Chapter 16: His 'Possesiveness'

Karan found himself growing increasingly irritated throughout the day, and he couldn't quite understand why.

It started in the morning during training. Naina was paired with Captain Prajapati for hand-to-hand combat demonstrations. Karan had fought Prajapati many times—he was skilled, sure, but not that skilled. Yet here Naina was, listening intently, following his every instruction, even laughing at something he said.

"Maza aa raha hai tumhe?" Karan muttered under his breath as he watched them spar.

Then at lunch, he noticed her sitting with a group of trainees, grinning as they all talked animatedly. One of them—a younger recruit named Arif—was joking about something, and Naina threw her head back in laughter. Karan's jaw clenched. Since when did she find these trainees so amusing? She used to sit near him at meals, sometimes even scolding him to eat more.

By evening, his mood had fully soured. During weapons training, Naina was talking to Captain Jain about swordsmanship, listening with an almost admiring gaze. Karan, standing nearby, gritted his teeth. He had trained her too, hadn't he? She never looked at him like that.

He told himself he was being ridiculous. This was Naina—the same stubborn, infuriating girl who argued with him at every chance. He had no reason to feel... whatever it was he was feeling.

And yet, as the day wore on, Karan found himself watching her more closely, his irritation only growing each time she smiled or laughed with someone else.

That night, Karan sat at his desk, the dim lantern light casting flickering shadows on the walls of his cabin. The day had left him restless, his emotions tangled in a way he didn't quite understand. He opened his diary, the only place where he allowed himself to be brutally honest.

"Aaj kuch ajeeb tha. Naina din bhar doosron ke saath thi. Hansi-mazaak, baatein, training—sab kuch par main bas door se dekh raha tha. Kyun? Kyunki mujhe yeh pasand nahi aaya. Yeh ajeeb hai. Yeh galat hai. Usse kya farq padta hai ki woh kisse baat kar rahi hai, kis par hansti hai? Mujhe kyun parwah ho rahi hai?"

He paused, gripping the pen tighter.

"Mujhe gussa kyun aa raha hai?"

With a frustrated sigh, he shut the diary and threw it aside, rubbing his temples. Yeh bas ek bekaar soch hai, bas ek din ka chhota sa kissa. He convinced himself that by morning, he would forget all about it.

But sleep didn't bring him peace either.

In his dream, he saw Naina—standing in the training ground, holding a plate of food. He smiled, expecting her to bring it to him like always. But then, she turned—walked right past him—and placed it in front of Captain Jain.

She smiled at Jain as she tore a piece of roti and fed him with her own hands. His hands.

Karan's chest burned. His fists clenched. His jaw tightened.

And just as Captain Jain smiled back at her, Karan shot up from his sleep, his breath uneven, heart racing.

For a moment, he just sat there in the darkness, blinking, trying to shake off the bizarre possessiveness gripping his mind.

"Kya bakwaas sapna tha yeh!" He muttered, running a hand through his hair. But the worst part? The sinking feeling in his chest didn't fade.

The next morning, before the sun had fully risen, Karan was already outside, pacing near the training grounds. His eyes kept darting toward the direction of the trainee tents, waiting for Naina to appear. His mind was still unsettled from the ridiculous dream he had last night, but instead of shaking it off, he decided to act.

Main pehle jaunga. Captain Jain nahi sikhayega usse combat, main sikhayunga.

He had barely finished his thought when Naina emerged from her tent, stretching her arms with a sleepy expression. Before she could even step toward the training area, Karan was already walking toward her.

"Tum kahaan ja rahi ho?" he asked, hands behind his back, voice as casual as he could make it.

Naina blinked, confused. "Training ke liye, aur kahaan?"

"Accha? Aaj se tumhari combat training main lene waala hoon."

She raised an eyebrow. "Par aaj tak toh Captain Jain mujhe sikhate the—"

"Aaj se nahi sikhayenge." His tone left no room for argument.

She crossed her arms, looking at him suspiciously. "Kyun?"

"Bas. Maine decide kar liya." He avoided her gaze, looking completely indifferent, though his mind was working hard to come up with a reason. "Tumhari technique perfect nahi hai. Mujhe laga mujhe khud dekhna chahiye."

Naina smirked slightly, tilting her head. "Kya tumhe lagta hai ki Captain Jain mujhe galat sikhayenge?"

Karan clenched his jaw. "Main keh raha hoon ki bas aaj se main tumhe sikhayunga. Zyada sawaal mat poochho."

Before she could protest further, he turned and motioned for her to follow him. She huffed but complied, picking up her combat gear.

As she walked behind him, she couldn't help but shake her head in amusement. "Pata nahi kyun lag raha hai ki tum kuch aur prove karna chah rahe ho, Karan."

Karan's steps faltered for a fraction of a second, but he didn't look back. "Bakwas mat karo, Naina. Training pe dhyan do."

And just like that, Captain Jain never got the chance to train her that morning.

From that day on, Karan found himself everywhere around Naina.

