second, spoke earnestly,"Par shaadi achhi hoti hai."

Both men turned toward her.

She continued innocently, "Mere gaon mein bahut achhi ladkiyan hain. Seedhi-saadhi. Ghar sambhalne wali. Main chahoon toh..."

Rajveer choked,"Rukiye bhabhisa!"

Arminder actually laughed softly.

A real laugh.

Low.

Warm.

Tejas blinked, stunned she had never heard that sound from him before.

Rajveer held up both hands dramatically."Bhabhi ji, kripya karke meri zindagi barbaad mat kijiye."

"Barbaad kyun?" she frowned slightly. "Achhi ladki hogi."

"Isi liye toh darr lag raha hai," Rajveer replied instantly.

Arminder shook his head,"Iski fikr mat karo. Iski shaadi main khud karwaunga."

"Chauhan!" Rajveer protested. "Dosti mein dhokha doge?"

"Fauji ho. Dhokha sehna seekh lo."

Tejas watched them quietly now.

Her earlier fear faded slowly.

The way they teased each other the way Arminder stood relaxed, not possessive, not suspicious something inside her loosened.

Rajveer leaned toward her conspiratorially. "Bhabhi ji, aap samjhaiye isse. Main abhi jawaan hoon."

She smiled softly. "Aap bhi kab tak bhaagenge?"

Arminder smirked faintly."Naam likh lo. Agla number iska hai. Jaldi hi shaadi karwate hain iski bhi."

Rajveer dramatically looked at the sky."Hey bhagwan, mujhe bachaiye."

All three stood outside the quarters now a few soldiers passed by, saluting casually.

Inside, the afternoon sun filtered through the verandah and rajveer finally remembered his "men's talk."
"Oh haan!" he snapped his fingers. "Chauhan, kal desert patrol ka schedule change hua hai. Major saab ne bola hai tumhe batane ko."

Arminder nodded immediately, expression shifting to professional calm."Kab?"

"Subah briefing mein bata denge. Bas alert rehna."

"Hmm."

Rajveer's tone sobered slightly. "Tense sector hai."

"Pata hai," Arminder replied evenly.

For a second, silence settled that was duty returning.

Reality grounding them again.

Then Rajveer clapped his hands once.
"Chalo, main chalta hoon. Warna bhabhi ji sach mein rishta nikaal lengi."

Tejas protested gently, "Maine sirf kaha tha.."

"Bas wahi kaafi tha!" Rajveer laughed.

He started walking away, then turned and called out,"Chauhan!"

Arminder looked up.

"Khush rehna."

It was casual but not entirely arminder gave a short nod. Rajveer nodded at Tejas and left she watched him disappear down the lane then she turned toward her husband.

He was already unlocking the door she hesitated,"Aapko bura toh nahi laga?"

"Kis baat ka?"

"Main... itni baat kar rahi thi."

He paused mid-motion looked at her directly."Yeh fauj hai. Yahan sab ek parivaar ki tarah rehte hain. Aise sochti rahogi toh..asal mein rehen do kuch din mein apne aap samajh aa jaayegi."

She nodded slowly."Theek hai."

He opened the door and stepped aside for her to enter first as she passed him
She caught that faint, rare smile again on his face and this time she knew.

She had not overdone anything.

Not today.

The house felt smaller in the afternoon.

Outside, the Rajasthan sun had turned harsh. The sand reflected light like fire. Inside the quarters, the single ceiling fan rotated lazily more noise than relief.

There was no television.

Not in officers' married quarters like these.

One small Murphy radio sat on the wooden shelf near the window. A stack of old newspapers. A steel trunk. Two chairs. One bed.

That was all.

Arminder had removed his cap and belt. His olive shirt sleeves were folded neatly. He sat on the wooden chair near the window, newspaper open, posture straight even while resting.

Every few minutes, he turned a page.

Calm.

Occupied.

Tejas sat on the edge of the bed.

Still in the same pink saree.

Same bangles.

Same open hair.

Now slightly damp at the neck because of heat.

A drop of sweat slid down her back slowly.

She resisted the urge to wipe it dramatically. Subah se taiyaar hoon... ab badal loon toh ajeeb lagega? If he had gone to duty She would have quietly changed into a cotton suit.

Tied her hair.

Lied down for an hour.

But he was here.

On casual half-day.

Because desert patrol briefing was shifted to early next morning. He wasn't "trolling" her. He simply had nowhere urgent to be.

And Arminder Singh Chauhan was not a man who fidgeted or forced conversation. He could sit in silence for hours. Comfortably.

She could not.

She adjusted her pallu again. The bangles clinked softly. He glanced up briefly. Then back to the newspaper.

The radio crackled faintly All India Radio playing distant classical music between news segments. The fan squeaked. A dog barked outside.

Silence again.

Her back straightened.

"Chai bana doon?" she asked suddenly.

"Abhi pi thi," he replied without looking up.

"Haan."

Silence.

She stood up anyway.

Went to the tiny kitchen space. There was nothing much to do. No mixer. No refrigerator. No electric kettle. Just a stove. Steel utensils. A clay matka for water.

She unnecessarily rearranged the spice boxes. Folded the cloth near the stove. Checked the dough though it didn't need checking. From the other room, she could feel his presence.

Steady.

Unmoving.

