Aashvi's Recovery and Dharam Singh's Harsh Order
Aashvi remained in the hospital for days, slowly recovering from the injuries she sustained during the mission. Every inch of her body ached, but pain was nothing new to her. She had faced worse. Yet this time, it wasn't the wounds that hurt the most.
It was the silence.
Dharam Singh had not visited her even once. Not a word, not a glance.
Then came the message.
A junior officer delivered a single folded slip—official and cold. It bore Dharam Singh's signature at the bottom.
"Aashvi, tum officially suspended ho. Report only after 15 days."
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reread the note. Her throat tightened. This wasn't just punishment—it was personal. She had disobeyed his command, risked her life for civilians... and now, she was paying the price.
The Longest 15 Days
Each day of her suspension felt like slow torture. The academy moved on without her—drills continued, missions launched, cadets trained—and she remained on the sidelines, invisible.
Mihir tried to visit. He texted and even waited outside her room once. But she ignored it all. She couldn't face anyone—not when she didn't know how to face Dharam Singh again.
The silence was louder than any punishment he could've given her.
And then, the day came.
The Long Walk to Redemption
Fifteen days.
Fifteen days without her badge.
Without her place.
Without his voice.
Now, she stood outside Dharam Singh's cabin. Her uniform was crisp, but her heartbeat uneven. That door had always meant guidance. Now it felt like a courtroom.
She knocked.
Come in, came the voice. Cold. Distant.
She entered and saluted sharply.
He didn't look up.
Dharam Singh (coldly): Tumhe pata hai yahan kyun bulaya gaya hai?
Aashvi: Yes, sir.
His eyes finally met hers, piercing, unreadable.
Dharam Singh: Tumhare jaise officers discipline ka naam kharaab karte hain. Tumne command tod diya. Apne aap ko danger mein daala. Kya expect kar rahi ho? Medal?
She stood her ground.
Aashvi: Sir, maine farz nibhaya. Bachchon ki zindagi daav par thi.
His voice rose.
Dharam Singh: Tumhara farz yeh bhi tha ki meri command ki izzat rakho! Yeh koi filmon ka scene nahi tha! Tumne yeh sab kisliye kiya? Dikhana chahti thi ki tum sabse daring ho?
He slammed a file shut, the sound sharp in the silent room.
Aashvi : Sir mujhe kisi pe trust nhi mera waha jana jaruri tha un bacho ke liye
Dharam Singh: so tum yeh keh rahi ho ki tumhe mere pe trust nhi
Aashvi: aisa nhi kaha
Dharam Singh: but matlab wahi hota hai as yeh mera mission tha. wo log mujhe chahte the
Aashvi (quietly): Nahi sir. Un logon ne aapka naam leke mazaak udaaya. Main seh nahi paayi. Maine socha main kuch kar sakti hoon.
A pause. Dharam Singh's expression changed briefly. A flicker of pain, quickly masked.
Dharam Singh (quietly but stern): Agar tumhari stupidity ki wajah se ek bhi jaan chali jaati... toh main khud ko maaf nahi kar pata. un logo ne jaan puch kar tumhe uksaya ki tum waha jao, and tumhari life khatre mai aa sake.
She looked away,
He walked past her, out the door, leaving her standing alone.
The Next Day
The morning drills resumed.
Aashvi joined the ground with stiff determination. Her eyes searched for him.
Dharam Singh stood at the edge, arms folded, instructing. Their eyes met briefly.
He looked away.
She flinched.
She performed exceptionally swift blocks, perfect takedowns. But every time she looked toward the instructor's post, Dharam Singh wasn't watching her.
Not once.
Later, she entered the strategy room, holding her completed assignment.
Aashvi: Sir, strategy submission for the Delta Mission.
He pointed silently to the submission pile without a glance.
She hesitated. Mujhse toh baat karlo, sir, she whispered.
No response.
During the covert ops briefing, she reported formally:
Aashvi: Team Delta, reporting, sir.
