Chapter 20: 'The Weight of Regret'

As they returned to the training camp, a heavy silence hung over the group. The mission had been a success—James Whitmore was dead, and the girls were safely relocated. But Karan's mind was burdened with frustration. A report had reached him that the British were growing suspicious. They had discovered that some unknown individuals had been spotted near the site of Whitmore's assassination. Though no direct evidence pointed towards the military camp, the risk of exposure was higher than ever. And it all happened on the same night Naina was involved.

Karan stood in the training ground, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists as the captains and trainees gathered around. Naina was among them, her face still carrying the grief of her grandmother's passing. She had barely spoken since returning, and the weight of everything sat heavy on her shoulders. She hadn't even gotten the time to mourn properly.

But Karan, blinded by his frustration, had no patience left.

"Tum bata sakti ho ki Britishers ko shak kyun hone laga?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a whip.

Naina blinked in confusion, looking at him. "Kya?"

He stepped forward, his piercing eyes locked onto hers. "Kya tumne unhe koi naya reason diya shak karne ka?"

Murmurs spread among the trainees. Captain Jain and Captain Prajapati exchanged wary glances. Karan was always strict, but there was something different today—his voice held an edge of accusation.

Naina took a step forward, her own exhaustion starting to turn into irritation. "Aap kya kehna chahte ho, Commander?"

Karan scoffed, shaking his head. "Main kehna chahta hoon ki jis raat Whitmore mara gaya, ussi raat tum waha thi" He took another step forward, his face mere inches from hers. "Aur ab Britishers waha dekhi gayi logon ko dhoond rahe hain. Yeh coincidence ho sakta hai, ya phir..." He let his words hang in the air.

Naina's face paled. Her hands curled into fists. "Aap kehna kya chahte ho? Seedha bolo."

Karan's voice turned dangerously low. "Main yeh keh raha hoon ki kahin tumne unke samne koi aisi galti toh nahi ki, jiski wajah se hum sabki jaan khatre mein aa jaye?"

Gasps echoed among the trainees. It wasn't just an accusation—it was an attack on her loyalty.

Naina felt something crack inside her. She stepped back as if she had been physically struck. Her grief, her exhaustion, her frustration—everything boiled to the surface. "Aap mera vishwas karne ki jagah mujhpe shak kar rahe ho?"

Karan clenched his jaw. "Mujhe bas yeh pusht karna hai ki humari mehnat bekaar na ho jaye."

Naina let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. "Meri hi wajah se aap jeete ho, meri hi wajah se Whitmore maara gaya, aur aaj aap mujhe hi dosh de rahe ho?"

Karan exhaled sharply. "Mujhe sirf yeh jaan'na tha ki tumne koi naya problem toh nahi khada kiya—"

Naina's face twisted with pain and anger. "Mujhpe shak kar rahe ho, commander . Apko lagta hai main—main gaddar hoon?"

The word echoed in the training ground. Everyone was watching—her fellow trainees, the captains, the soldiers she had fought beside. And Karan—her commander, the man she had come to respect. And he had just accused her of betraying them.

Karan's silence was enough.

Naina took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to contain the emotions bubbling inside her. But something inside her shattered completely.

She reached for her badge—the one she had worn with pride since the day she joined. Without another word, she ripped it from her uniform and threw it at Karan's feet.

A stunned silence fell over the ground.

Karan's eyes widened slightly, his body frozen as the badge landed near his boots.

Naina's voice was quiet, but it cut through the tension like a blade. "Agar aapko mujhpe shak hai... toh main yaha ek pal bhi nahi rahoongi."

She turned around without another word.

Karan opened his mouth to say something, to stop her—but the words wouldn't come. He watched as she walked away, her back straight, her head high, but he knew—he had hurt her in a way that might never be repaired.

The badge lay on the ground between them, and with it, something unspoken shattered between them.

The journey back home was a blur. Naina walked through the dimly lit streets, her heart heavy, her mind clouded. The night air was cool against her skin, but she felt nothing. Her body moved on its own, her feet carrying her forward, but inside, she was breaking.

By the time she reached her house, the lanterns inside flickered softly, casting long shadows against the mud walls. She stepped through the doorway, her presence unnoticed for a moment—until her mother turned and gasped.

"Naina?" Her mother's voice was laced with confusion and concern. "Beta, tu yahan? Iss waqt?"

Her father, who had been reading by the lantern, looked up sharply. "Tu itni jaldi kaise aa gayi? Koi chhutti mili hai kya?"

