MilitaryHusband!Jaskirat who went back to duty when your daughter was 1 and you were pregnant with the second. You remember how he kissed your tummy before he left, even though the bump hadn't formed, promising to be back by the time the little one was to be born.
He hated the fact that you had to go through the pregnancy alone, but you gently assured him, reminding that his family was with you, taking care of your daughter and yourself.
Till the day before he left, both of you kept arguing about whether it would be a boy or a girl. He was somehow so sure that it was a boy to an extent that it began irritating you. So, just to counter back, you argued that it was a girl and it would turn into full blown debates. You'd bring up scientific and superstitious signs, while he simply stated that he 'felt it is a boy'. You'd groan in frustration, defeated by his stubbornness and nonchalance, while your daughter watched the scene like it is her favourite tv show.
But in the quiet of the night, when everyone else was sleeping and you'd cuddle with him underneath the blanket, he'd softly whisper in your ear how he didn't mind if it's a boy or a girl, as long as it was a healthy baby. You'd agree, nuzzling further into his bare chest.
So it is a difficult day when he has to go back, but you put on a brave face, knowing that he'll be back in no time.
Now, as you sit on the ledge of the backdoor of the house, watching your daughter run around wearing Jassi's old tshirt, you recount in your head the number of things you had to tell him once he comes back – your babygirl starting to speak full sentences, the baby bump growing, your pregnancy cravings reaching a new level of weirdness, Harleen teaching your daughter to ride a cycle, and much more.
Oh you couldn't wait for him to be back home.
Your trail of thoughts is broken by the sound of glass shattering.
You immediately stand up, and waddle towards the source of the sound with growing panic. Jasleen, who was studying in her room followed you out into the living room, where you found Harleen standing frozen.
Her Maa and Baba had already surrounded her, and it seemed like she had been talking on the landphone. The phone laid on the floor, and Baba picked it up after not receiving any response from Harleen about the call.
Meanwhile, you moved towards her, careful not to step on the broken glass mug as you reached her. You cupped her face and inquired about what's wrong, and she broke out of her trance to glance at you, then your pregnant belly before breaking down in your arms.
Shocked, you gripped her arms, urging her to tell you what's wrong, your panic growing by the second.
Jasleen wrapped her arms around Harleen, trying to make sense of the situation.
Just then, you heard Baba let out a gasp. His eyes filled with tears, and you remained confused, wondering who was on the phone.
Without waiting for a response, you passed Harleen onto Jasleen's arms, and took hold of the phone from Baba's hands before he could stop you.
"Hello?"
A crack of silence followed, filled only by the grainy noise of the machine.
"Hello, is this Major Jaskirat Singh Rangi's house?"
"Yes, I'm his wife."
The person on the other end of the line became quiet again, but it was different. It sounded like they were...afraid. You could hear their heavy breathing over the phone.
You felt nauseous over the sudden shift, your mind putting pieces together faster than you'd liked it to. Harleen breaking down, Baba crying...no. That can't be. Maybe it was something else. It had to be.
The person spoke up again, their voice coming out in broken rasps.
"We're very sorry, Mrs. Jaskirat...we...we regret to inform you that...Major Jaskirat has passed away during a mission."
No.
You shake your head, even though they can't see you.
No. This was not possible. How could it be? This had to be a cruel joke. Yes, it had to be. Sooner or later, your husband would come to the phone, or even better, knock on the front door, to let you know that it was just a bad surprise. Yes, that was it.
"Mrs. Jaskirat? Are you there?"
You spoke up, your voice breaking despite your belief.
"This has to be a mistake, sir. My husband is coming home two weeks later. He'll be here to receive his second child. He's... he's having a baby! Didn't he tell you that? He must have. He said that he was going to tell everyone. He even took sweets to give. He's very excited to be a father again. He promised he would be back by the time this baby is to be born. You must have got it wrong sir, you must have..."
Your words blurred into mere hiccups as you rambled, and you felt someone gently pulling you by the shoulders, the phone being taken from your hands.
You heard sorry's from the other end of the line, and you shook your head while tears flew from your eyes.
"Maa, why is he saying sorry? What is he sorry about? He must have had it wrong. My husband is okay. Right? He'll be home in two weeks. We planned to make all his favourite dishes for him remember? We'll have to get started next week itself. He'll be back soon. He'll be back to see his baby. And his daughter. His wife. He'll be back home to be with his family."
You went on, scoffing at the audacity of the unknown person to say that your husband won't come back home.
Harleen took your hand in hers, and pulled you against her side.
Your rambling blurred into cries, and you shook your head in denial, again and again.
"They've got it wrong haven't they? They must have. I mean... My husband can't be..." You paused, breathing heavily as the words settled in. "My Jassi...he can't be dead right? He promised he would come back. He promised. He promised he would be here to see his baby."
Just then, your daughter walked in, her cheery mood dropping once she saw the disheveled state of her Maa. She padded towards you, her small frame swallowed by the big tshirt she was wearing.
"Maa, what happened?"
You opened your mouth to reply, but a sob broke out, and you clutched your heart as reality crashed in on you.
You wordlessly scooped your daughter into your arms, and held her tight as you broke down.
Her father, your husband, your Jassi. Gone.
You remain in that position for what feels like hours, and your grief-stricken screams echo in the house as a memory that would haunt you forever.
Two weeks later, you're sobbing on the hospital bed as the doctor urges you to push, and you power through the life-altering pain, with deep breaths.
The sudden cry of the baby made you pause, and you watched in relief as the doctor pulled out a wailing, bloodied, baby.
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DISCLAIMER: This is written purely as a means of entertainment and not to glorify any real person or the events they are associated with. ALSO AS MENTIONED BEFORE THIS IS SMUT. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE A MINOR OR ARE UNCOMFORTABLE.
Warnings: ⚠️MDNI⚠️ NSFW CONTENT, Bad writing, not proofread. (I am writing smut after so long that it feels foreign so forgive me for not getting the vibe right😔)
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the narrow lanes of Jaskirat's village, bathing the familiar streets and lush green fields in hues of gold and amber.
Y/N stood by her window, her fingers absently tracing patterns on the wooden panels as she watched the road leading into the neighborhood.
Word had spread through the village like wildfire: Jaskirat Singh Rangi was back.
His training at Ramgarh Cantonment was finally complete, and the boy who had left months ago had returned a man in uniform, coming home to the place that held his roots, his family... and her.
She'd been waiting all day, her heart beating a restless rhythm against her ribs. The minutes had crawled by like hours, each one stretching her anticipation further, until her nerves hummed with the familiar electricity she'd only ever felt when thinking of him during long, sleepless nights.
She'd heard the commotion from a distance.
Laughter and excited chatter drifted from his house down the lane to hers.
Y/N had fought every instinct urging her to run over, to see him the moment he stepped off the tempo, to throw her arms around him, kiss him senseless, and scold him for not writing back.
But she was too hurt.
If he hadn't found the time to reply to even a single one of her letters over all these months, then why should she be the one to welcome him back with open arms?
But deep down, she waited. Impatiently. Hoping. Imagining.
And then, true to her imagination, she saw him.
He was walking down the lane from his house to hers, that confident, easy stride unmistakable even from a distance.
The olive green uniform hugged his frame like a second skn. Broad shoulders that seemed to have widened tapered down to his narrow waist, the crisp fabric accentuating every hard earned muscle beneath. His boots gleamed even in the soft evening light, catching the setting sun with every deliberate step.