During combat training, he stood right behind her, adjusting her stance with his hands on her shoulders or arms—always under the guise of "correcting her form." When they practiced sword fighting, he paired himself with her instead of letting another trainee be her sparring partner. During morning jogs, he ran beside her, making sure she wasn't lagging behind—though she never did.

"Dhyan se maaro, Naina," he ordered during hand-to-hand combat drills, grabbing her wrist mid-attack. "Agar tum aise haath ghumaaogi toh apna balance kho dogi."

She gave him an exasperated look. "Itni pareshaani hai toh tum hi sikha do sab kuch."

Without hesitation, he tightened his grip on her wrist, twisting it ever so slightly to demonstrate. "Main sikha hi toh raha hoon." His voice was firm, commander-like, but there was something else in his eyes—something unreadable.

Even at mealtimes, he somehow always ended up sitting next to her. If she moved to a different spot, he would simply follow as if it were coincidence. At night, when everyone prepared to sleep, his watchful eyes instinctively found her before he retired to his own tent.

Despite all this, Karan never let his strictness waver.

If she made a mistake, he was the first to call it out. "Yeh kya tha, Naina? Dhyaan kahaan hai tumhara?"

If she slowed down even slightly, his sharp voice cut through the air. "Agar yeh asli jung hoti toh ab tak mar chuki hoti!"

And yet, she felt something off. He was being too present, too involved. But before she could question it, he would already be barking another order.

And Karan?

Karan told himself it was just about training. Just about discipline.

Then why was he so hyperaware of every little movement she made?

As the sun cast its golden glow over the training camp, Karan focused on his morning warm-up. His muscles tensed and flexed with every push-up, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His breath was steady, controlled.

But his rhythm was broken when a messenger arrived, handing him a sealed letter.

Karan wiped his hands on his trousers before tearing the letter open. His eyes moved swiftly over the words, his expression darkening with each line.

A new law.

A law that would exploit farmers.

The Britishers were setting another trap—one that would force the poor farmers into heavy taxation and land loss. It was a calculated move, one that would ensure complete British control over agriculture, turning hardworking farmers into bonded laborers under the Crown.

Karan clenched his jaw. "Kamine... phir ek aur chaal?" He exhaled sharply, crumpling the paper in his fist.

At the bottom of the letter, his informant had mentioned one critical detail—the man who was going to approve this law was none other than a British official arriving in Rajasthan in the next two days.

Karan's mind raced. "Agar yeh qanoon lagu ho gaya, toh ek aur bhookmari aayegi." Farmers would lose their land, their livelihoods, their families.

He couldn't let that happen.

But to stop it, he had to act fast. He had to know exactly what was in the law before it was officially passed. And most importantly, he had to get rid of the British official who was bringing this disaster upon them.

Karan's fists tightened. This wasn't just a fight on the battlefield anymore.

This was war of a different kind.

Just as Karan was lost in thought, strategizing his next move, a familiar voice broke through his storming mind.

"Commander? aapko budhapa aa gaya hai? Main kabse bula rahi hoon!" Naina's voice carried its usual sharpness, but there was a hint of playfulness hidden within.

Karan looked up, his intense expression still fixed from reading the letter. Naina stood with her hands on her hips, eyebrow arched in mild irritation.

"Tum yahan akelay kya soch rahe ho? Khana thanda ho raha hai." She stepped closer, eyeing the crumpled letter in his hand.

For a brief second, Karan considered telling her everything. But he pushed that thought aside. This wasn't something she needed to worry about.

Instead, he inhaled deeply, shoving the letter into his pocket.

"Main aata hoon." His voice was firm, composed.

Naina narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "Aise kya ghoor rahe the us kagaz ko? Koi prem patra likha hai kya?" She smirked, crossing her arms.

Karan let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Mujhe tumse behas karne ka waqt nahi hai, Naina." He brushed past her, heading toward the dining area.

But Naina wasn't one to let things go easily. She jogged beside him, her teasing tone unwavering. "Zyada sochne se baal safed ho jaate hain, sahab. Dhyan rakhna."

For the first time that evening, Karan felt the weight in his chest lighten—just a little.

But deep down, the storm in his mind hadn't settled. It was only getting stronger.

Karan sat down with Captain Jain and Captain Prajapati, his expression grim as he placed the letter on the wooden table before them. The mess hall buzzed with the voices of trainees and soldiers, but the weight of the letter made the three men oblivious to their surroundings.

"Yeh dekho," Karan said, tapping the paper. "Angrez naye kanoon ki taiyaari kar rahe hain. Kisano ke liye nuksaan daayak hoga. Unka zameen aur paani pe haq kam ho jayega."

Captain Jain picked up the letter, his brows furrowing. "Angrez sirf apne faayde ka sochte hain. Par sawal yeh hai ki hum ise hone se kaise rokein?"

Captain Prajapati leaned back, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Humein yeh dekhna hoga ki faisla kaun le raha hai. Jo aadmi is par hastakshar karega, wahi iska asli zimmedar hoga."