Dharam Singh: Agent Kriti will lead Delta.
Her breath caught. She had always led Delta. Always.
But now?
Nothing.
The Silent Punishment
Even in the cafeteria, she passed his table slowly, her heart foolishly hoping for a nod, a glance—anything.
He laughed at another instructor's joke.
She sat alone.
Weapons training? She hit every target with robotic precision.
Still, he ignored her.
Once, she blocked his path.
Aashvi: Sir... ek minute—
He brushed past without stopping.
Her eyes stung. She blinked back tears. This silence—this was worse than yelling. It was rejection.
Self-Discipline
The next morning, she was late by two minutes.
Only two.
But in the academy, even that was unacceptable.
She didn't take her seat.
She walked to the back, where latecomers stood, punished, and stood with hands on her ears. Not as a joke. Not in defiance.
With dignity.
She stood for five hours—no breaks, no water, no leaning on the wall.
She stood because she knew she had let him down.
And Dharam Singh noticed.
He didn't show it. Didn't say a word.
But he saw her. Again and again. Quietly.
The old fire in her was still there, but now with control. With remorse.
Shifting Air
The next day, during drills, he didn't pair her with him. She was assigned juniors. A subtle shift, but it cut deep.
Later, at the briefing:
Dharam Singh: Ashutosh, lead the infiltration protocol.
Her name wasn't called.
Outside the resource room, he walked past her. Responded to others.
Ignored her.
Still, she performed her duties. Ran drills. Filed reports. Helped juniors.
She didn't give up.
But every rejection dug a little deeper.
Journal Entry
"He's right. I crossed a line. I didn't think. I just... reacted. I thought I could fix everything. But I didn't just disobey. I broke trust. I hurt him. I deserve the silence."
A Turn
An elite agent from another division was injured.
The suspect from Aashvi's old mission resurfaced. The trail was hot again—24 hours to act.
Dharam Singh entered the war room. Tension crackled.
Dharam Singh: We split into three teams. Team C—Sector 9.
He handed files.
Then he reached her.
Their fingers nearly brushed.
Dharam Singh: Sector 3. You're lead. Report directly to me.
She blinked. A tiny nod.
It wasn't forgiveness.
But it was a beginning.
Late Night Report
After the mission, she sat on a bench, tired.
He walked up.
Dharam Singh: Your report?
She handed it over. Everything's in here. Sector sweep complete.
He flipped through. Quiet.
Dharam Singh: You didn't sit in today.
She frowned. "Sir?"
Dharam Singh: In the meeting. That chair next to me—it was empty again.
She gave a small, dry smile. Didn't feel like I earned it.
He looked up.
Dharam Singh: That wasn't your call to make.
She looked away. I know I messed up. I didn't think about the risk to the team. To... you.
Dharam Singh: That's the problem. You didn't think. You've always led. Always set standards. People follow you. So when you break the rules, they think it's okay.
Aashvi: It wasn't pride. It was guilt. Maybe... ego.
Silence stretched between them.
Dharam Singh (softly): You're not invincible. You're human. But that means being accountable.
She nodded. "I'll earn it back.
He closed the file slowly.
Dharam Singh: Good. Because whether I talk to you or not... I'm still watching.
For the first time, her chest didn't hurt with regret.
Instead, it held a quiet hope.
Not forgiveness.
But trust—beginning to rebuild.
How did it all start?
It's past 7 PM, and the training grounds are quiet, the evening breeze rustling through the trees. Aashvi stands by the obstacle course, arms crossed, watching the sunset, lost in thought.
Behind her, the new 19-year-old cadet, Anya, approaches hesitantly. Though small in stature, Anya has a determined look in her eyes, full of intelligence and courage. Aashvi had chosen her for a reason—she was smart, brave, and quick on her feet. Anya didn't just follow orders; she thought, adapted, and handled pressure well. These were qualities Aashvi admired, and she knew Anya had the potential to go far.