He carried himself differently now, the confident stride, the purposeful walk.
Months of relentless drills, discipline, and exhaustion had reshaped him into someone who made her mouth go dry.
Y/N felt her breath hitch as Jaskirat stopped beneath her window.
He didn't look up immediately. Instead, he stood there for a long moment, taking a slow, steady breath as though gathering courage. His palms were damp despite the cool breeze. The mere thought of standing this close to the woman whose memory had haunted countless lonely nights in the cantonment was enough to make his heart pound against his ribs.
Finally, he lifted his head.
Their eyes met, for one fleeting second.
Then, with an offended little huff, Y/N stepped back and drew the curtains shut.
Oh... she was furious. Fair enough. He deserved that.
Jaskirat let out a quiet sigh before walking around to the front door.
He knocked twice.
The door swung open almost immediately.
"Areeey, Jassi puttar!" Y/N's mother beamed, her face lighting up the instant she saw him.
Without a second thought, Jaskirat bent down and touched her feet.
"Jeete raho, puttar," she blessed warmly, resting both hands over his head for a moment.
The next instant, all formality disappeared.
She cupped his face affectionately before pulling him into a tight hug.
"My baccha..." she murmured, patting his back. "Look at you. Kitna dubla ho gaya hai! Dhang se khana nahi milta wahan?"
Jaskirat laughed softly.
"Milta hai, aunty... bas training thodi zyada milti hai."
"Haan haan, mujhe mat bata. Aaja, dekhun zara."
She held him at arm's length, eyes glistening with pride as she looked him over.
She had watched him grow from a scrawny little boy who spent more time in their house than his own into the young officer standing before her now.
He wasn't just the neighbour's son, he was family.
Just then, Y/N's father stepped into the hallway.
"Oye, mera fauji puttar aa gaya!" he called with a grin.
Jaskirat immediately straightened before bending to touch his feet as well.
Y/N's father stopped him halfway, chuckling. "Bas bas."
Instead, he wrapped one arm around the young man and gave his back two firm, affectionate pats.
"Proud of you, my son."
A smile spread across Jaskirat's face small but genuine.
"Thank you, Uncle."
"Your father hasn't stopped boasting since morning," he laughed. "Come on, your mother has invited the entire lane for dinner. If we're late, she'll blame me."
Y/N's mother looked toward the staircase for a brief moment before exchanging an amused glance with her husband.
"You two go ahead," Jaskirat said, trying and failing to sound casual, "I'll catch up in a minute."
Both parents shared the kind of smile that only adults who had watched two children grow up together could share.
"Achha..." her mother nodded slowly, deliberately pretending not to notice where Jaskirat's eyes kept drifting.
"We'll leave you two to... catch up."
"Haan, haan," Y/N's father agreed, "tum hi manao uss ziddi ladki ko abb, hum chalte hain"
Jaskirat rubbed the back of his neck, ears turning pink.
"Ji..."
Y/N's mom laughed,"Ja, puttar."
With one final pat on his shoulder, the couple stepped out of the house and made their way towards the Rangi home, where voices, laughter, and the aroma of an elaborate feast already drifted through the neighborhood.
"...Time to face the firing squad," he muttered under his breath.
Adjusting the collar of his uniform, he took a steadying breath before climbing the familiar wooden stairs toward the room where his very angry, very beautifl girlfriend was waiting.
The wooden staircase creaked beneath Jaskirat's boots as he climbed, every step strangely heavier than the miles he'd marched during training.
He knew this house almost as well as the back of his palm.
Knew which step squeaked.
Knew which corner Y/N used to hide behind during childhood games of hide and seek.
Knew exactly which room she'd lock herself in whenever she was upset.
Jaskirat knocked once before stepping inside. She didn't turn, still sitting by the window with her arms folded, she kept her gaze fixed outside as though he weren't standing a few feet away.
He waited, hoping she'd look at him. She didn't.
"I know you're angry."
"You ignored every letter I sent." The hurt in her voice made him lower his eyes.
"I didn't ignore them." He swallowed. "I read every single one. More times than I can count."
That made her look at him with suspicion,"Then why didn't you write back?"
"The first few weeks, we weren't allowed to. After that..." A quiet, almost embarrassed laugh escaped him. "Every time I sat down to write to you, I'd end up filling pages. Then parade would be called, or lights out, or we'd be sent somewhere else. I'd always tell myself I'd finish them the next day."
His smile faltered,"and I did...but then two mkre letters would wait for me by the time i finished the first one"
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Months of anger had convinced Y/N that he'd simply forgotten her. Looking at him now, she could see the same guilt she'd carried in hurt. It didn't erase the lonely nights or the unanswered letters, but it made the grief feel shared instead of one sided.
"You really are an idiot," she whispered.
A sheepish smile tugged at his lips,"maaf karde mennu.. sohni"
She rolled her eyes, giving his arm a light smack before stepping closer almost without thinking. He hesitated only for a heartbeat before wrapping his arms around her, he still couldn't quite believe she forgave him.
Neither of them spoke.
The room fell quiet except for the distant laughter drifting in from the celebration down the street and the slow, steady rhythm of two hearts finally finding familiar ground again.
After a while, Y/N pulled back just enough to look at him properly. Her fingers absentmindedly smoothed the crease in his olive green uniform before her eyes met his once more.
"So..." she murmured, the corners of her lips lifting ever so slightly, "you've finally come home."
Jaskirat smiled, unable to look away from her, "Yeah."
And then he held her face in his palm, softly kissing her. The kiss deepened slowly, tentatively at first, like testing water before a dip. Her lips parted against his, and he tasted the salt of tears she'd long since dried. His thumb traced the curve of her jaw, tilting her head back just enough to fit his mouth more fully against hers.
Y/N's fingers curled into the stiff fabric of his uniform, bunching the olive green fabric at his shoulders. The distant celebration outside faded into nothing; the music, the laughter, the firecrackers, all of it swallowed by the wet sound of their mouths meeting, separating, meeting again.
"You have no idea," he breathed against her lips, "how many nights I laid awake thinking about you.. thinking about this..."
"Mhmm? Show me, then soldier" she whispered back, her voice husky with want.
His hands slid down her back, gripping the curve of her waist, pulling her flush against him. She felt the hard press of his belt buckle against her stomach, the warmth of his body through the thick fabric. Her fingers found the buttons of his unifirm, working them open with trembling urgency.
He broke the kiss to help her, shrugging off the uniform jacket and letting it fall to the floor. His undershirt came next, pulled over his head in one swift motion. She drank him in, the broad shoulders, the defined chest, the faint tan line where his collar usually sat. New scars she didn't recognize. A thin white line across his ribs, a darker patch of healed skin near his collarbone.
She reached out, her fingertups tracing the scar near his collarbone before sliding down his chest. Her hand flattened over his heart, feeling it race beneath her palm. Then she pushed him gently backward until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he fell down letting out an oomf.
Y/N climbed onto his lap, straddling him, her thighs pressed against the coarse fabric of his trousers. She could feel him already hard beneath the layers, pressing insistently against her. She pulled her salwar down and settled on his lap, and he groaned when her bare thighs made contact with his hips.
"Fuck, I missed you," he muttered, his hands finding her waist, sliding up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through her kameez.
