Chapter 22: Wounds That Won't Heal

The next morning, the training camp was abuzz with activity. The rhythmic sound of boots hitting the ground, the sharp clang of weapons clashing, and the occasional barked orders from captains filled the air. The camp functioned as it always had, yet to Karan, something had fundamentally changed.

Naina had returned.

But not as a trainee.

She was now part of the medical team, a decision made by the head office after his relentless efforts. He had fought tooth and nail to bring her back, but when she finally stepped onto the campgrounds again, it wasn't as a soldier. She wasn't wearing her combat gear, nor did she stand in the lineup alongside the other trainees, ready for drills. Instead, she sat quietly among the doctors, tending to the wounded, her hands moving with practiced precision, her expression unreadable.

Karan spotted her the moment she arrived. His heart clenched at the sight of her in that medical uniform, an undeniable reminder that things were no longer the same. The Naina he had known—the one who ran beside him every morning, the one who challenged him, who threw sarcastic jabs at him between training sessions—was gone.

And it was all his fault.

But she was here. That had to mean something, right?

Taking a deep breath, he willed his feet to move. This was his chance. He had to talk to her, had to find the words that had evaded him for so long.

But before he could even say a word, she stood up.

And walked away.

He followed, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

"Naina—"

She didn't stop.

"Naina, ek baar toh sun lo—"

She came to a halt but didn't turn to face him. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet but edged with steel.

"Commander Karan Thakur, yahan sab aapko sunne ke liye tayaar baithe hain, mujhe chhodiye."

Her words sliced through him like a blade.

She didn't even look at him.

Didn't even acknowledge the pain that had kept him awake for nights.

And then, she disappeared into the medical tent, leaving him standing there, feeling something foreign—helplessness.

She wasn't going to listen to him.

She wasn't going to forgive him.

A strange kind of frustration clawed at his chest. He had faced battles, endured grueling missions, confronted death itself—but nothing compared to this. Nothing had prepared him for the agony of being treated like a stranger by the woman who had once been the closest thing to warmth in his otherwise disciplined, rigid world.

He raked a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. No. He wouldn't let it end like this. If she wasn't willing to talk to him, then he would make sure she had no choice but to be around him.

That day, during combat training, Karan "accidentally" took a rough hit while demonstrating a defensive move, the force of it sending him sprawling to the ground. Gasps echoed around him as blood trickled from his arm.

"Medical team bulao," Captain Jain called out immediately.

Moments later, Naina arrived. Karan's eyes sought her the instant she stepped forward, but her expression remained impassive, unaffected. She knelt beside him, carefully inspecting the wound, her fingers moving deftly, efficiently.

But there was no hesitation, no tenderness.

She applied antiseptic, pressing the cotton against his skin with a firm, almost indifferent touch. Karan hissed slightly at the sting, but the real pain came from the way she wouldn't meet his eyes, the way she didn't react at all.

He wanted to say something. Wanted to force her to look at him, to see him. But before he could, she was already done. She wrapped the bandage around his arm, secured it, and stood up.

"Aap theek hain. Agli baar dhyan se." Her voice was polite. Detached. Like he was just another soldier. Like he meant nothing.

And then she left.

The next day, he "tripped" during his morning jog, scraping his knee.

Naina came, treated the wound, and left without a word.

The evening after that, he took a "wrong block" during sparring, earning himself a deep bruise on his shoulder.

Once again, she arrived, applied the ointment, bandaged him, and left.

Each time, he sat there, waiting—waiting for her to react, to scold him, to at least acknowledge him. But she didn't. She simply did her duty and walked away, unaffected.

Even when her fingers grazed his skin, even when she was close enough for him to see the shadows under her eyes, there was nothing. No anger, no warmth, no irritation.

Just indifference.

And that... that was worse than anything he had ever imagined.

His patience was wearing thin. He had seen Naina yell, laugh, fight, break—but this? This cold silence? This was unbearable.

One evening, as she finished tending to his bruised knuckles, he finally spoke.

"Kya yahi reh gaya hai hum dono ke beech? Yeh khamoshi?"