Her hair stuck slightly to her cheek now.

The kajal she had applied so carefully felt heavier in the heat.

Zyada ho gaya.

Yesterday she felt inferior.

Today she felt overdressed.

Life seemed determined to keep her unbalanced.

She returned and sat again.

This time on the chair opposite him.

He finally lowered the newspaper halfway.

"Kya baat hai?"

She blinked. "Kuch nahi."

"Subah se tum teen baar 'kuch nahi' bol chuki ho."

Her lips parted.

She hadn't realized.

He folded the newspaper fully now and placed it on his lap.

The room suddenly felt more serious.

"Garmi lag rahi hai?" he asked.

She nodded slightly.

"Toh badal lo."

Her heart skipped. Am
"Aise hi theek hoon."

He looked at her properly.

From head to toe.

Not in desire.

Not in judgment.

Just observation.

"Yeh registan hai. Yahan roz itna taiyaar rehna mushkil hoga."

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her saree.

"Maine socha... aapko achha lagega."

There.

It slipped out.

He was quiet for a second. Then "Achha lagne ke liye itni mehnat ki zarurat nahi hoti."

Her breath caught.

He continued calmly, "Subah jo tha, theek tha. Par roz aise rahogi toh thak jaogi."

No teasing.

No mockery.

Just practicality.

She looked down at her hands.

Bangles sliding slightly with sweat.

The pink saree now heavy in the afternoon heat. Fan still useless.
He leaned back in his chair."Tejas."

"Haan?"

"Yeh ghar hai. Parade ground nahi."

The words settled slowly. She absorbed them. Then her mind, as usual, started again."Aap... roz aise akhbaar padte hain?"

"Haan."

"Radio bhi?"

"Haan."

"Aapko gaane pasand hain?"

"Kabhi-kabhi."

"Kaun se?"

He raised an eyebrow faintly.

"Poore prashn-patr ki taiyaari kar ke baithi ho?"

Her cheeks turned pink instantly.

"Nahi... bas..."

He studied her for a moment.

Understanding dawning quietly.

"Mujhe kya pasand hai janna hai tumhe?"

She nodded slightly.

"Taki khud kar sako?," he finished.

Silence confirmed it.

He exhaled softly."Meri baat dhyaan se suno aur dimag mein baitha lo."

She looked up.

"Mujhe jo pasand hai, woh main khud kar leta hoon. Tumhe karne ki zarurat nahi hai. Khud ka khayal rakhna aata hai mujhe. Biwi nahi chahiye thi.."

Her throat tightened unexpectedly.

She had not realized how tense she had been."Lekin shaadi toh.." she began softly.

"Kitni baar bolun. Maine kaha tha shaadi nahi karni thi," he interrupted evenly. "Par maine yeh nahi kaha tha ki tum mujhe prabhavit karogi toh bakiyon ki tarah tumhe main..."

The fan creaked overhead.

Outside, someone shouted a distant command. Inside, something shifted.

She hesitated again. Then the next question slipped out before she could stop it,"Aap itna shaant kaise rehte hain?"

He actually almost smiled at that.

"Training."

"Bas?"

"Bas."

She studied him.

Boots placed neatly near the door.
Watch kept precisely on the table.
Newspaper folded straight.

Bottles from CSD still in the brown paper bag near the wall. Her eyes flickered to them. Then back to him.

Questions rising again.

But this time She held them back.
Instead, she stood up slowly."Main badal kar aati hoon."

He nodded once."Cotton pehen lo."

She walked inside, heart lighter than it had been all day. For the first time since morning She wasn't trying to be impressive.

Just comfortable. The desert post was quieter than people imagined.

No dramatic gunfire.

No constant shouting.

Just long stretches of wind, sand, and watchfulness.

Captain Rajveer Singh Rathore stood near the temporary sandbag bunker, binoculars hanging around his neck, sleeves rolled up, cap tilted slightly back.

Arminder's patrol shift had been reassigned for the next morning.

So Rajveer had taken this one.

"Sector clear," a jawan reported.

Rajveer nodded. "Nazrein khuli rakho. Aaj hawa tez hai."

The sun was dipping lower now, turning the desert orange.

Footsteps approached from behind.
Another officer. Fresh posting by the look of him uniform crisp in a different way. Not yet worn into the body.

"Captain Rathore?" the man asked.

Rajveer turned.

"Haan."

"Lieutenant Raichand. Kal hi report kiya hai."

Rajveer extended his hand immediately.

"Swagat hai registan mein, Lieutenant."

They shook hands.

The grip was firm.

Confident. Lieutenant Kunal Raichand was younger mid-twenties. Sharp jawline. Clean posture. Eyes that observed more than they revealed. "Pehla desert posting?" Rajveer asked casually.

"Haan."

"Do hafte mein aadat ho jaayegi. Paani zyada piyo. Aur hawa se dosti kar lo."

Kunal allowed a small smile.

"Ji."

They stood side by side, scanning the horizon.

Small talk began the way it always did in remote postings.

Academy batches.

Previous stations.

Common seniors. Turns out they had mutual acquaintances from training circuits. "Arre, Sharma ko jaante ho?" Rajveer grinned. "Woh jo parade mein gir gaya tha?"

Kunal's expression shifted into amused recognition. "Haan. Uska ghutna ab tak theek nahi hua."