As Anya approaches, Aashvi glances at her, her sharp gaze assessing.
Anya(nervously): Ma'am... ek sawal poochhna tha, agar aap bura na maane toh?
Aashvi turns slightly, her expression unreadable but calm.
Aashvi: Pucho
Anya: Bas yeh... aapki story kya thi? Matlab... aap yahan kaise pahunchi? Aaj 5 saal ho gaye na aapko?
Aashvi exhales, half-smiling. She leans back against a wooden post.
Anya: 5 saal... kab nikal gaye pata hi nahi chala. Par haan, ek waqt tha jab main bhi tumhari tarah darr ke saath sawaal karti thi.
The cadet sits cross-legged on the grass, waiting.
Aashvi (looking up): Main sirf 18 ki thi... jab sab start hua. Us din college fest chal raha tha, par maine chhupke ek intelligence seminar attend kiya."
Flashback
He stood alone at the edge of the shooting range, arms folded behind his back, watching bullets tear through targets with robotic precision.
Dharam Singh Rathore.
40 years old. The most respected name in the Indian Intelligence Division — feared in corridors of crime and revered in rooms of strategy. Every junior dreamed of training under him, but Dharam had never taken a single cadet.
Why?
Because he wasn't looking for just another officer.
He was waiting for someone who could be more, not just a soldier, but the seed of a revolution. A mind that didn't blindly follow orders, but understood the silence between them. Someone sharp enough to challenge him and strong enough to survive him.
And for ten years, no one came close.
The Girl in the Crowd
18-year-old Aashvi Sharma was supposed to be at her college fest. That's what her parents believed when she left home in a plain kurta and baggy jeans. Instead, she had sneaked into an open seminar conducted by the National Security Bureau on "Modern Surveillance Techniques."
She had no ID. No invitation. Just a fake name badge, her wits, and an old backpack with scribbled notes on encryption, psychology, and hand-drawn blueprints of a building she'd observed near her college — a building later revealed to be a black site.
She listened from the back row — unnoticed, unbothered.
Until she raised her hand.
In a room filled with high-ranking officers, when a suited bureaucrat on stage tried explaining drone blind spots using outdated theory, Aashvi stood up and said:
Sir, aap 2018 ka case quote kar rahe ho. Us building mein 2022 ke baad chaar baar structural changes hue hain. Aapki line of sight solar panels ki wajah se compromise ho jaayegi.
The room fell silent.
The official stuttered. And how do you know this?
Main uske bagal mein rehti hoon," she shrugged. Aur main andhi nahi hoon.
A slow clap echoed through the auditorium.
Everyone turned.
Dharam Singh had entered silently through the side door. He had been watching. Listening. Judging.
In that moment, he saw the spark he'd waited a decade for.
Most cadets needed years of service and spotless discipline to even enter the National Officers' Auditorium.
Aashvi wasn't even a cadet.
She was an 18-year-old civilian girl in sneakers and a faded hoodie — who made her way past two layers of security and stood at the back of a hall filled with military officers, diplomats, and undercover agents.
She didn't come to watch.
She came to speak.
Day 1: The Spark
It started when she raised her hand during the Q&A.
The mic handler ignored her — until she stepped forward, crisp and calm, and said:
Agar humare intel models ab bhi 1999 ke protocols pe base hain, toh hum 2025 ke cyber infiltration models ko kaise beat karenge?
A few heads turned. One officer smirked.
Then she added:
I have a suggestion. Not theoretical — ek working model hai.
The hall went quiet.
From a dark corner seat, Dharam Singh's eyes sharpened.
He watched as a junior officer challenged her. She responded with bullet-point logic and a rough sketch from her notebook.
No stammering. No attention-seeking.
She wasn't showing off.
She was thinking out loud.
Dharam Singh didn't clap.
He whispered to himself:
Dimaag toh hai... par aag bhi hai kya?
And so began his 15-day silent observation.
Days 2–4: The Shadow Begins
He didn't approach her directly.