She rolled her hips against him deliberately, watching his jaw tighten. His hands moved to remove her kameez, fumbling momentarily before she covered his fingers with hers.
"Let me," she said softly.
She undid the dori, and swung the kameez over her head in a swift motion, and unclipped her bra before throwing it on the floor. His breath caught at the sight of her bare chest, her nipples already stiff in the cool room air.
His hands came up immediately, cupping her breasts, thumbs stroking over her nipples in featherlight circles. She arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips. He leaned forward, taking one nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking across the sensitive peak before sucking gently.
"Jassi..." she gasped, her fingers threading through his hair, holding him there.
He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his hand never stopping its movement on the first. When he pulled back, her skin was flushed, her lips parted, her eyes lidded with desire.
He guided her hips against his, the friction building through the layers of fabric separating them. She reached down between them, her fingers finding the buckle of his belt, working it open with practiced ease. The zipper came next, and she could feel the heat of him through his boxers as she freed him.
She didn't want to rush, she wanted to slide off of his lap and kneel before him, and take his throbbing cock in her mouth and have a taste, but time was short and they needed to leave for his place soon.
Jaskirat knew that too, so without wasting any time, he grabbed her waist and pulled her onto the bed with him, rolling so she was beneath him. His body covered hers, the weight of him familiar and grounding. He kissed her deeply, she wrapped her legs around his waist, arching up against him.
His cock pressed against her wetness, sliding through her slick folds without entering. He teased her, dragging the tip along her entrance, circling her clit, making her gasp and writhe beneath him.
"Please," she begged, nails digging into his shoulders. "Jaskirat, please."
He lined himself up and pushed inside her slowly, watching her face as he filled her inch by inch. Her mouth fell open, her eyes fluttering closed, a long, shuddering moan escaping her throat as he seated himself fully inside her.
She was so tight around him, so warm. He stayed still for a long moment, letting her adjust...afterall it has been a year, his forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling.
"You feel like home," he whispered.
She laughed, breathless, and tightened her legs around him. "Then show me you mean it."
He pulled out almost entirely, then thrust back in with almost a choking force, moving erratically with each thrust. Her hands roamed his back, nails leaving crescent marks on his skin. Her hips rose to meet his, matching his pace, the wet sound of their bodies joining filling the room.
"Harder," she begged, her voice breaking.
He complied, his thrusts growing harder, deeper, the bed creaking beneath them. Her moans grew louder, less restrained, bouncing off the walls. His hand found her mouth and clammped on it, eyes dark with lust and longing.
"The neighbors," he reminded her gruffly.
She bit his palm, her eyes challenging him, and he almost came undone right then.
He slid his hand between them, finding her clit, rubbing tight circles as he pounded even more erratically into her. Her body tensed, her breath catching, her walls clenching around him, she was close.
Jaskirat could feel it, he rammed into her ever faster,"Let go sohni...cum for me" and following his order mixed with the plea, she came with a muffled scream against his hand. The sensation pushed him over the edge, and he groaned her name as he spilled inside her, his hips stuttering through the final waves of pleasure.
He collapsed on top of her, his face buried in her neck, both of them breathing hard and slick with sweat. Her arms wrapped around him, her fingers combing through his damp hair.
For a minute, neither of them spoke.
Finally, she pressed a kiss to his temple. "Welcome home, soldier."
He lifted his head, meeting her eyes. Against the backdrop of celebration sounds drifting in from the street, he smiled a true, unburdened smile.
Bonus: Nearly 30 more minutes later, the duo showed up at the Rangi house, looking too proper for what happend even a few minutes back. They immediately separated and went on their way. Y/N beeline to her mother and other women while Jaskirat walked straight past his friends.
Y/N's mother noticed that she was wearing a different suit, she frowned but said nothing, going back to her conversation with another neighbour.
Meanwhile, Pinda gave Jassi a smirk that made him flustered. And in the chaos of it all only Harleen noticed the missing button on her brother's new uniform and the very suspicious bruise peeking from Y/N's kameez.
Warning : nsfw content, your media consumption is not my responsibility.
1. Jaskirat is a MUNCH! I mean that man will spend hours between your thighs as if you're his death row meal.. And treat you accordingly.
2. He's very disciplined, won't let you touch yourself and won't touch himself either (will fuck you like a rabbit instead.) But if you're too needy while he's gone, he'll allow you to hump his pillow so dw..
3. Very, and I mean VERY shy the next morning, but not in the bed, then he has a fucking job to do.
4. His praises get condescending, almost sarcastic but I swear he means them, it's just he finds your fuck-face too adorable.
5. This man likes mating press and cowgirl a bit too much, bear with him. (He just wants to see that face, mama)
6. Will NOT let you get up afterwards, that's nap time! Listen to your man, go to sleep. (He needs his cuddles)
7. Groaner.. Certified groaner. Jaskirat Singh Rangi will not performance growl for you, he'll groan like you're sucking his soul.
8. Loves giving head more than receiving, and you cannot move your hips an INCH when he's got you like that, it's his enrichment time.
9. Will rarely let you top him, and will whine if you're mean (or if you don't let him come)
10. After all this, he'll sleep with one hand around your waist, another hand under his pillow, on his gun.. He'll never make the mistake of not being prepared ever again..
Sypnosis: She came early for laughter, stayed for fleeting glances, and left with dread sitting heavy in her chest.
A door opened, and everything broke, while he stood outside, too late to change a thing.
TW: Verbal abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, alcohol, did I mention abuse?
(whole chapter is based on author ke personal experiences pls don't come at me)
02
It was the morning of Jasleen’s birthday, and for once, school didn’t feel like school.
Jasleen walked through the corridors like she owned them, her baby blue dress swaying with every step. The bell sleeves fluttered as she moved, catching the light from the tall windows that lined the hallway. She looked different, brighter, like the entire day had been built around her.
And Heer walked right beside her, carrying the bag of toffees like it was some sacred responsibility.
It was.
Her chin was slightly raised, her expression smug in the quiet, unspoken way that said, apni maalkin ke liye raasta banao bhadwo
They had done this every year.
Every single year, Jasleen would pick Heer to go around distributing sweets to the teachers, moving from class to class, knocking politely, stepping in, smiling sweetly, and leaving behind a little trail of birthday wishes.
And every single year, Heer pretended like it was a big deal.
Again, it was.
They giggled their way through the junior wing, whispering nonsense between classes, barely containing their laughter as teachers smiled at them indulgently.
"Hasna banda kar" Heer muttered at one point, trying and failing to look serious when a group of senior girls passed by them.
"Kyu?" Jasleen whispered back, grinning even wider "birthday hai mera, mai toh hasungi!"
Heer rolled her eyes, but her lips betrayed her, curling up anyway.
Everything felt light, easy, familiar.
Until they reached the senior wing.
Something shifted.
The corridors felt quieter here. Taller, somehow. The laughter from the younger classes didn’t reach this far. Even the air felt heavier.
And then Heer saw it.
That blue nameplate, and on it, in bold white letters:
VIII-D
Her steps slowed, just slightly, just enough.
Her fingers tightened around the plastic bag of toffees, the crinkling sound suddenly too loud in her ears.
Butterflies.
Out of nowhere. Annoying. Uninvited.
Her mind, ever helpful, immediately reminded her why.
Jaskirat.
Of course.