Laughter broke the stiffness.

The desert didn't feel so empty anymore.

After half an hour of routine observation, conversation drifted lighter. "Yahan shaam ko karte kya ho?" Kunal asked.

Rajveer shrugged. "Radio. Cards. Ya phir purani filmon ki baatein."

"Filmein dekhte ho?"

"Jab chhutti milti hai."

Kunal nodded. "Mujhe bhi shauk hai."

Rajveer's eyes lit up. "Achha? Kaun si heroine pasand hai?"

It was harmless.

Normal.

Men posted in isolation clinging to city conversations.

Kunal hesitated for a fraction.

"Zyada socha nahi."

Rajveer laughed. "Jhooth. Har aadmi sochta hai."

Wind blew across the sand. Rajveer leaned casually against the bunker wall. "Arre suna hai, Bombay mein ek nayi model kaafi mashhoor ho rahi hai."

Kunal's posture stiffened almost invisibly."Kaun?"

"Naam yaad nahi aa raha..." Rajveer snapped his fingers lightly.
"Aree woh abhi debut film aa rahi haina uski woh..Raichand... kuch tha. Tara Raichand."

The name slipped out naturally.

Without calculation.

Without intent.

But the moment it hung in the air The atmosphere changed. Kunal's jaw tightened. Just slightly. His eyes did not leave the horizon. But his shoulders squared.

Rajveer noticed immediately.

Years in uniform sharpen instincts.

"Kya hua?" he asked lightly.

"Kuch nahi," Kunal replied.

Too quick.

Rajveer tilted his head.

"Jaante ho kya?"

Then,"She's my sister."

The desert wind felt colder suddenly.

Rajveer blinked. For once Speechless.

"Achha..." he managed.

Silence stretched between them.

Rajveer replayed his own words in his head. And now he was standing next to her brother. Worse He had, at some level, always appreciated Tara Raichand's beauty.

From a distance.

From magazines.

From whispered cantonment gossip.

He cleared his throat.

"Maine bas suna tha naam. Waise hi bol diya."

Kunal's voice remained controlled.

"Haan."

But something in his eyes said He had heard the tone earlier. Not crude. But appreciative. Rajveer straightened.
Professional mask slipping back into place."Waise bhi," he added calmly, "main zyada filmi nahi hoon."

A faint lie.

Kunal glanced at him finally.

Measured.

"You know her?"

"Sirf naam se."

That part was true.

Mostly.

They stood quietly again.

But now awareness hummed beneath the surface.

Rajveer sensed it.

The protective instinct.

The territorial tightening.

He respected it instantly. After a few minutes, Rajveer spoke again more serious now. "Dekho, Lieutenant. Yahan post par ek cheez zaruri hai."

Kunal waited.

"Peechhe ka sab peechhe. Yahan sirf uniform."

The message was clear.

No sisters.

No models.

No personal territory.

Just duty.

Kunal studied him.

Then nodded once.

"Samajh gaya."

The tension eased slightly.

Not gone.

But redirected.

A jawan approached with a flask.

"Chai, saab."

They both accepted steel cups.

As they sipped in silence, Rajveer's mind betrayed him for a second.

Tara Raichand.

He had admired her photographs once. Her sharp features. Her confident eyes. He had imagined Casually. Idly. Nothing serious.

But now There was a name attached.

A brother.

A reality.

And for the first time That admiration felt... complicated. He glanced sideways at Kunal. Strange. The world felt smaller in desert postings.

Very small.

Rajveer cleared his throat lightly.

"Waise," he added dryly, attempting to lighten the air, "agar kabhi milwaana ho toh pehle bata dena ki bhai saamne khada hoga."

Kunal's expression flickered.

Almost amused.

Almost warning.

"Zarurat nahi padegi."

Rajveer chuckled softly.

"Dekhenge."

But inside For the first time Captain Rajveer Singh Rathore was aware that admiration had just crossed into something far more personal.

And dangerous.

The desert had grown darker.

Wind sharper.

The kind of evening where conversations became quieter... but more layered.

Captain Rajveer Singh Rathore did not mention the name again.

Not directly.

He wasn't foolish.

And Lieutenant Kunal Raichand was not naïve. Both were officers. Both trained to read pauses. So Rajveer adjusted. Subtle. Measured. They stood with rifles slung, scanning through binoculars in intervals. After a long stretch of silence, Rajveer spoke casually,"Bombay interesting jagah hogi."

Kunal didn't look at him. "Haan."

"Fauj se bilkul alag."

"Bahut."

Rajveer nodded, as if discussing weather.

"Ghar wale wahin hain?"

A slight pause.

"Haan."

"Progressive family lagte ho."

That one was deliberate.

Kunal's jaw shifted slightly.

"Har cheez ko log progressive nahi maante."

There.

A crack.

Rajveer leaned his elbow on the sandbag casually. "70s hai," he said lightly. "Desh badal raha hai. Log bhi."

"Sab nahi," Kunal replied evenly.

Rajveer took a slow sip of chai.

"Filmon ki duniya toh aur tez badal rahi hogi."

No reaction.

Or at least Very controlled."Tumhare ghar mein... asaan raha hoga?" Rajveer continued, tone neutral. "Aise shehar mein reh kar alag raasta chunna."

Kunal finally turned his head slightly.

"Aasaan?" he repeated.