Instead, he changed his look — trimmed his beard, wore a café uniform for two days, and even posed as a parking guard outside her college.
She didn't recognise him.
He noted everything:
She refused to share answers during class tests.
She watched CCTV feeds from campus for fun.
She corrected a professor's decoding pattern — privately.
She sketched lock mechanisms while waiting for the bus.
Dharam thought: Yeh ladki sirf intelligent nahi, strategic bhi hai. Zindagi ko puzzle ki tarah dekh rahi hai.
Days 5–7: The Dual Life
He followed her home.
From outside, it looked ordinary. Inside, it was fractured.
Her father shouted a lot, especially when drunk. Aashvi didn't react.
She cooked, cleaned, helped her mother, then returned to her room by midnight — and spent the next 2 hours studying guerrilla tactics on her tiny phone screen.
She had bruises. Old ones. On her forearm.
No complaints. No self-pity. Just silence and survival.
Days 8–10: The Boundary Tests
He ran small tests.
He dropped a tracking device near her home — she found and disabled it within 20 minutes.
He leaked a fake job post from the Intelligence Bureau — she checked the backend source code and exposed it anonymously.
He paid a stranger to follow her in a market — she looped around, led the man to a dead-end, and stared him down until he ran.
Yeh patterns dekh rahi hai. Chillati nahi. Sochti hai.
Days 11–13: Cracks & Curiosity
But she wasn't perfect.
She dozed off in a café while finishing an encryption course.
She dropped a slip of paper with sensitive notes.
She opened up too easily to new people.
Emotionally raw. Needs pruning. Agar discipline nahi mila, toh yeh dangerous ho sakti hai," he noted.
Day 14: The Close Encounter
At a small café, Aashvi ordered coffee.
One hot Americano. No sugar.
A man behind her spoke, Add another one. On me.
She turned sharply.
I don't take coffee from strangers, And especially not the ones who seem to follow me.
Excuse me?
First, I saw you near my college two days back. Sitting near the security gate with a helmet you never wore. Then yesterday, outside my building in that yellow rickshaw, pretending to read the newspaper upside down. Now here.
She crossed her arms.
If you're planning to rob me, let me save you time — I don't have a single rupee. If you're thinking of kidnapping me, please do. My father will probably bless you and even offer a discount. The café went quiet.
Dharam nodded, impressed.
Presence of mind, hai, he muttered.
And you have zero skills in blending in. Now if you're done being creepy, I'll have my coffee in peace. Alone.
She took her coffee and walked away.
Dharam Singh — black ops trainer, war criminal interrogator — stood still, watching the girl walk off.
And he smiled.
Yeh submit nahi karti. Question karti hai. Observe karti hai. Guard karti hai.
That night, he wrote:
She noticed me thrice. No formal training. No surveillance tools. She relied purely on instinct and memory. She doesn't trust easy. She thinks fast under pressure. She protects herself with humour. Not weak. Just unschooled. Could be everything I've been looking for. If sharpened properly.
Day 15: The Trigger
The sun was beginning to dip as the final school bell rang. Laughter spilled onto the roads as kids flooded out of St. Rena's School — some with balloons, others clutching report cards, dragging their bags behind them.
Aashvi stood at the café opposite the school gates, sipping her iced coffee. Her eyes, however, weren't on the children.
They were on the three men across the street.
Dressed in mismatched school maintenance uniforms, they seemed to be fixing a small electric board. But Aashvi wasn't watching what they were doing. She was watching how they moved.
One of them had military-style boots. Another kept checking his watch every thirty seconds. The third had a faint earpiece, barely visible.
Her pulse rose.
She looked closer — bulges under their shirts, the way their eyes scanned — not like maintenance men, but like soldiers preparing for an entry.
And one of them had placed a small black duffel bag beside a vendor cart... not touching it again.
Her eyes widened.
She dropped her coffee mid-sip and started walking away from the school.
Fast.
Not running. Not attracting attention.