Her gaze flickered to the closed door beneath the sign, and suddenly she became painfully aware of everything about herself.
Her hair. Was it messy?
Her uniform. Did it look stupid today?
Why did she suddenly feel like she didn’t belong here?
"Chal" Jasleen said, completely oblivious to the internal crisis unfolding beside her.
Heer blinked "nahi"
Jasleen turned "Hain? Kya nahi? Kyu nahi?"
"Arey wo.. wo log padh rahe honge" Heer said quickly, gesturing vaguely at the door "rehne de na, mat kar disturb unhe"
Jasleen stared at her for a second, then she raised an eyebrow.
"Heer, hum pichhle 15 minute se classes disturb hi kiye jaa rahe hai"
"Haan par wo alag baat hai"
"Kaise?"
Heer opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Exactly.
Jasleen didn’t wait for another excuse. She grabbed Heer’s wrist and tugged her forward.
"Chal ab"
Heer resisted for a second. A weak, symbolic protest.
Then gave up.
She stepped forward, knocking lightly before pushing the door open just enough.
“May I come in, ma’am?” she said softly.
The class inside was exactly what she expected. Rows of desks. A teacher mid-lesson. Students who immediately turned their heads the second the door opened.
The usual.
Jasleen slipped into her role effortlessly, walking up to the teacher with a bright smile, holding out the bag.
Heer followed, but her attention was already elsewhere.
Her eyes moved across the classroom.
Searching.
It didn’t take long.
She found him.
Jaskirat sat a few rows back, leaning slightly against his desk, his posture relaxed in a way that made it seem like he was never fully part of the classroom anyway. His eyes were on Jasleen, a small, proud smile playing on his lips.
And Heer smiled, softly, instinctively, like she couldn’t help it.
But then of course..
Of course he had to be there too.
Pinda.
Their eyes met.
And just like that, the moment cracked.
He made a face.
Not a subtle one either. An exaggerated, ridiculous expression that made it very clear he had spotted her.
Heer’s smile dropped instantly, her brows pulling together in annoyance.
Unbelievable.
Pinda, clearly pleased with himself, nudged Jaskirat sharply without even looking away from Heer.
Jaskirat frowned slightly, confused, before following his gaze.
And then there it was.
The moment that his eyes met hers, and everything else faded.
Just for a second.
They smiled at each other. No words, no gestures, just that quiet, mutual recognition.
To Heer, it felt like something out of a movie. Like the kind of scene where the background blurs and the music swells and everything suddenly means something.
But even in that moment, a small, stubborn voice in the back of her head reminded her that it’s not that big of a deal to him.
And just like that, the magic dimmed a little.
Pinda, meanwhile, was watching the entire exchange like it was his personal entertainment for the day, a smirk tugging at his lips.
For once, he didn’t interrupt.
Miracles do happen.
Jasleen, completely unaware of the silent drama unfolding behind her, finished talking to the teacher.
She tried not to pout when the teacher took two toffees instead of one.
Rude.
Then she turned, scanning the room until she found her brother.
Her face lit up instantly.
She weaved through the desks, quick and careful, and placed a toffee on Jaskirat’s desk.
No fuss, no lingering, just a small, deliberate gesture. Then she turned and walked back.
Mission accomplished.
Almost.
"Oh hello" Pinda called out lazily from behind, his voice carrying easily across the room. "Meri wali kidhar hai?"
Jasleen paused.
"Maine dekha nahi aapko" she shot back, already halfway turned away.
"Sahi hai, sahi hai" he muttered "isko toh ghar jaake bhi de sakti thi"
Jasleen rolled her eyes, clearly done with this conversation before it even started. She didn’t have time for this. They had more classes to cover, more teachers to charm, more toffees to distribute.
But Pinda, being Pinda, wasn’t about to let it go. Before he could say anything else, Heer moved without thinking.
She reached into the bag, pulled out a toffee, and threw it straight at his face. Not gently, not politely but with clear intent.
For a split second, time froze.
And then he caught it.
Of course he did.
Ugh!
The idiot looked almost impressed.
Heer didn’t wait around to see his reaction.
She grabbed Jasleen’s wrist, already turning towards the door.
"Thank you, ma'am" she muttered quickly to the teacher, the words rushed but polite enough and then she stepped out.
The door shut behind them with a soft click. For a second, there was silence. And then laughter.
Muffled. But unmistakable.
The entire class.
Laughing.
Heer froze.
Her stomach dropped.
Her cheeks burned.
Why are they laughing?
Her mind, once again choosing violence, supplied answers she didn’t ask for.
Did I do something wrong?
Were they laughing at me?
Was Jaskirat laughing too?
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
She pressed her lips together, trying to act normal as they walked away.
All because of Pinda.
The blame settled quickly.
Naturally.
Kutta kahi ka.
Inside the classroom, the teacher shook her head, a faint, amused smile lingering on her face as the students slowly settled down.
"Bas bas" se said, tapping the board lightly "ab yaha dhyan do"
A few chuckles still floated around the room, dying down in whispers and nudges.
Pinda leaned back in his chair, inspecting the toffee in his hand like it was some kind of trophy, a grin still plastered across his face.
"Billi jaisi hai" he muttered under his breath "jangli wali"
Jaskirat didn’t respond immediately.
His gaze had drifted back to the door.
To where she had just been.
There was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. Not amused in the way the others were.
Just… soft, quiet, like he was replaying the moment in his head.
The way she’d frowned.
The way she’d thrown the toffee without hesitating.
The way she’d grabbed Jasleen and walked out like she hadn’t just caused half the class to lose it.
A small breath left him, almost like a suppressed laugh. He shook his head slightly, lowering his gaze to his desk, but the smile didn’t quite leave. If anything, it stayed, subtle, unnoticed.
Except by one very observant idiot sitting next to him.
It was exactly five in the evening when Heer rang the bell. Not “around five.” Exactly five, because Jasleen had said five.
And Heer, for reasons she refused to examine too closely, had taken that very seriously.
The door opened almost immediately.
Harleen stood there, one hand still on the handle, her expression shifting from neutral to warmly amused in a second.
"Arey Heer!" she smiled, stepping aside to let her in "aao, aao"
Heer smiled back politely, slipping off her shoes near the door.
"Gift kaha rakhna hai?" she asked, holding up the small gift bag she’d brought.
Harleen let out a soft laugh "Tum toh do ghante pehele aa gayi"
Heer blinked.
"Hain?"
"Party toh 7 baje hai"
A pause.
A long, painful pause.
“Oh.”
Great.
Perfect.
Flawless execution.
Before Heer could even begin to recover from the embarrassment, hurried footsteps echoed from upstairs.
"HEER AAGAYI?!"
Jasleen practically flew down the stairs, already dressed in her birthday outfit, her face glowing with excitement.
"Bilkul time pe pohochi hai!" she beamed, like Heer hadn’t just accidentally shown up two hours early.
Heer opened her mouth "tune toh kaha tha-"
"Haan 5 baje kaha tha" Jasleen cut in shamelessly, grabbing her wrist "taaki tu jaldi aa jaye"
Of course she did.
Before Heer could protest, she was already being dragged upstairs.
"Chal ab der mat kar!" Jasleen announced dramatically, like this was some grand event.
It kind of was.
Her room looked the same as always. Slightly messy. Full of little things that didn’t match but somehow worked together. Familiar. Safe.