A dry sound escaped him. Almost a laugh."Nahi."

Rajveer did not push.

He waited.

Silence stretched.

Wind moved sand across their boots.

Then Kunal spoke, voice lower now.

"Hamare ghar mein ladkiyon ka bahar kaam karna bhi bada kadam maana jaata hai. Aur jab woh kaam..." He stopped.

"Public ho," Rajveer finished gently.

Kunal's eyes hardened slightly.

"Haan."

There was no accusation in the look.

Just protection.

Rajveer kept his tone calm.

"Log baatein karte honge."

"Roz."

"Parivaar par asar padta hoga."

"Padta hai."

A beat passed.

Then Rajveer said, carefully, "Phir bhi usne chuna." Kunal's gaze drifted back to the horizon.

"Zid hai usme." Something shifted in his voice. Not anger. Pride. But Hidden. "She always had it," he added quietly. Rajveer stored that away.

Zid.

Interesting.

"Opposition zyada mila hoga," Rajveer continued, as if discussing social change, not a woman.

"Bohot."

"Ghar se?"

Kunal hesitated. Then nodded once.
"Hamare pitaji army mein hain. Discipline. Reputation. Log kya kahenge... sab maayne rakhta hai."

Rajveer felt something click internally.

Of course.

Army family.

Honor.

Uniform.

And a daughter choosing modeling.

Bombay.

He understood the tension immediately."Phir?" Rajveer asked.

Kunal's voice grew quieter."She left."

The wind swallowed the words for a second."Matlab ?"

"Apni marzi se. Without permission."

That hung heavy.

Rajveer didn't react visibly.

But inside That image formed sharply. A young woman walking away from an army household. Against expectation. Against reputation. Choosing spotlight over safety. In a time when gossip could ruin families.

Bold.

Reckless.

Or brave. "Industry saaf nahi hoti," Kunal added after a moment. "Log samajhte hain bas glamour hai."

Rajveer's eyes flickered slightly.
"Haan," he said slowly.

Kunal continued, voice steady but tight underneath,"Wahan har cheez ke daam hote hain. Har mauka seedha nahi milta."

He didn't elaborate.

He didn't need to.

Both men understood the undertone.

Rumors.

Compromises. The kind of whispers that float around film studios. Rajveer's jaw tightened slightly. "Tum chinta karte ho," he observed.

"She's my sister."

Simple.

Clear.

Protective.

Rajveer nodded once. Inside, however Something else was happening. He had admired Tara Raichand from a distance before. Her photographs.

Her confidence.

Her sharp gaze in magazine clippings.

Now There was history behind it. Rebellion. Family conflict. Risk. Scandal. Courage. It didn't reduce her in his eyes.

It intensified her. Not just beautiful. But Defiant. Not just glamorous Stubborn enough to walk away from a colonel father's authority.

That was not small.

Rajveer adjusted his stance, hiding the flicker of interest behind composure. "Zindagi apni hai," he said calmly. "Parivaar ke liye mushkil hota hai kabhi-kabhi."

Kunal studied him for a long second.

As if measuring intention. Rajveer met his gaze evenly. No smirk.

No hunger.

Just soldier to soldier.

After a pause, Kunal said quietly,
"Log bahut bolte hain. Par main jaanta hoon meri behen kaisi hai."

There was steel in that sentence.

Rajveer respected it instantly. "Phir toh bas wahi maayne rakhta hai," he replied.

Silence settled again.

But now it wasn't awkward.

It was layered.

Rajveer did not ask another question.
Did not mention her name. Did not push further. He didn't need to.

He had learned enough. Army family.
Strict father. Left home for ambition.
Facing judgment. Fighting quietly and still rising.

The desert wind hit his face.

He exhaled slowly. Some men saw a famous face in a magazine. Rajveer now saw a challenge.

And for a man like him That was far more compelling. Afternoon in the desert had a way of stretching time.

The fan rotated lazily overhead.
The radio had gone silent after the two o'clock news.

And the house felt... still.

Too still.

Tejas stood near the small window now, fingers lightly holding the wooden frame.

Outside Blinding sunlight. Dry wind. A stray dog sleeping under a jeep's shadow. One jawan cycling slowly across the lane.

That was all.

No fields.

No buffaloes.

No women sitting in courtyards cutting vegetables together.

No clay floors to smooth with wet hands. No well to draw water from.

In her village, even silence had activity.

Here There was only heat. And this man. Arminder sat in the same wooden chair, newspaper folded differently now, reading the editorial section. One leg crossed over the other. Face expressionless.

He did not fidget.

Did not hum.

Did not comment on headlines loudly.

He simply read.

Occasionally, he would stand, walk to the steel tumbler, drink water from the matka, and return.

Controlled movements.

Economical.

She watched him from the corner of her eye. She shifted her weight.
Adjusted her now-changed cotton suit
light yellow, much more breathable than the saree. Hair tied in a loose braid now. Face washed.

No kajal.

Much simpler.

But even now She felt awkward.
Because there was nothing to do.
She couldn't lie down casually. Couldn't nap. Couldn't hum loudly.
Couldn't roam. She sat on the bed.

Stood again.

Rearranged the already arranged trunk. Folded her dupatta twice.

Unfolded it.

Sat again.

Arminder did not comment.