But fast.
A Few Minutes Later — Street Side Dhaba
She scanned the shops, her eyes flickering from one face to another.
Then she saw him.
That man from the coffee stall.
That same presence.
Now dressed in a plain t-shirt and jeans, seated on a plastic stool, tearing a roti and eating silently.
She rushed toward him.
"Excuse me," she said, panting.
Dharam Singh looked up calmly, chewing his bite.
"Yes?"
"There's a problem... near the school — St. Rena's. I think there's going to be an attack."
His expression didn't change. "Then go to the police."
She blinked, frustrated. "Look, I don't know who you are. But I've been watching you too. The way you blend in, how your eyes scan a room before you sit, the muscle structure, the walk — you're not just some chai-stall guy."
He stared at her, silent.
"I may be young," she continued, breathless, "but I've studied body language for years. I've read every defense memoir I could afford, trained myself to notice things. And what I just saw outside that school wasn't normal. There's something off. Please, just come and look."
Dharam Singh stood.
No questions. No dismissals.
He'd learned long ago that instincts like these don't lie.
Ten Minutes Later — Rooftop Near the School
Through his small binoculars, Dharam Singh scanned the area.
His jaw tightened.
She was right.
Men were moving in sync. Two had already slipped inside via the service entrance. The bag was gone. The guards were fake.
And now the front gate was being quietly shut.
"Code Black Alpha," he whispered into his concealed mic.
No response.
Lines were jammed.
This wasn't an exercise.
This was a real operation.
A school. Hundreds of kids.
And he had only one thing he could rely on.
He looked at the girl beside him.
Naam kya hai tumhara?
Aashvi.
He tossed a communication device to her.
Low raho. Instructions follow Karo. Tum ab team mein ho.
Kaunsi team?
He smirked. Welcome to the team.
What followed was chaos — and courage.
But which, khud confuse hai meko confuse kar raha hai.
But that... was only the beginning.
The Night Before
The school had already been cleared when the police finally arrived. Aashvi sat on the stairs, breathing hard, blood staining her sleeves — but none of it was hers.
Dharam Singh stood beside her. Not as a stranger, but as someone who had just witnessed what she was truly made of. She had fought beside him, and in that moment, something unspoken had passed between them.
One Week After the Attack
The sun blazed high over the remote government training facility, the heat of the day pressing down on Aashvi. Sweat trailed down her temple as she stood at attention. Her sharp eyes were fixed ahead — never blinking, never faltering.
Before her stood Dharam Singh, arms folded, his face unreadable.
He had personally chosen her name for specialized training. Not as a regular cadet, but as a prospect — someone with the potential to become his first official protégé.
Are you ready? he asked, his voice cold.
Aashvi hesitated for a moment. I don't know, she replied honestly. But I want to be.
A small smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth, only to vanish a second later.
Let's begin.
Flashback: Ten Years Earlier
The small apartment in the heart of Mumbai was dimly lit. Seven-year-old Aashvi sat near the door, her knees pulled to her chest.
Inside, the shouting echoed. Her father, his voice harsh, booming, venomous.
You're useless! A girl with books is as pointless as a knife made of paper!
Her mother stayed silent, a shadow in the corner of the room.
That night, as Aashvi wiped her tears, she picked up the comic book that had been thrown across the room. It wasn't the superheroes that had caught her interest — it was a single panel: an officer in uniform, saluting the nation. Brave. Strong. Respected.
That's when she made a promise to herself: I will never let anyone throw me away again.
Every day, after school, she practised kicks in the hallway when no one was watching. She watched martial arts videos she stole from cybercafés. She used broomsticks as weapons. She learned pressure points using kitchen spoons.
Books on psychology, military manuals, biographies of spies — she studied them under the dim light of her tube light, pretending to sleep.
She didn't have money, but she had will. And no one—not even her father—ever suspected what she was building in silence.
First Morning of Official Training
Aashvi was up at 4 AM sharp. Dharam Singh never gave her a schedule. But she knew he would be awake by now.