"Time hi time hai!" Jasleen said, flopping onto the bed "aaj jee bhar ke khelenge"
And just like that, everything slipped back into place. They laughed. They argued over stupid things. They played games they’d been playing for years like they were brand new.
Time blurred.
The outside world didn’t exist.
It was just them, like always.
Until the clock hit seven and reality showed up.
The house filled up quickly. Voices layered over each other, laughter echoing through the halls, the smell of food drifting in from the kitchen.
Heer stood beside Jasleen at first, greeting people, smiling politely.
But slowly, naturally, things began to split. Groups formed, noise grew. And then, of course.
Pinda.
Because apparently, peace was illegal.
He walked in like he belonged there, like he owned the place, his presence loud even when he wasn’t speaking.
Heer’s shoulders stiffened almost instantly.
Great.
And right behind him was Jaskirat.
Her mood lifted before she could stop it.
Annoying.
There were a few moments, small ones. A glance across the room, a quick smile. Nothing too obvious, nothing that anyone else would notice. Except Heer noticed everything.
At one point, she felt a slight tug at her sleeve.
She turned, hoping it was Jaskirat.
The corner of the table had caught onto the fabric.
Before she could even react properly, Jaskirat was already walking towards her.
"Ruk, mai nikal-"
But he didn’t get to finish.
"Chal" Pinda said, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing his arm "kitchen chalte hain. Samose thande ho rahe hai"
"Ruk ja do min-"
"Abey chal na"
And just like that. Gone.
Heer stared at the empty space for a second.
Unbelievable
She fixed her sleeve herself, muttering under her breath.
"Kutta kahi ka"
Still, it didn’t ruin the night, not really.
Because Jasleen was there.
And their friends.
And the chaos that came with them.
They laughed too loudly. Took up too much space. Made too much noise. Exactly how it should be.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room Jaskirat and Pinda had been put on serving duty. Which, in hindsight, was a terrible decision, because the girls were ruthless.
"Waiter!" Trisha called out dramatically, not even trying to hide the sass dripping from her voice "mere liye sprite le aao!"
A few girls burst into giggles.
Pinda stopped mid-step.
Slowly turned.
His expression screamed violence.
He was this close to snapping.
"Tujhe toh mai-"
And then he saw Jasleen.
Laughing.
Not just smiling.
Actually laughing.
And just like that, his entire reaction deflated.
He let out a sharp huff, loud enough for everyone to hear, before turning on his heel.
“Leke aata hoon” he muttered, annoyance practically radiating off him as he walked toward the kitchen.
Across the room, Heer had been watching.
Not intentionally.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
Her attention had shifted when Pinda raised his voice. It was hard not to notice him, he had the subtlety of a crashing truck.
But what caught her off guard wasn’t the almost-argument, it was the way it didn’t happen.
She saw it.
The exact moment his expression changed.
The way his anger just dropped.
Because of Jasleen.
Pinda? Backing off?
For anyone?
That didn’t make sense.
Her gaze shifted to Jasleen, who was still giggling, completely unaware of what she’d just done just by being there.
Then back to Pinda, who was already walking away, his shoulders stiff, his irritation now quieter… controlled.
Heer tilted her head slightly, trying to make sense of it, but the moment slipped away as quickly as it had come.
Jasleen grabbed her arm again, pulling her back into whatever nonsense the girls were laughing about.
And just like that, Heer let it go.
But not completely.
Because somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought to herself,
Voices softened. Laughter faded into smaller pockets. The chaos that had once filled every corner of the house started settling into something quieter, calmer.
Heer sat cross-legged on the floor beside Jasleen, half-listening to whatever story someone was dramatically narrating, when her eyes flickered to the clock on the wall.
8:45 pm.
Her stomach dropped.
Oh no.
The air suddenly felt heavier.
Her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of her dress as panic crept into her chest, slow but suffocating.
She was late.
Not just a little late.
Way past late.
She got up abruptly.
"Jassu, mai chalti hu"
Jasleen looked up immediately "hainnn!? Abhi?"
Heer nodded, already brushing imaginary dust off her clothes "der ho gayi hai bohot"
Jasleen frowned, grabbing her wrist lightly "thodi der aur ruk ja na"
"Aaj nahi" Heer said, softer this time "aur kal toh milenge hi na"
That seemed to be the only thing that worked. Jasleen sighed dramatically, clearly unhappy but not unreasonable.
"Theek hai" she muttered "par jaldi aa jana"
Heer huffed out a small, nervous smile.
If she made it through tonight.
They walked downstairs together, where a few adults were still chatting. Jasleen’s mother noticed immediately.
"Ghar ja rahi ho Heer beta?" she asked.
"Haan, kaafi der ho gayi hai" Heer said politely "aur upar se iss pagal ne mujhe do ghante pehele hi bula liya tha"
"Oye!"
The older woman chuckled, then glanced around the room.
"Pinda!" she called out "ja bacche, Heer ko ghar chhod de"
Heer’s head snapped up.
"Nahi!"
Too quick. Too sharp. The word came out before she could stop it. Pinda turned, offended already.
"Excuse me?" he scoffed, walking closer, exaggerating his words "waise bhi nahi le jane wala tha, chinta mat kar, chudail"
Heer crossed her arms "haan toh maine bola bhi nahi tha, bhondu"
"Aunty" Pinda said, placing a hand dramatically on his chest, “main isse le gaya na, toh protection mujhe chahiye hogi"
Jasleen burst out laughing. A loud, unfiltered laugh.
Pinda’s ears tinted, just slightly.
Barely noticeable.
But Heer saw it.
Of course she did.
Her eyes narrowed a fraction.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Jasleen’s mother sighed, clearly done with the theatrics.
"Theek hai" she muttered, then turned "Jassi, beta tu ja inke saath"
A sharp contrast to the noise they had just left behind.
The three of them walked side by side. Jaskirat in the middle, Heer on his left, Pinda on his right.
For a while, no one said anything. Then, naturally, Pinda started talking. Something about cricket. Or whatever it was that boys liked to talk about. Heer didn’t care.
Their voices faded into the background, low and casual, like a radio playing in another room.
She wasn’t listening. Her mind was elsewhere. At home. At the door. At what was waiting behind it. Her chest tightened. Her steps slowed just a little.
Until they stopped.
Heer blinked, pulled out of her thoughts.
Her gaze lifted.
Pinda’s house.
Of course.
Jaskirat reached out, patting Pinda on the shoulder lightly.
"Kal milte hai" he said.
Pinda nodded, already stepping back.
"Hmm"
He turned and slipped inside. The house was dark, no lights, no noise.
Heer let out a quiet breath.
Lucky bastard.
Then again, maybe no one cared where he was, or when he came back.
Jaskirat turned to her.
"Chalein?"
Simple and gentle.
Heer’s heart stuttered but not for the reason it usually did.
Fear.
Sharp. Immediate.
If he came along he might see what went on back at her home.
Home, if she could even call it that anymore. She shook her head quickly.
"Mai yaha se chali jaungi"
Jaskirat frowned "nahi, bohot raat ho rahi hai"
"Mera ghar paas hi hai'
"Nahi"
It wasn’t harsh, just firm.
Heer exhaled, frustration mixing with panic "Jassi-"
"Drop karne aya hu" he said quietly "karke jaunga"
It wasn’t really an argument, because he wasn’t arguing. He was just… refusing to leave.