But he noticed. After nearly twenty minutes of this silent restlessness He folded the newspaper."Tejas."

She straightened instantly."Haan?"

"Tum pareshaan lag rahi ho."

"I'm not," she replied quickly.

He waited. She sighed softly. "Yahan... karne ko kuch nahi hai."

There.

Honest.

He leaned back in his chair slightly.
"Gaon mein kya karti thi?"

She blinked. "Subah uthkar paani bharna. Maa ke saath rasoi. Kabhi bhains ko chara dena. Kabhi aangan saaf karna. Pados mein jaana..."

Her voice faded. Here, none of that existed. "Yahan sab kuch alag hai," she added quietly.

"Haan."

No sympathy.

Just fact.

She hesitated, then asked,"Koi kaam ho toh bata dijiye."

He almost frowned at that. "Kaam?" he repeated.

"Haan."

"Yeh fauj ka quarter hai. Yahan roz mitti nahi leepni hoti."

She looked down slightly, embarrassed.

He stood up then. Walked toward the small shelf. Adjusted the radio knob absentmindedly. Static filled the room briefly. Then silence again. He turned to her. "Tumhe kya pasand hai?"

She froze.

Pasand?

No one had asked her that before.
She opened her mouth then Closed it.

"Pata nahi."

He studied her face."Gaana?"

Her cheeks burned. She twisted her fingers nervously. "Thoda sa."

He looked at her,"Acha?"

She nodded.

He crossed his arms,"Chalo sunao."

She looked up at him. Then blinked. Then immediately looked down.

"Nahi."

"Kyu? Itna bura gaati ho?"

She frowned. Offended then looked up with a hint of pride and smugness,"Sabko toh acha hi lagta tha ghar pe."

He tilted his head,"Gao phir. Acha gapgi toh Unit ke independence day function pe tumse gana gawanyge."

She shook her head,"Nahi gaungi."

"Aree agar acha gaati ho toh..."

"Main nahi gaungi."

"Kabhi na kabhi toh gaogi phir dekhenge"He looked at her for a second then moved on,"Toh Silai?"

"Aati hai."

"Padhai?"

She hesitated."Dasvi tak."

"Kitabein?"

"Zyada nahi padhi."

He nodded slowly. Thinking. Not judging. "Yahan shaam ko officers' wives milti hain," he said after a moment. "Mahine mein do baar."

She looked up."Kisliye?"

"Welfare activities. Silai, bachchon ki padhai, kabhi kabhi function ki taiyaari." That sounded... structured. Organized. Not lonely. "Tum bhi ja sakti ho."

"Par main kisi ko jaanti nahi."

"Jaanti ho jaogi."

Simple.

Again.

She watched him. "Aap thaakte nahi akele rehke?" she asked suddenly.

He almost gave a half-smile.

"Thankne ki aadat nahi."

"Kabhi bhi?"

"Training mein aadmi seekh leta hai khud ke saath rehna. Phir akelepan se thakta nahi hai."

The statement sat heavy.

She processed it.

He picked up his newspaper again but didn't open it."Tejas."

"Haan?"

"Fauj ki zindagi mein aadmi aksar akela rehta hai. Posting alag. Parivaar alag. Kabhi desert. Kabhi border."

She listened carefully.

"Agar tumhe khud ke saath rehna nahi aaya, toh mushkil hoga. Akele kaise rahogi jab main nahi rahunga yahan."

Not harsh.

Not soft.

Just warning.

She swallowed.

In her village, she was never alone.
Here Even with him in the room She felt alone. "Koshish karungi," she said quietly.

He nodded once."Seekh jaogi."

Silence returned.

But it felt slightly less suffocating now.

She sat down again.

This time, not fidgeting immediately.
After a few minutes, she spoke again, "Main silai kar sakti hoon. Agar kapde ho toh."

"Kal bazaar se le aayenge."

Her eyes widened slightly."Sachiii?"

"Haan. Par roz subah 4 baje taiyaar hone ki zarurat nahi." There it was again. Dry humor. Barely visible.

She almost smiled. Offended.

Almost.

Outside, a jeep passed.

Inside, the fan kept rotating.

The climate was Hot.

Disciplined.

And somewhere between boredom and adjustment a young bride was learning that marriage here wasn't about constant attention.

It was about endurance.

And finding something of her own Even in silence. By evening, the house finally had purpose.

Tejas stood in the small kitchen space, sleeves slightly rolled, hair tied properly now. The stove flame burned steady beneath the iron kadhai. Cumin crackled in hot oil. She added chopped onions carefully, evenly.

The familiar rhythm soothed her.

This she knew.

Spices measured by instinct. Salt by feel. Masala roasted till the exact shade. She even smiled slightly when the aroma filled the quarter.

On the side, dough rested under a damp cloth. She planned fresh rotis. Maybe jeera rice too. She wanted everything ready before he asked.

From the other room, Arminder sat polishing his boots.

Sharp strokes and Cloth moving in straight lines. Occasionally he glanced toward the kitchen when the scent grew stronger. "Bahut teekha mat banana," he said casually.

She frowned instantly."Nahi main toh mirch zyada nahi..."

"Kal wali sabzi mein mirch zyada thi."

Her eyebrows pulled together.

Inside her head Mirch zyada thi? Gaon mein toh sab ko pasand aayi thi...But aloud she only said softly,

"Is baar dhyaan rakhoongi."

