The days without Naina felt stretched, endless. The sun rose and set, drills were conducted, orders were barked, but something fundamental was missing. Karan carried on with his duties with the same strictness, the same discipline, yet everything felt... hollow.
He noticed it in the smallest of things.
The mess hall was the first place where her absence hit him like a punch to the gut. For months, she had made it a habit of sneaking an extra piece of roti onto his plate, nudging it toward him with that infuriatingly sweet smile. "Commander, ek aur khaa lijiye. Aap toh aise bhi pathar jaise hard ho, zyada khaane se galti se bhi gol matol nahi honge!" She'd tease, her voice dripping with mischief. And no matter how much he protested, he always ate it.
Now, as he sat in the mess hall, staring at the plain meal in front of him, he felt the emptiness seep into his bones. No extra roti. No playful arguments. Just silence.
He forced himself to eat, but the food felt tasteless. He hated it. Not because of the cook, not because of the lack of spices, but because she wasn't there, pushing him to eat just a little more, making sure he was well-fed even when he didn't realize he was hungry.
The mornings were worse.
Karan had always been an early riser, but mornings used to be his favorite time of day because of her. Every single day, without fail, Naina would run beside him during their routine jog, despite having no obligation to do so. It had started as a challengeâher trying to prove she could keep up with him. "Aap sochte hain sirf aap hi itni taqatwar hain? Main bhi chal sakti hoon aapke saath!" she had declared one morning, stubbornly running at his pace, even though she was panting within minutes.
She had struggled at first, her breath heavy, her pace faltering, but she never gave up. With time, she got better, faster, stronger. Eventually, it became a habitâher running alongside him, giggling as she tried to match his long strides. "Aaj toh main jeet jaungi, dekhiye!" she would say, speeding up, only to trip or slow down a few minutes later. And every time, he'd smirk, shaking his head. "Sapne dekhna band karo, Rao."
But now, as he ran alone, his feet hitting the ground rhythmically, the silence was deafening. No teasing. No laughter. Just the sound of his own breaths, sharp and cold in the morning air.
He missed her voice the most.
Naina had a way of filling every space with warmth, with noise, with life. Whether she was talking endlessly about something insignificant or challenging his authority with her sharp wit, she had never let a single moment feel dull.
He missed her sarcastic remarks during training. "Commander, aapke exercises toh insaanon ke liye bane hi nahi hain! Yeh toh sirf aap jaise paththar insaan kar sakte hain."
He missed the way she would dramatically groan every time he added extra laps to their punishment drills. "Mujhe pura bharosa tha ki aap kal se kamzori dikhayenge, par nahi! Aap toh insaan hai bhi ya nahi?"
He missed her gigglesâthose soft, lighthearted sounds that had a way of making even the toughest days bearable. He missed the way she would roll her eyes at him, the way she would flick her long braid over her shoulder, the way she would nudge his arm when she thought he was being too serious.
God, he missed everything.
His frustration grew every passing day. It reflected in his behaviorâshorter patience, harsher punishments, a restlessness he couldn't shake off. The captains had noticed. His soldiers had noticed. Even the higher officials had subtly hinted that something seemed 'off' about him lately.
He didn't care.
Because no one seemed to understand that he had lost somethingâsomeoneâirreplaceable.
One night, after an exhausting day, he found himself walking toward her old tent again. His feet moved on their own, as if drawn by habit. But as he reached it, reality struck once more. The tent was empty. No traces of her remained.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Tumhe wapas aana chahiye tha, Naina." The words slipped out before he could stop them, whispered into the empty space.
But there was no one to hear them.
Turning on his heel, he walked away, the ache in his chest deeper than before.
It had been days, yet the pain hadn't lessened. If anything, it had grown stronger, wrapping itself around him like an unshakable chain.
And for the first time in his life, Karan Thakur, the unbreakable commander, felt utterly and completely lost.
The night was quietâtoo quiet.
Karan sat in his dimly lit tent, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair as he stared at the flickering lantern before him. Shadows danced against the canvas walls, the low flame barely illuminating the space, but he wasn't looking at them. His mind was far awayâlost in thoughts of her.