Naina didn't answer. She stood there, unmoving, her fists clenched at her sides. Her clothes were still covered in dust from the training ground. The weight of the past few days pressed down on her, suffocating her.

Her younger brother, barely ten, ran up to her, excitement in his voice. "Didi! Tune humein bataya bhi nahi ki tu aaj ghar aane wali thi!"

Naina's lips parted slightly, but no words came out. She simply lifted a trembling hand and patted his head before walking past them all.

Her mother stepped forward. "Naina? Kya hua, beta?"

But Naina didn't stop. She moved as if in a trance, her legs carrying her to the small corner of the house where her grandmother's photograph rested on a wooden shelf. Fresh marigolds adorned the frame, and beside it, a small diya flickered, its flame steady and warm.

Naina sank to her knees before the photo, her shoulders shaking as she stared at the familiar, loving face. For so many years, this woman had been her guiding light. The one who held her when she cried as a child, who sang lullabies when she couldn't sleep, who taught her to be strong, to be fearless.

And now she was gone.

Tears blurred her vision. Her breath hitched as she reached out, her fingers grazing the wooden frame. A sob escaped her lips before she could stop it. She clutched the edge of the small table and bent forward, her forehead resting against her grandmother's picture as she wept.

Silent, heart-wrenching sobs.

Not just for the grandmother she had lost.

But for herself.

For the pain of being questioned. For the sting of betrayal in Karan's voice. For the way her loyalty had been doubted when she had risked everything—her life, her dignity, her very soul—for this fight.

Her mother knelt beside her, alarmed. "Naina? Beta, kya hua? Kisne kuch kaha?"

Her father frowned, stepping closer. "Sach bata, tujhe kisne rula diya?" His voice was stern, but she couldn't answer.

Naina shook her head, biting down on her lip to keep from sobbing harder. "Mujhpe shak kiya unhone..." her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "Mujhpe..."

Her mother's face paled. "Kaun? Kisne?"

She didn't reply. She couldn't. How could she tell them that the man she had come to admire, to respect—maybe even something more—had turned on her so easily? That he had looked her in the eye and questioned her honor?

Her brother tugged at her sleeve. "Didi, tu ro mat..." his small voice pleaded.

But she couldn't stop. She was exhausted. Shattered.

She had been strong for too long.

And now, in the quiet of her home, before the only person who had ever truly understood her—even if only in a photograph—she finally allowed herself to break.

And for the first time in a long time, Naina Rao felt completely, utterly alone.

The training ground was empty now. The air was still heavy with the echoes of what had just happened. Karan stood there, staring at the badge lying at his feet, his jaw tight, his hands clenched at his sides.

She was gone.

She had turned her back on him, on everything she had fought for, and walked away. And he had been the reason.

Karan exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling in his chest. His own words replayed in his mind like a haunting refrain. "Kahin tumne unke samne koi aisi galti toh nahi ki, jiski wajah se hum sabki jaan khatre mein aa jaye?"

His stomach twisted with guilt.

What had he done?

He had doubted her. Naina—who had risked her life to carry out the mission, who had walked straight into the lion's den without hesitation, who had succeeded where others would have failed. The same Naina who had fought beside him, endured every harsh training session, matched his fire with her own, never backing down.

And he had accused her of betrayal.

Karan closed his eyes, exhaling sharply. He knew what had driven him to say those words—fear. The fear of losing everything they had worked for. The fear of the British closing in on them. The fear of losing her.

He had been reckless, letting his frustration get the better of him. The British were tightening their grip, and his superiors had begun demanding answers—pressuring him to ensure nothing led back to them. And in his desperation, he had lashed out at the one person who least deserved it.

His fists clenched. He had seen it in her eyes—that raw pain, that heartbreak. He had seen how his words had cut deeper than any wound she had ever suffered in battle. And yet, he hadn't stopped himself.

Damn it.

Captain Jain approached hesitantly. "Sir... kya Naina waqai—"

"Bas." Karan's voice was dangerously low. The other captains fell silent. He didn't need to hear the rest of the question.

Naina wasn't a traitor. She never had been.

And now, because of his own damn foolishness, she was gone.

Karan let out a sharp breath and bent down, picking up her badge. He turned it over in his palm, his thumb grazing the emblem she had once worn with such pride. His throat tightened.

He had to make this right.

He had to bring her back.

Before it was too late.