He made a small noncommittal sound. She added tomatoes to the pan with a bit more force than necessary.

The spoon clinked sharply.

He noticed.

Didn't comment.

She was just about to roll the first roti when there was a knock on the door.

Three sharp raps. Arminder stood up immediately and opened it. Outside stood a senior JCO's wife and her husband. Warm smiles. "Aaj aap dono hamare yahan khana khaayenge puri unit hai wahan aaj aapke intezar mein," the lady announced cheerfully.

Tejas froze inside. What?

Arminder nodded politely. "Zarurat nahi thi."

"Arre nayi bahu aayi hai unit mein. Pehla dinner toh hamare yahan hi hoga." Tejas looked helplessly at the half-cooked sabzi.

The carefully kneaded dough. The laid-out steel plates. The effort. The excitement. All dissolving. "Humne khana bana liya hai," she said softly.

The lady smiled kindly. "Kal phir bana lena. Aaj mana nahi karna."

It wasn't a request.

It was tradition.

Arminder turned toward her. "Band kar do. Chalna hai." Just like that.

He stepped back inside. She stood there for two seconds, staring at the kadhai. Inside her head Itni mehnat... subah se soch rahi thi dinner banaungi...

She pressed her lips together. Her mother's voice echoed in memory Pati se behas nahi karte. Ghar ki shanti sabse pehle. So she turned off the stove silently and Covered the food. Then Wiped the counter.

But her brows were still slightly knitted. He saw it. "Koi baat nahi," he said simply.

She nodded.

But inside..

She was arguing with him fiercely.
Kal ka kya? Aaj banaaya tha... aapne toh taste bhi nahi kiya...He went to change. She stood in the middle of the room, confused again. What to wear?

Morning overdressed.

Afternoon simple.

Now Unit dinner.

If she dressed too much again then awkward. If too little then disrespectful. Her head spun. She opened the trunk. Pink saree lay folded. Cotton suits beside it.

She picked one up. Put it back. Picked the saree. Hesitated. From behind her, his voice came, "Woh mat pehenna."

She jumped slightly.

He stood near the door now, already changed into fresh olive-green trousers and a neatly pressed shirt. Hair combed back. Clean shave. Watch strapped firmly. He looked Sharp. Not smiling. Never smiling fully. But there was a quiet authority in the way he stood."Ky..kyun?" she asked softly.

"Subah pehen chuki ho." He walked closer. Opened the trunk himself. His movements were practical, not dramatic.

He took out the light blue cotton saree she had not yet worn."Yeh pehno."

She blinked."Aap... dekh rahe the?"

"Main andha nahi hoon."

Her cheeks flushed instantly. He held the saree out to her. Not tenderly. Not ceremonially. Just matter-of-fact. "Unit dinner hai," he said evenly. "Sab dekhenge."

Her stomach flipped. "Main theek lagungi na?"

He paused and looked at her properly.
Not quickly. Not dismissively. Just steady."Tum waise hi theek lagti ho."

Her breath hitched. He added immediately, tone firm,"Par kapde saaf-suthre hone chahiye. Party hai. Log dhyaan dete hain."

There.

He had balanced it.

Compliment swallowed inside discipline.

Still Her heart refused to behave normally. She took the saree from his hands. Their fingers brushed.

Barely.

Accidentally.

But she felt it like a spark. She changed quickly. When she stepped out Blue cotton draped neatly. Hair braided properly this time. Small bindi. No heavy makeup.

Simple.

Graceful.

He adjusted his cufflinks in the mirror. She stood a little away, watching him. Broad shoulders filling the shirt perfectly. Jaw sharp. Expression unreadable. He caught her reflection staring."Kya dekh rahi ho?"

She startled. "Kuch nahi."

"Phir se," he muttered.

Her lips twitched despite herself.

Then He stepped closer.

Adjusted the edge of her pallu slightly.
Not lingering. Not indulgent. Just correcting. "Seedha rakho. Girta rehta hai. Pair mein aayega chott lagegi.."

Her entire body went still. The touch was brief. Professional almost. But the proximity The warmth. The faint smell of his aftershave.

She could barely breathe. "Log paas baithenge," he said quietly. "Teekhe rang mat pehenna. Aaj yeh theek hai."

Her voice came out softer than intended."Haan."

He looked at her one last time.

"Chalo."

As they stepped out together into the warm Rajasthan night She walked beside him. Not behind. Not ahead.

And for the first time that day She wasn't confused. She wasn't inferior. She wasn't overdressed. She just felt Chosen. In the smallest, strictest, most controlled way possible.

And that was enough to make her blush all the way to the unit dinner.

The unit dinner was not loud.

It was disciplined.

Even in celebration.

Rows of tables had been set in the small community hall near the mess. White covers. Steel cutlery polished to mirror shine. A faint smell of mutton curry and fresh tandoori rotis lingered in the air.

Ceiling fans spun above.

Officers stood in small groups olive uniforms replaced by pressed civilian shirts and trousers. Some senior wives wore crisp sarees, hair set neatly, posture confident.

Tejas paused at the entrance.

For a second It felt like stepping into another world. Soft laughter.

Measured voices. Glass tumblers clinking. She adjusted the edge of her blue saree instinctively. Arminder stood beside her. Straight-backed. Composed. As if he belonged to every room he entered.