And Heer was running out of time. She closed her eyes for a second, then nodded.
"Theek hai"
The word came out defeated.
The walk was short. Too short. Her house came into view faster than she wanted it to.
The lights were on.
Of course they were.
Each step felt heavier than the last. By the time they reached the door, her heartbeat was so loud she was sure he could hear it.
Jaskirat rang the bell.
A second passed.
Then another.
There was muffled noise of arguing from inside. Jaskirat barely registered it. But beside him, Heer could feel her soul slowly clawing its way out.
The door swung open.
And the smell hit first.
Alcohol.
Strong. Bitter. Suffocating.
Her father stood there.
Eyes bloodshot.
Expression dark.
For a split second Heer was sure she saw Jaskirat stumble a step back, just slightly but it was enough.
Embarrassment flooded Heer so fast it burned. This was exactly what she didn’t want him to see.
Her father spat right at her feet. She flinched and Jaskirat stilled. Something ugly stirred in his chest. But before he could say something, her father did.
“Kaha thi tu!?" he snapped, his voice thick, uneven. "Time dekha hai?"
Heer swallowed, her throat dry “Mai-"
"Chup!"
The word cracked through the air, sharp enough to make her flinch.
"Raat ke nau baj gaye hai" he slurred, jabbing a finger toward the door like the outside world had personally offended him "Ladkiya iss wakt ghar aati hai? Ye tareeke hai tere!?"
"Baba andar chalo, please" she tried again, quieter this time.
"Chup! Bilkul chup!"
She froze. Completely still.
His breathing was heavy, uneven, like every inhale came with anger attached to it.
“Bahaar firti rehti hai… ajj kal ke bacche…” he muttered, shaking his head before his voice rose again "ab apne sath ladke laane lagi!? Sharam nahi aati tujhe?"
Heer’s eyes dropped to the floor and her fingers curled into her sleeves.
His words slurred together, sharp and venomous, each one aimed straight at Heer.
Accusations. Insults. The kind that stuck.
Heer stood frozen, her head lowered. She didn’t understand every word. But she understood enough to feel small, enough to feel wrong.
Jaskirat did understand, every word. And something inside him snapped. But his body didn’t move.
Heer’s fingers curled into her palms.
Why did I bring him here?
The thought hit hard.
I should’ve just gone with Pinda.
God, I’m so stupid.
The shouting stopped suddenly, only for a moment, then her father’s hand was in her hair. He dragged her inside.A sharp cry tore from her throat. Tears spilled instantly.
The door shut.
Jaskirat stood there, frozen. His heart pounded violently against his ribs.
Move.
Do something.
Say something.
He didn’t. He just stood there, listening to her cries, her sobs, her voice breaking as she pleaded.
Each sound felt like something tearing inside him. He took a step back. Then another. Then stopped.
Time blurred. He didn’t know how long he stood there. Minutes. Maybe longer. It didn’t matter. Nothing did.
Until..
Movement.
Above.
He looked up at the balcony.
Heer. She had been pushed out.
His breath caught.
Her lip was split, bruises already forming. She looked.. broken.
Something inside him gave way completely. He couldn’t look away. And he didn’t.
Heer leaned against the railing, then she saw him.
For a second, everything stopped. And then she dropped to her knees. A sob ripped through her.
Jaskirat stayed where he was. Rooted. Useless. Wishing he had done something. Anything.
The night stretched, neither of them spoke, neither of them moved.
At some point, she stopped crying. At some point, she fell asleep. Right there, like this was normal, like this happened often.
And that hurt the most.
Jaskirat didn’t leave. Not then, not after.
He stayed, through the silence, through the cold, through the slow passing of hours, until the sky began to lighten, until the first rays of morning crept in.
He saw her stir and that was enough. He turned and walked away without looking back, unaware that the first thing Heer saw when she woke up was him leaving.
————————————————————————
A/N: IT'S 4:57 AM, MAI PAANCH GHANTE SE LAGI HUI HU ISS CHAPTER KE PICHE AUR YE AB JAAKE KHATAM HUA HAI. IM EXTREMELY SLEEP DEPRIVED TOH AGAR YE PADHNE KE BAAD KISIKO KO GAALI DENI HAI TOH MAT DO, SEEDHA MUJHE GOLI MAAR DO, I WILL PERSONALLY THANK YOU 🙏🏻 EDITING WAGERA SAB KUCH NEED ME KOYA HAI IM SORRY💔💔💔
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Author's Note: This fanfiction is based on this particular request (even though the request is mine only)-but since I wanted to try writing it, here we go peps.
Synopsis: To the Intelligence Bureau, she was the perfect ghost—a death-row inmate erased from the state registry and re-engineered from the remnants of a highway horror story. To him, she was the only line that never went dark in a world built on intercepted frequencies and compromised coordinates. But when the cold calculation of war forces her into a lethal, deep-cover deployment in Karachi, their hidden sanctuary fractures. As the lines blow open and the ghosts of their pasts collide, a rogue handler must cross every forbidden border to pull his asset out of the abyss—proving that even in a jungle of crossfire, her love is the only basera he has left.
Disclaimer: This fanfiction is written solely for entertainment purposes and contains a healthy amount of angst. I wrote this without sleeping the whole night and surviving on 3 cups of coffee (pls forgive me beforehand only)
<Previous Chapter
Chapter 4: The Blood on the Concrete and the Beginning of the End
The storm broke over the Lyari delta with a violent, heavy rain. Water poured down in sheets, blurring the rusted metal lines of the shipyards.
Oindrila ran through the mud toward the old hangar. Two hours ago, Major Iqbal’s soldiers had caught Rizwan’s municipal van. Their secret communication line was blown, and time had completely run out.
She slipped inside the giant, leaking iron building through a broken side panel. High up on the overhead cranes, bright halogen lights buzzed, casting long, shaking shadows across the wet concrete floor.
In the center of that blinding light sat Rizwan. He was tied tightly to a heavy iron chair. His face was a swollen, bloody mess from the beating he had taken, and his breathing was shallow and rattling. Major Iqbal stood just a few feet away, surrounded by six elite commandos. His face was completely stone-cold.
But the man standing directly in front of Rizwan, holding a heavy iron crowbar, wasn't a Pakistani soldier. It was Hamza, her Jassi, their Jassi.
"Bata de. Kyun apni jaan de raha hai? Bata dega to phir zaldi marega." Hamza said. His voice had a dark, dangerous edge to it as he tapped the metal bar against the floor. He was playing his part perfectly for Iqbal’s men. But the moment his eyes caught a movement in the dark and saw Oindrila step into the light, his entire posture changed.
"He won't tell you anything, Major," Oindrila’s voice rang through the empty hangar like a gunshot.
Six red laser sights instantly jumped onto her chest. Iqbal gasped, his jaw dropping in pure shock. "Zainab? Tum yahan kya kar rahi ho? Go back to the house!"
Hamza turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her reverse-grip knife. Then, the truth slammed into his brain. The simple caretaker from Faisalabad was Oindrila. The girl from the Haryana training camp. His teammate. His friend.
"Well, well, Major Sahab," Hamza said, his voice dropping into a low, deadly purr. He instantly shifted his steps, subtly placing his body between Iqbal’s guards and Oindrila, covering three red laser lights with his body only. "Your quiet nanny just walked right into a military interrogation. That means she’s the spy you've been looking for."