And he was. At 4:30, she found him standing in the vast open field, hands behind his back.
No greeting.
Just one sentence:
Why are your shoes not tied properly?
She froze. They looked fine to her, but she didn't argue. She bent down, re-tied them tighter than ever before.
He didn't say "good." He turned and walked. She followed.
The Unseen Tests Begin
The next few days were torture. Dharam Singh made her do push-ups while reading coordinates. He gave her a map with missing roads and told her to reach a point in thirty minutes.
He blindfolded her, dropped a small metal ball in the dirt, and told her to find it using only sound.
Not once did he say she did well. Not once did he offer encouragement.
But when she failed, his silence grew colder.
One Day, She Arrived Two Minutes Late
He didn't yell. He didn't punish. He just looked at her with cold, piercing eyes. For 22 seconds.
Those 22 seconds felt like a lifetime.
She whispered, "Sorry, sir."
He simply replied, "Then don't repeat it."
One Evening — The First Crack
After 14 hours of training, Aashvi's palms were bleeding from the rope climbs. As she walked back to her tent, she saw Dharam Singh in the distance.
For the first time, she turned away, not wanting him to see how tired she was.
Cadet Aashvi.
His voice stopped her.
She turned.
Yes, sir?
He looked at her hands, covered in blood. "Bleeding."
I'm fine," she replied.
You didn't report it.
I didn't want to stop the training.
Silence. Then, Training isn't about destroying yourself. It's about controlling yourself.
For a second, she thought he was softening.
But then he added, "Report late again... and you'll train barefoot tomorrow.
And just like that, the storm returned.
2 days later - 1:14 AM — The Long Walk
Aashvi couldn't sleep. The night was long, and the burned map from the earlier task haunted her. She ,in overconfidence,e missed an attack signal which could have costed lives. It wasn't the mistake that troubled her. It was the fact that there was no punishment.
There was no yelling. No drills. No orders.
Just silence.
And it crushed her harder than any physical pain ever could.
She lay in her tent, restless, turning again and again.
Finally, she sat up, breath heavy. Heart pounding.
She needed to own it. Not just the success of the hostage rescue, but the failure too.
She tied her boots, pulled on her jacket, and walked straight to the main cabin.
The lights in Dharam Singh's quarters were still on.
He never really slept. Not fully.
She stood outside, hesitant for a moment... then knocked.
A pause.
Then the door opened.
There he stood in plain grey clothing — eyes calm, unreadable, as always.
Cadet?
She straightened. Her voice was low but firm.
Sir, I came to ask for punishment.
He looked at her.
No reaction.
No confusion. No amusement.
He stepped aside and let her in.
Inside. His quarters. Sparse. Neat. Cold.
He sat across the table, not offering her a seat.
She remained standing — hands by her side.
You had your chance to speak after the recon task, he said.
I didn't deserve to speak then, Aashvi replied.
And now?
Her throat tightened.
But her voice didn't shake.
Now I know what I did wrong. I trusted myself too early. I didn't double-confirm the beam. I didn't study enough. I failed the test. If this had been real... I would've gotten my team killed.
A long pause.
He tapped the wooden table once.
You corrected it on the next task.
That doesn't erase the mistake, sir.
He looked at her more closely now — not as a superior, but as something else... something quieter.
Why are you really here, cadet?
Because I can't move forward unless I earn the right to.
Silence stretched.
He stood up. Walked around her. Then stopped behind her.
She didn't turn.
You think punishment will make you better?
No, sir. I know discipline will.
He nodded once, then spoke quietly — and it hit her like thunder:
Then earn it.
He walked past her, opened the back door of the cabin, and pointed to the open field where wind howled like a whispering beast.
30 laps. In full gear. No timer. No water. No stopping.
Yes, sir.
She turned to leave.
But then paused.
Sir?
He raised an eyebrow.
Thank you.