"Chalo," he said evenly. They walked in together. Heads turned briefly. New bride.

Grenadiers Company Commander's captain's wife. Polite smiles followed.

"Namaste."

She folded her hands gently.

"Haan, namaste," Arminder responded to a senior officer, voice firm but respectful.

She stayed half a step behind him again.

Observing.

Absorbing.

And then She saw him change. Not dramatically. But subtly. He smiled.
Not the rare private one But a social one. Controlled, easy. He greeted seniors smoothly."Good evening, sir."

"Ji, sab theek."

He even chuckled lightly at something one Major's wife said. Tejas blinked. He laughs like this too? He wasn't stiff. He wasn't distant.

He was... comfortable. She admired him. The way he stood. The way he listened. The way others respected him without him demanding it. Pride bloomed quietly in her chest.

But then A lady in a deep maroon saree stepped closer. "Captain Chauhan, aapki shaadi mein nahi aa paaye. Mubarak ho."

He nodded politely. "Dhanyavaad."

She laughed lightly. "Ab toh aapko mess ke dance functions mein bhi aana padega."

He smirked faintly. "Dekhenge."

The woman touched his arm casually while laughing at something another officer said. Tejas felt something sharp in her stomach. It was small. But real.

Her mother's voice again Paraye aadmiyon se doori rakho. Parayi auraton se pati ko bhi door rakho. Yet here Everyone was talking.

Freely.

Men and women.

Laughing.

Standing close.

It felt... wrong.

Or maybe New.

Her brows drew together slightly.
Inside her head, she argued fiercely.
Itna paas kyun khadi hai? Haath kyun lagaya? But outside She stood graceful. Smiling gently. Nodding when spoken to. Then someone announced music. A small record player near the corner crackled to life. Soft instrumental music filled the hall.

Couples moved toward the open space. Tejas stiffened.Dance? She had heard of it only in films. "Chalo, Singh," someone teased. "Nayi dulhan ko floor par lao."

Her heart jumped into her throat.

Arminder looked at her.

Not romantic.

Not dramatic.

Just assessing.

"Aata hai?" he asked quietly. She shook her head almost imperceptibly. He extended his hand."Bas chalna hai. Kuch aur nahi." Her fingers trembled as she placed her hand in his.

The hall seemed brighter suddenly.

Too bright.

His palm was firm. Warm. He placed his other hand lightly at her waist careful. Respectful. Correct distance.

Not intimate.

But close enough for her breath to shorten."Pair dekh kar mat chalo," he murmured.

"Haan," she whispered.

She stepped on his shoe.

Instantly.

He didn't react. "Dheere," he said calmly. She wanted the ground to swallow her. Around them, other couples moved easily. Laughter. Spins.

Soft claps.

She was hyper-aware of everything.

His hand.

His proximity.

The way other women seemed so confident. And suddenly She imagined. Before her these same floors. Different sarees.

Different women.

Him.

Unmarried.

Laughing.

Dancing like this.

With them.

Her stomach tightened painfully.
She missed a step again. This time he steadied her slightly."Dhyaan se," he said under his breath.

Not scolding.

Just focused. From across the hall, she spotted Rajveer. Captain Rajveer Singh Rathore was in his element.

Unmarried.

Free.

He twirled a senior officer's daughter dramatically, making her laugh loudly. He bowed exaggeratedly. People clapped. Even Arminder smirked faintly watching him. " Yeh nahi sudhrega," he muttered.

Tejas watched Rajveer.

So easy.

So unbothered.

And she thought Shaadi se pehle... kya yeh bhi aise hi the? Did Arminder laugh like that? Did he joke like that?

Did he hold other women's hands this way? The music slowed. They stepped back. Her cheeks were flushed.

Not just from movement.

But from something heavier.

Later, while dinner plates were being served, she stood with a group of wives. One lady smiled knowingly. "Captain Chauhan academy mein bade popular the."

Tejas's heart skipped."Ji?"

"Regimental balls mein sabse zyada invitations inhe milte the."

Another wife added playfully, "Dance bhi bahut achha karte hain." Her fingers tightened around her plate.

Popular.

Invitations.

Dance.

Her mind betrayed her instantly.

Imagining him in crisp uniform.

Different women laughing beside him.

Hands linked.

Music playing.

Her chest felt tight.

She nodded politely.

Inside she wasn't the first one for him.
She knew it was foolish. Men had lives before marriage. But no one had prepared her for this reality. On the other side of the hall, Arminder was speaking to a senior officer.

Calm.

Composed.

Occasionally smiling.

Looking every bit the confident Army captain.

And she...

Stood there, smiling softly. While her mind ran wild. Jealousy was new to her. Sharp. Uncomfortable. Almost embarrassing. But it refused to quiet down. When she glanced at him again He caught her looking.

Just for a second.

He gave a brief nod.

As if asking if she was alright? She nodded back automatically. Haan.
She wasn't. But he didn't know. And tonight She didn't know how to say it either.

The desert night had quieted down by the time they left the Mess. The laughter still floated faintly behind them, mingling with the clink of crockery and distant generator hums.

Someone had pressed wrapped sweets into Tejas's hands, someone else a steel dabba of kheer "for later," and one elderly Subedar's wife had tucked a small embroidered handkerchief into her palm as if blessing her into womanhood.