Naina.
He exhaled, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. Sleep had evaded him for days, but tonight, it felt worse. The weight in his chest, the hollow ache that refused to subside, made it impossible to even pretend. His cot lay untouched, the sheets crumpled from the countless nights he had spent tossing and turning, unable to find peace.
She had been gone for days, yet it felt like an eternity.
He could still hear her laughter, bright and teasing, echoing in the empty spaces of the camp. He could still see her running beside him at dawn, trying to match his pace, breathless but stubborn. He could still feel the warmth of her hand on his wrist as she shoved a plate of food in front of him, her voice scolding yet gentleâ
"Bhooke fauji jung nahi jeet sakte, Commander."
Karan clenched his jaw. His chest tightened painfully at the memory. Every time he had groaned and pushed the food away, she had insisted. Every time he had snapped at her to stop mothering him, she had rolled her eyes and piled more onto his plate anyway. And every time she had done that, he had taken it for granted.
But now? Now, there was no one to argue with him over meals. No one to coo at him to eat just one more bite. No one to steal food from his plate with a mischievous grin when he wasn't looking.
He ran a hand down his face, letting out a slow breath. Damn her.
The emptiness was unbearable.
His fingers curled into a fist as he stared at the lantern's wavering glow. He was Karan Thakurâthe man who had survived battles, betrayals, and bloodshed without ever flinching. The man who had buried his mother with dry eyes at the age of sixteen, who had never once shed a tear, not even in the darkest of moments.
And yetâ
A single tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it.
Karan inhaled sharply, almost in disbelief. His hand lifted, his fingers hesitating as they brushed against his face. It was wet.
A tear. A bloody tear.
His throat tightened as he let his hand drop, staring at the dampness on his fingers. What the hell was happening to him?
He had never cried. Not when he had stood over his mother's pyre, watching the flames consume the only woman who had ever loved him unconditionally. Not when his father had turned cold and distant, throwing him into a world where emotions were weaknesses. Not when he had nearly lost his men in countless battles, carrying their bloodied bodies back to camp, their screams still echoing in his mind.
But now, at almost twenty-nine years old, he was sitting alone in his tent, mourning a girl who wasn't even dead.
A girl who had stormed into his life with her sharp tongue and infuriating pride. A girl who had never feared him, never backed down. A girl who had made him feel somethingâsomething dangerous, something he wasn't ready to name.
And yet, he had pushed her away. He had doubted her, accused her of betrayal, humiliated her in front of everyone. The way her eyes had dimmed, the way she had ripped off her badge and thrown it at his feetâit haunted him. He had seen pain in those eyes, the kind that cut deeper than any wound.
And now, she was gone. Because of him.
He exhaled shakily, tilting his head back, closing his eyes. His jaw clenched as another tearâsilent, unwantedâslipped past his lashes.
He hated this. He hated how much he missed her. He hated how the camp felt lifeless without her presence, how food tasted like dust, how his own bed felt like a battlefield where sleep never came.
But most of allâ
He hated himself for being the reason she wasn't here anymore.
For the first time in years, Karan Thakur felt something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time.
Regret.
And it was unbearable.
Days had passed since Naina left the military, but her absence lingered like a wound Karan couldn't heal. The training ground felt empty without her presence. She had always been the first to challenge him, the only one who dared to mock his authority with that infuriating yet endearing defiance. Now, the silence in the camp gnawed at him.
Every night, he found himself standing outside her old tent, staring at the vacant space. Every morning, he searched for her in the line of trainees, forgetting for a moment that she was gone. His temper had worsened, and the captains had noticed. He pushed the trainees harder, snapped at the slightest mistakes, and grew more restless by the day.
And so, Karan did the only thing he couldâhe kept going to the head office, demanding her reinstatement.
The first time Karan stepped into the head office, he was met with indifferent glances. Officers carried on with their paperwork, barely acknowledging his presence. But his patience was already thin.
He walked up to the senior officer in charge, his voice clipped. "Major Thakur reporting. I need to discuss Naina Rao's resignation."
The officer, an aging man with sharp eyes, barely looked up from his documents. "Resignation cases are final, Major. If she chose to leave, it's not our concern."