Karan nodded. "Ek aadmi hai—ek British officer. Ussi ki mohar lagegi. Agar hum usse rokein, toh yeh kanoon pass nahi hoga."

A brief silence filled the air before Jain let out a sharp breath, lowering his voice. "Maine ek baat suni hai us aadmi ke baare mein. Ek afwah hai ki woh auraton ka deewana hai. Jab bhi kisi aurat ke saath raat guzaarta hai, woh uske badle kuch bhi karne ko tayyar ho jata hai."

Karan's jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists on the table. "Toh tum keh rahe ho ki humein kisi aurat ko uske paas bhejna hoga?" His voice was laced with quiet anger.

Captain Prajapati exhaled slowly. "Agar usse rokhna hai, toh yeh ek tareeka ho sakta hai. Warna hum bas baith kar dekhenge ki woh kisano se unka sab kuch cheen le."

Karan remained silent, his mind racing. The thought of using such a method made his stomach churn, but they were running out of time. If that law passed, thousands of farmers would suffer under British greed.

He needed a plan. And he needed it fast.

Naina had only come to call them for dinner when she heard their hushed voices. She paused near the entrance, listening closely. The moment she understood what they were discussing, she stepped inside, her arms crossed.

"Main jaungi," she declared, her voice firm.

All three men turned to her in shock. Karan's expression darkened immediately.

"Nahi." His voice was sharp, final.

Naina scoffed, taking a step closer. "Agar yahi ek tareeka hai toh mujhe hi jaana chahiye. Tum logon ke paas koi aur aurat nahi hai jo yeh kar sake."

Karan shot up from his seat, his chair scraping the floor loudly. "Kaha na, nahi! Yeh koi mazak nahi hai, Naina." His tone was harsher than intended, his fists clenched.

She met his glare without hesitation. "Mujhe bhi nahi lagta yeh mazak hai, sahab. Lekin agar hum yeh nahi karte toh kisano ka kya? Tumhe kya lagta hai, mujhe darr lagta hai? Main yeh kar sakti hoon."

Karan's jaw tightened. His chest burned with an unfamiliar rage—one he didn't understand himself. It wasn't just about the mission. The very thought of Naina going to that man—charming him, laughing with him, letting him touch her—made his blood boil.

Captain Jain and Captain Prajapati remained silent, watching the storm between their commander and the fiery trainee unfold.

Karan exhaled sharply. "Mujhe fark nahi padta ki tum tayyar ho ya nahi. Tum nahi jaa rahi ho. Yeh mera faisla hai."

Naina let out a bitter chuckle. "Hamesha apne faisle thop dete ho. Kabhi kisi aur ki sunoge bhi?"

"Jab baat tumhari suraksha ki ho, toh nahi."

A charged silence settled between them. But Naina wasn't one to back down. She stepped forward, voice steady. "Mujhe apni suraksha ki chinta nahi hai, mujhe apni mitti ki chinta hai. Agar tumhara gussa aur yeh zidd humare desh ki bhalai se zyada zaroori hai, toh keh do. Main peeche hat jaungi."

Karan clenched his jaw. He hated how right she was. He hated that she had put him in a position where his emotions were battling his logic. His possessiveness—because that's what it was—was getting in the way of the mission.

His fists tightened. His body was rigid as he forced the words out. "Theek hai. Tum aa sakti ho."

Naina blinked, a little surprised at his surrender. But before she could respond, he took a step toward her, voice low, deadly serious. "Lekin ek shart par."

She lifted a brow. "Kya?"

"Agar woh aadmi tumpar zabardasti karne ki koshish kare, toh bina soch samjhe usse maar dena."

Naina held his gaze. There was something different in his eyes—an emotion she couldn't quite place. Something intense. Protective. Almost... possessive?

She smirked. "Mujhe yeh shart manzoor hai, sahab."

Karan wasn't sure why, but even though he had won the argument on his terms, he felt like he had lost something else entirely.

The next night, they put their plan into motion. Arrangements were made meticulously—Naina would infiltrate the gathering where the British officer, William Harrington, would be present. The goal was to get close enough to him through his trusted associate, a man known for his vices, particularly his weakness for beautiful women.

Naina was given traditional attire that would allow her to blend seamlessly with the entertainment troupe. The plan was clear—she would perform, gain the man's attention, and subtly manipulate him into eliminating Harrington himself. This way, Naina and the team would not be linked to the assassination.

Karan, still reluctant, oversaw every detail with clenched fists and a tense jaw. He made sure Naina was armed with a hidden dagger, just in case. "Yaad rakhna, Naina. Tumhe sirf use behkana hai, lekin agar kuch bhi galat mehsoos ho, turant nikal jaana."

Naina gave him a confident smile, though she could see the unspoken concern in his eyes. "Main sambhal lungi, sahab."

As she disappeared into the night, Karan's gut twisted with unease. He didn't trust this plan—not because it wasn't strategic, but because it placed Naina in the middle of danger, and that was something he was struggling to accept.