"Zainab, tell me it’s a mistake!" Iqbal roared, his voice cracking with deep betrayal. He pulled his pistol, his hand shaking as he pointed it at her. "I trusted you with my daughter! Tumne mere bachhe ka istemaal kiya!"
"I protected her, Iqbal!" Oindrila shouted back, keeping her blade steady. "I kept her safe from your bloody world!"
Before Iqbal could pull the trigger, a silhouette burst through the hangar’s main entrance. It was Sushant. His clothes were soaked with rain and engine grease, and he held his standard-issue Glock straight ahead. "Oindrila, hatto piche!"
"Who the hell are you?!" Iqbal yelled, his eyes darting from Sushant to the weapon in his hand, completely blindsided by this unknown intruder breaching his secure zone.
The guards turned their guns toward Sushant, but Hamza didn't wait for an order. His loyalty wasn't to the underworld or the Pakistani military; it belonged to the blood promise they had all made back in the secret Indian training camp. His loyalty was to his sister, not these men.
With a fast, brutal swing, Hamza spun around and drove the heavy iron crowbar straight into the chest of the nearest commando.
"Rizwan, Oin, nikal yahan se!" Hamza roared, pulling a hidden gun from his leather jacket and opening fire on Iqbal’s inner circle.
The hangar erupted into a deafening chaos of flashes and flying metal. Hamza and Sushant fired from two different sides, systematically dropping the elite guards before they could aim properly.
Oindrila lunged through the smoke, her knife slicing quickly through the thick ropes holding Rizwan to the iron chair. Rizwan fell forward into her arms, coughing up dark blood. "Oin... tum yahan... tum teeno paagal ho..."
"Shut up, Riz. Chupchaap khade ho," Oindrila hissed. She hoisted his heavy, weak body over her shoulder just as a commando’s stray bullet shattered the concrete right near her feet.
Across the floor, Major Iqbal was scrambling back toward his armored vehicle, firing blindly through the smoke. He was wounded, bleeding from a shoulder hit where Sushant's bullet had caught him, but his eyes were still locked on Oindrila with pure, vengeful anger.
"You won't leave this city alive, Oindrila!" Iqbal screamed, coughing from the smoke. "I will hunt you to the ends of the earth!"
He never got the chance.
Hamza stepped out from behind a giant shipping crate, his face lit up by a cold flash of gunfire. He didn't hesitate. He raised his gun and fired two heavy shots directly into Major Iqbal’s chest.
The head of ISI staggered backward, his eyes wide with shock, before crashing heavily onto the wet concrete. The system was officially broken.
Hamza ran over to them, his leather jacket covered in dirt and blood, breathing heavily. He clapped a hand on Sushant’s uninjured shoulder, then looked at Oindrila and the weakened Rizwan.
"Tum log abhi ke abhi nikal rahe ho," Hamza barked, his voice urgent but deeply protective. "The cleanup squad sent from Delhi will be here in forty minutes to erase the evidence, and the local military garrison is going to swarm this whole delta in fifteen minutes. The port is crawling with patrols now. You can't use the escape boat anymore."
"Then how do we cross the border, Hamza?" Sushant demanded, pressing a hand against his bleeding arm.
Hamza reached into his pocket and slammed a heavy set of keys into Oindrila’s hand, along with a laminated military road pass.
"Take Iqbal’s private armored SUV from the back lot," Hamza ordered. "The windshield has his official command sticker. Drive straight back to his house. Get Laiba."
Oindrila frozen. "Laiba? Main usko kyun lekar jaungi? Why would I take her? And Jassi... why did you tell Iqbal there was a female spy in his house in the first place? Tumne mere baare mein kyun bataya?"
Hamza let out a sharp, quick breath, looking at her with absolute intensity. "Listen to me, Oin. Sushant contacted me through the emergency frequency two nights ago. He told me he was going to extract an Indian asset from Iqbal's house before dawn, no matter what. I didn't know it was you. I had to throw Iqbal off your track. I deliberately dropped a hint about a 'spy' in his house to cause absolute chaos, panic him, and distract his attention away from the coastal routes and other ongoing operations so you guys could slip away safely. I had no idea your escape got botched and you were still in the house!"
He gripped her shoulder tighter, his voice cutting through the noise of the rain.
"And now, Iqbal is dead, Oin! The moment the military processes this shootout, they will take that little girl away. They'll dump her in a state asylum or use her to hunt down our remaining people. She only trusts you. Take her, use Iqbal’s official family pass, and drive straight through the desert border checkpoint. The guards won't dare search the Major’s personal family car if his daughter is sitting inside."
Oindrila looked at the keys in her hand, then looked back at Hamza. "And you, Jassi? Tumhara kya?"
Hamza wiped a streak of blood from his forehead and gave her that same wild, confident smile from their old training days. "This is Lyari, Oin. This is my territory now. I will mess up the clues, blame the entire shootout on the local gang wars, and clean up the records from this side. Now go! Nikal yahan se!"
The armored SUV tore through the flooded streets of Karachi, its bright headlights cutting through the blinding monsoon rain. Sushant sat in the passenger seat, tearing a long strip of cloth from his cotton shirt to tightly bind his bleeding shoulder wound. Behind them, Rizwan lay semi-conscious across the wide leather back seat, breathing heavily but alive.
Oindrila slammed on the brakes, bringing the heavy vehicle to a hard, skidding stop right in front of the main porch of the darkened Iqbal estate.
"Stay with Rizwan," Oindrila told Sushant, her voice tight. "Keep the engine running."
She sprinted up the grand marble staircase, her wet boots leaving heavy, muddy tracks on the clean white floors. She burst into the second-floor nursery.
Laiba was wide awake. She was sitting in the corner of her bed, clutching her faceless rag doll tightly to her chest. Her small body was shaking violently from the loud cracks of thunder outside. When she saw the door fly open, she pulled back to scream—but then her eyes adjusted to the dim green nightlight, recognizing Oindrila's shape.
"Zainab baji," Laiba whispered, her voice a tiny, frightened thread.
Oindrila dropped to her knees by the bed, wrapping arms tightly around the little girl and pulling her close. She didn't smell like lavender water anymore; she smelled of rain, gunpowder, and blood.
The cold weight of the survival situation, the freezing rain outside, and the sudden fear of losing everything suddenly triggered a memory from the training compound—the precise moment their silent understanding turned into spoken words.
Flashback~
A torrential monsoon downpour had turned the Haryana compound into a dark, muddy lake. Oindrila had spent four straight hours on the outdoor combat mat, failing to execute a high-stakes disarmament move against Jassi. Her wrists were raw, her skin scraped, and her clothes were soaked through with freezing water.
Sushant had stood under the tin roof of the veranda, his jaw set, calling out corrections until his voice was rough. Finally, he slammed his clipboard onto a plastic chair and marched right out into the pouring rain, grabbing her upper arms to pull her away from the drill.
"That’s enough for today, Oindrila," he barked, his eyes blazing behind rain-spattered lenses. "You are completely unfocused. You are leaving your left flank entirely open. If you fight like this in the field, you won't last ten seconds."
"Then let me fail!" she had screamed back, the hot tears mixing instantly with the freezing rainwater running down her face. She shoved his chest, her breathing jagged. "Why do you care so much? You saved me from the gallows just to scream at me in the mud? Jassi can take the hit! Rizwan can take the hit! Why are you always breaking me down?"