Karan's jaw tightened. "Not your concern? She was one of our finest! Usne apni jaan daav pe lagayi iss fauj ke liye."
The officer sighed and set his pen down, finally looking up. "Aur usne khud apna badge chhod diya, yaad hai?" He leaned back in his chair. "Aapko samajhna hoga, Major Thakur. Discipline ka ek apna daayra hota hai. Agar usne faisla kiya hai toh wo khud aaye wapis"
Karan's fists clenched. "Wo sirf ek trainee nai hai! Agar usne resign kiya toh kisi wajah se kiya. Ek galti ki wajah se tum log use nikal sakte ho?"
The officer gave him a tired look. "Major, agar yeh personal matter hai, toh aapka yahan aana bekaar hai."
Karan's nostrils flared. "Yeh personal nahi, professional matter hai. Tum logon ko samajh nahi aa raha? Usne itne maheene diye iss fauj ko!"
But the officer only shook his head. "Major Thakur, yeh case band ho chuka hai. Jab tak wo khud nai aati, hum kuch nai kar sakte"
Frustrated, Karan stormed out. But he wasn't done.
He came again the next day.
And the day after that.
Each time, his patience wore thinner. He argued, he reasoned, he demanded. He spoke of her skill, her dedication, how she had saved lives, how she had done what no one else could. But every time, he received the same response.
"Agar use lautna hai, toh woh khud aaye."
But Karan knew she wouldn't. She was too proud, too hurt.
On his fourth visit, the officer looked at him, exasperated. "Major Thakur, aap kitni baar yahan aayenge?"
Karan's voice was sharp. "Jab tak tum log samajh nahi lete ki tumne ek galti ki hai."
The officer sighed. "Ek aakhri rasta hai."
Karan stiffened. "Kya?"
The officer tapped his fingers on the desk before speaking. "Woh ek achi medic bhi thi. Agar woh waapas aayegi, toh sirf medical team ka hissa ban sakti hai. Soldier ke roop mein nahi."
Karan's jaw locked. This wasn't what he wanted. She had fought for her place as a soldier. She belonged in the battlefield, not just the medical tents.
But it was better than nothing.
He exhaled sharply and nodded. "Send the letter."
Meanwhile, Naina had returned home that night, exhausted, emotionally drained. Her father had welcomed her with open arms, but she could see the disappointment in his eyesânot for her, but for what had happened to her.
Her mother sat beside her as she stared blankly at the walls of her childhood home. "Beta, tu thik hai?"
Naina didn't know how to answer. Her voice was hollow. "Pata nahi, Maa... Dil bhaari lag raha hai. Jise apna samjha tha, usi ne apni nigahon mein girane mein ek pal nahi lagaya."
Her mother gently cupped her face. "Lekin yeh mat bhool ki tu kya thi aur kya hai. Jo tera hai, woh tujhe laut kar milega."
But Naina didn't want to return. Not after the humiliation. Not after Karan's words had cut deeper than any blade ever could.
Yet, fate had other plans.
After days of Karan's persistence, the head office finally gave in. They could not reinstate her as a trainee, but they recognized her medical expertise. A decision was madeâNaina Rao would return, but not as a soldier.
She would return as a part of the medical team.
When the official letter arrived at her doorstep, she hesitated. This wasn't what she had left for. She had wanted to fight, not just heal. But a part of her knewâthis was a chance to be back where she truly belonged.
Her hands trembled as she held the letter. She had expected anger to bubble up, but instead, there was a strange sense of relief. Perhaps this was fate's way of telling her that she was meant to return, just not in the way she had imagined.
Her mother watched her carefully. "Kya likha hai?"
Naina took a deep breath. "Mujhe medical officer bana rahe hain."
Her father's brows lifted slightly. "Aur tu jayegi?"
A long silence followed. Then, Naina exhaled slowly and nodded. "Haan."
Her mother smiled softly, brushing her hair back. "Toh phir deri kis baat ki? Samaan bandh."
With a deep breath, Naina packed her things once again.
She was going back to the military.
But this time, things would be different.