She paused for the briefest moment. But then, without looking up, she replied, "Mere aur mere kaam ke beech sirf ek professional rishta hai, Commander. Aur aap mere ek patient hain."

A patient.

The words hit him harder than any physical blow ever could.

She wasn't angry.

She wasn't hurt.

She had simply... moved on.

Karan sat there, watching her walk away yet again, feeling something sink deep in his chest.

This was worse than hatred.

This was worse than an argument.

Because hatred at least meant she felt something. Anger meant she still cared. But this?

This was nothing.

And for the first time, Karan Thakur—the commander, the soldier, the man who had always been in control—didn't know how to fight it.

It had been days since Naina's return, yet she hadn't spoken a word to Karan beyond the necessary medical instructions. She treated his wounds with the same precision she treated every other soldier—distant, professional, and utterly indifferent.

But Karan was relentless. He didn't care if he had to get bruised a hundred times—if that was the only way to make her look at him, so be it.

That afternoon, while sparring with another captain, Karan deliberately loosened his grip on defense, allowing a punch to land straight against his jaw. Pain flared instantly, blood pooling inside his mouth. He ran his tongue over the split skin and smirked, spitting to the side.

"Achha punch tha."

The captain looked at him, brows furrowed in confusion. He had expected Karan to counter, to retaliate as he always did. But instead, Karan wiped the blood off his lip and walked straight toward the medical tent.

As expected, Naina was there, wrapping a bandage around another soldier's arm, her expression neutral, her hands steady.

She saw him enter, sighed, and motioned for him to sit without a word.

Karan obeyed, watching her closely as she dipped cotton in antiseptic and leaned in. The familiar scent of her soap and the warmth of her fingers, even if fleeting, sent an ache through his chest.

She dabbed the cotton against his lip, working with quick, practiced efficiency. The antiseptic stung, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his chest. He winced slightly, half-expecting her to scold him for being reckless, to roll her eyes and mutter something about his carelessness.

But there was nothing.

Not even a glare.

It frustrated him more than her anger ever could.

Before he could say anything, a voice cut through the tent.

"Yeh kya ho raha hai, Karan?"

Captain Jain stood at the entrance, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in sharp scrutiny.

Karan scoffed, looking away. "Kya?"

Jain took a few steps inside, his gaze flicking between Karan and Naina before landing on the fresh wound on Karan's lip. His expression turned knowing, and he let out a dry chuckle.

"Tu kya samajhta hai? Ki main andha hoon?"

Karan's jaw tightened. He didn't respond, and Jain took that as his cue to step even closer.

"Roz tujhe koi na koi chot lag rahi hai. Kabhi haath pe, kabhi maatha phat raha hai, kabhi kuch aur ho raha hai. Tu sach mein beparva ho gaya hai ya kisi aur wajah se jaan bujhkar gir raha hai?" Jain questioned his jaw tight.

Naina remained silent. She tied the last knot of his bandage and turned away, busying herself with organizing medical supplies.

Jain shook his head, smirking. "Tu pagal ho gaya hai, Karan."

Karan exhaled sharply, irritation creeping up his spine. "Bas rehne de, Jain."

Jain sighed, but then, lowering his voice, he muttered so that only Karan could hear—

"Jo bhi kar raha hai, uska koi faayda nahi ho raha."

Karan stiffened.

Jain's words hit harder than any of the bruises he had willingly taken.

Every wound, every excuse to get treated by Naina—it hadn't changed a thing. She still looked at him with the same detached professionalism, the same coldness.

She wasn't the Naina who used to challenge him at every turn, the one who would argue with him just for the sake of it, the one who laughed in between training sessions or sneaked sweets into his meals because he never ate enough.

She wasn't the Naina who had once stayed up late, listening to him talk about his mother, her eyes filled with understanding instead of judgment.

She wasn't the Naina he had pushed away.

And it was his fault.

Before Karan could respond, Jain clapped a hand on his shoulder and left, shaking his head in amusement.

Karan turned his gaze back to Naina.

She still didn't look at him.

For the first time in his life, Karan Thakur felt truly, utterly helpless.