For the first time, just for a second, Dharam Singh's eyes softened.
Don't thank me yet, cadet. Thank me when you learn to punish yourself before I have to.
Outside. 1:41 a.m.
Aashvi ran in the freezing dark.
No clock. No footsteps beside her. No applause.
Just her. The wind. And the consequences she'd asked for.
It was dark.
Cold enough to cut through bone.
And there she was — running, or trying to.
Lap 17.
Aashvi's legs were trembling. Her uniform was drenched in sweat. Her boots felt like bricks. Every breath came out jagged.
She was not built like the others — not yet.
The others had trained for years before joining.
She had been chosen from the world of civilians.
But she kept running.
Every time her knees buckled, she'd slap her thigh hard and whisper, "Not yet. Not now."
She was hurting.
But she wouldn't stop.
From the Barracks
Zoya, the sharp-eyed sniper, peeked through the blinds.
She's still out there? she muttered.
Aryan, a lean combat expert, walked over and stared out.
That's... 17 laps at least. It's 3 in the morning.
Why is she even doing this?
Voluntarily.
The word stunned them both.
Aryan folded his arms.
You know what's weird? The commander never trains anyone personally. Not ever. But with her... he watches every move.
Zoya raised a brow.
Maybe he sees something in her.
Or maybe... she's changing something in him.
Lap 23
Aashvi's foot twisted. She hit the ground with a gasp — sharp, hard.
For a second, she just lay there.
The stars blurred above her.
She could almost hear her father saying, "You were never made for this. You're not enough."
But then—
Bootsteps.
She looked up.
Dharam Singh stood a few feet away.
Expression unreadable.
She scrambled to stand.
He said nothing.
Just watched.
I'm fine," she panted.
He didn't reply. Just nodded toward the field.
Lap 24.
She limped forward.
He stayed until she finished all 30.
Base Library – 2230 Hours
The large tent converted into a makeshift study room was silent. Papers rustled. Maps were spread. Books on insurgency, surveillance, coding — all laid open.
Dharam Singh sat at the centre table, scribbling notes, marking locations on an old, dog-eared map.
Then, without looking up, he spoke:
Aashvi. Come here.
She was standing near the entrance, holding a flask of coffee for herself — still hesitant around him, still unsure if she was wanted or tolerated.
Yes, sir?
Sit.
She sat. Quietly.
He pushed a file towards her.
Code these radio intercepts. Page 2. Top right. Your handwriting better be cleaner than yesterday's trash.
She blinked. Yesterday, she'd written notes in a rush during her weapons class.
He had noticed that?
Yes, sir.
Hours passed.
He taught, without explaining he was teaching. Every error was punished with more work. Every right answer got silence. But she started learning.
And she realised something: he called her often now.
Not to flatter. Not to praise.
But to shape her.
Flashback Ends
Aashvi took a deep breath, the weight of the past and the intensity of her journey settling within her.
Aashvi: "That moment, it was just the beginning of our bond. Many ups and downs came after that, but we stood strong. That salute... it meant more than words could say."
Anya, still processing the whole experience, nodded with respect.
Anya: Ma'am, I... I've never seen anyone like you. The way you handled everything. I can only hope to be as strong as you.
Aashvi smiled softly, her eyes reflecting years of struggle and learning.
Aashvi: It wasn't always easy, Anya. Trust me, there were times I wanted to give up, but you learn to fight for what matters. And believe me, this journey — it's far from over.
Anya: I'm ready, ma'am. Ready for whatever comes next.
Aashvi nodded, appreciating the fire in Anya's eyes. It reminded her of herself, once upon a time.
Aashvi: Good. Remember, this path isn't just about strength. It's about loyalty, honor, and trust. Don't let go of those.
Anya: Yes, ma'am. I won't.
Aashvi looked at the horizon, her thoughts far away.
Aashvi: We've got each other, Anya. And we've got a long way to go.
.
.
.
So this is it for today, hope you like this part if yes then like, share and comment.
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