Tejas walked beside him, arms full, chin lifted.

Inside, however, she was a storm.
"Bilkul aise hi hansi aa rahi thi unko. Har kisi se. Har kisi se."

Her bangles clinked sharply as she adjusted the gifts. One packet slipped.

Before she could bend, he did.

Arminder picked it up without a word. Then another that tilted. Then calmly shifted two heavier parcels from her hands into his own.

"Aaram se pakdo," he said evenly. "Warna sab gira dogi."

She tightened her lips.

"Main giraungi? Aap to sab sambhaal sakte hain. Sab se baat kar sakte hain. Sab ke saath hans sakte hain."

Outwardly, she only nodded."Ji."

They walked the rest of the way in a thin silence, boots crunching gravel. The night wind carried sand and the faint smell of diesel from parked Army trucks.

Inside the quarters, the moment he shut the door the light went out.

Complete darkness.

For a second, she froze. Then from somewhere outside, a soldier's amused voice floated in the distance, "Generator bandh ho gaya, Saab!"

Arminder exhaled softly. "Waah."

Tejas stood very still in the dark, gifts pressed against her chest. The night suddenly felt too close. Too quiet. Too aware.

He moved first. She heard the table scrape lightly. Then the matchbox strike.

A small flame bloomed between them.

In that flickering orange glow, his face appeared sharp jaw, unreadable eyes, uniform sleeves rolled neatly. The shadow of his profile stretched tall against the wall. He lit the hurricane lantern. Soft yellow light filled the room.

For a brief, unguarded second, her eyes lifted to him. He looked impossibly composed. As if nothing tonight had stirred him. As if dancing with women, laughing with officers, teasing Rajveer was all just air to him.

He placed the parcels down on the table. Then turned toward her.
"Wahan trunk mein rakho."

She moved mechanically. But inside,"Regimental balls." "Academy days." "Kitni ladkiyon ke saath dance kiya hoga."

One of the officer wives' words replayed in her ears: "Arre, Captain Chauhan to academy ke zamaane se hi bada mashhoor tha dance floor par."

Mashhoor.

Her throat tightened.

She knelt to place the sweets inside the trunk, but the dupatta edge got caught. She tugged, annoyed.

It slipped suddenly and the remaining small packets tumbled from her hand. A soft thud. For a moment she just stared at them.

Arminder was beside her again.

He didn't sigh. Didn't scold. He simply crouched down and gathered them in one steady motion. His hand brushed hers briefly as he picked up the embroidered handkerchief.

The contact was accidental.

But her breath betrayed her.

He paused just half a second as if registering it. Then stood."Aaram se," he said in that same measured tone.

Bas careful.

Nothing more.

He placed everything properly inside and shut the trunk lid.

She remained kneeling for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
"Savdhan rehna mujhe hi hai. Aap to sab jaante hain. Sab seekh liya hai."

He removed his watch and placed it on the table. The lantern light caught the broad veins of his forearm as he unbuttoned his cuffs.

She turned away quickly."Mat dekho."

But she did.

Only for a second.

He rolled his sleeves further up and moved to pour water from the steel jug into two glasses. He handed one to her without looking directly at her.

She accepted it.

Their fingers didn't touch this time.

The silence wasn't heavy but it wasn't light either. Outside, a distant dog barked. Somewhere, someone laughed loudly probably Rajveer, still energized, still carefree.

She imagined him at the Mess even now, slapping backs, dancing with someone's daughter, grinning.

And her mind, cruelly, painted Arminder doing the same years ago.

Smiling. Spinning someone. Leaning closer. Her chest tightened.

She set the glass down perhaps a little harder than intended. The metal made a sharp sound. His eyes lifted. Not questioning. Just observing. "Tum thak gayi ho," he stated.

It wasn't a question.

She shook her head quickly."Nahin."

The word was soft. Controlled.

He studied her for a moment longer than usual. Then nodded once. "Good. Unit dinners will happen often."

Often.

Her heart dropped a little further.

He moved to the small cupboard, took out a folded shawl, and placed it on the chair.

"Generator will start in some time. Change before that." There was no softness in the instruction. But there was consideration. He turned away to remove his belt.

She quickly looked down, face heating."Itna saamne?"

He wasn't careless. He wasn't intimate either.

He simply existed in the same room as a man comfortable in his own skin.

She stood slowly, gathering her dupatta. Halfway to the washroom curtain, she paused. Looked back. He was standing near the table, lantern light cutting across his features, shadow framing his shoulders.

Calm.

Unreachable.

Her irritation softened despite herself. "Aise kaise rehte hain aap? Bilkul pathar jaise."

And yet...

When all the packets had fallen he had picked up hers first. Not his.

Hers.

The generator roared back to life suddenly.

The tube light flickered on.

The moment shattered. He blinked once at the brightness and turned toward her."Jao," he said simply.

She disappeared behind the curtain.

And in the tiny washroom, leaning against the cool wall, Tejas pressed her fingers to her warm cheeks.
"Mujhe farq kyun pad raha hai?"

Outside, Arminder stood very still for a brief second. Then he picked up the fallen ribbon from the floor the one that had slipped unnoticed from her gift packet and placed it neatly on the table. Expression unchanged but his jaw slightly tighter than before.