"Because I can't replace you!" Sushant roared back, his voice suddenly cracking, completely shattering his administrative composure. He grabbed her wrists, holding them tight against his chest, the rain plastering his hair to his forehead. "I don't care about the registry, Oindrila. I don't care about Sanyal’s timelines. If Jassi falls, it’s a collateral damage to me. If you fall, I lose my entire world. God damn it, look at me! Main tumse pyaar karta hoon!"
The admission hung between them, heavy and raw, louder than the thunder crashing over the fields. Oindrila’s anger vanished instantly, her breath hitching as she stared at the fierce, agonizing love in his eyes.
"Sushant..." she whispered.
He didn't let her finish. Pulling her forward by her waist, he slammed his mouth onto hers. The kiss was desperate, tasting of salt, rainwater, and the violent fear of loss. His hands tangled into her wet hair, holding her close as if he could shield her from the entire Bureau by sheer force of will.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down into the downpour, matching his desperation. It was the first time they had said it, and the first time they had completely crossed the line.
"Laiba, meri jaan, listen to me," Oindrila said, snapping back to the reality of the dark nursery as she tightened her embrace around the little girl. Her voice dropped into that calm, slow rhythm she had used for months to soothe the child’s worst panic attacks. "We are going on a journey right now. To the mountains. The ones where the snow never melts, where it’s so quiet you can hear the birds breathe. Hum wahan ja rahe hain. But you have to be very quiet for me. Can you do that?"
Laiba looked into Oindrila's eyes, seeing the absolute, protective wall behind them. The little girl nodded once, her small fingers wrapping tightly around the fabric of Oindrila’s jacket.
Oindrila scooped the child up into her arms, grabbed her small bag of medicine from the side table, and ran back down to the idling SUV. She placed Laiba securely in the back seat right next to Rizwan, handing her the doll.
"Stay low under the blanket, Laiba," Oindrila murmured, covering her completely.
She threw the vehicle into gear, smashed right through the pouring rain and turned the hood directly toward the long highway leading east toward the desert border.
The drive toward the desert checkpoint at Khokrapar was a tense, silent nightmare. The heavy monsoon rain followed them for the first two hours, hammering against the SUV's reinforced roof like loose gravel.
In the back seat, Laiba remained perfectly still under her heavy wool blanket, her small hand tightly holding onto the edge of Rizwan’s sleeve. Rizwan was drifting in and out of sleep, his face pale, but the bleeding from his deeper cuts had stopped.
"How is the arm?" Oindrila asked quietly, her eyes glued to the dark, empty highway.
Sushant rested his head against the headrest, his face pale under the dashboard lights. "The bullet went straight through the muscle. It hurts like hell, but it's fine. Just keep driving, Oin. Don't slow down."
By the time the sky turned a pale, dusty gray, the wet roads of Sindh turned into the dry, flat expanses of the desert border. Up ahead, the floodlights of the massive military checkpoint cut through the morning mist. Heavy iron barricades blocked the road, surrounded by sandbags and armed border guards.
Oindrila felt her chest tighten. She slowed the vehicle down, her fingers gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.
"Sushant," she whispered. "Checkpoint aa gaya."
"Keep your head up," Sushant said, his voice dropping into his calm, authoritative director tone. He pushed his bloody arm deeper into his jacket to hide it. "You are Zainab Malik. You are driving the Major’s daughter to their family estate near the border because of the security emergency in Karachi. Let them see the command sticker on the glass."
A guard stepped forward, waving a red flag for them to stop. Two other soldiers stood by the side, their automatic rifles held ready.
Oindrila rolled down the window just an inch, letting the cool desert air rush into the warm car. She handed the laminated military transit pass Hamza had given her through the crack, along with Major Iqbal’s official family ID cards.
The guard looked at the pass, then looked at the heavy command sticker on the windshield. His expression instantly changed from suspicious to respectful.
"Zainab sahiba?" the guard asked, looking into the vehicle. "This is Major Iqbal’s personal transport. Where is the Major?"
"The Major is managing the security lockdown at the Karachi garrison," Oindrila said. Her Urdu was perfectly smooth, carrying the exact soft tone of a civilian worker employed by a high-ranking officer. "He ordered us to move his daughter out of the defense sector immediately. The city is not safe right now."
The guard shined his flashlight into the back seat. The light passed over Rizwan, who pretended to be a sick, sleeping uncle, and landed on Laiba. The little girl blinked in the bright light, shrinking back against the seat, clutching her doll tightly.
"The child needs her rest," Oindrila added, her voice sharpening just a fraction with protective authority. "We have been driving all night."
The guard quickly lowered his flashlight. He recognized the Major’s daughter from the official family documents. No one at a desert outpost wanted to anger the most powerful cISI officer in Karachi by delaying his family during a crisis.
"Apologies, sahiba," the guard said. He stamped the transit pass and handed it back. He turned to the guard tower and shouted, "Barricade hatao!"
The heavy iron gates creaked open. Oindrila rolled up the window, hit the gas, and drove the SUV smoothly across the zero-line, leaving Pakistan behind in the morning dust.
Three days later, the morning sun rose over the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas in Himachal Pradesh, India. The air here didn't taste like Karachi’s salt or the dusty heat of the desert checkposts; it was crisp, freezing, and completely clean.
A small, single-story wooden cottage sat tucked behind a thick grove of pine and deodar trees, completely hidden from the winding mountain roads below. There were no telephone wires running to the roof. No computer systems in the basement. No intelligence files on the tables.
On the wooden veranda, Rizwan sat wrapped in a heavy wool shawl in a wide wicker chair, a hot, steaming cup of tea held in his hands. The swelling on his face had gone down significantly, and his breathing was deep and clear as the pure mountain air filled his lungs.
Below in the small, stone-walled garden, eight-year-old Laiba was sitting near a patch of fresh snow. For the first time in her life, she wasn't hiding under a dark desk or shaking from the sound of sirens. She held a small basket of pinecones and smooth mountain stones, carefully arranging them into a perfect circle on the soft white ground. A soft, genuine smile touched her face as the gentle morning wind rustled the pine needles above. She had finally reached the place where the snow never melted—the place where it was so quiet you could hear the birds breathe.
Oindrila stood by the wooden railing of the porch, wearing a thick, handwoven wool shawl over a simple cotton saree. Her eyes were fixed on the peaceful mountain skyline.
A pair of strong, familiar arms wrapped gently around her waist from behind. Sushant pressed his chin against her shoulder, his breathing steady and calm. His bandaged arm rested comfortably against her side under the heavy layers of their winter clothes.
"Sanyal processed the final paperwork this morning," Sushant murmured softly into her ear, his voice rough but peaceful. "The Bureau has closed the files on Zainab Malik and Rizwan Shah, listing the asset as a casualty of the Karachi sector shootout. And as for me..." He let out a quiet, tired breath. "...Sanyal handled my exit personally. On paper, Deputy Director Sushant Bansal has been medically retired from active duty due to permanent injuries sustained during a cross-border raid. I am officially an outsider to the agency now, Oin. Hum azad hain."
Oindrila turned around in his embrace, placing her hands flat against his chest, looking up into his clear eyes. The bloodshot fatigue and the cold stress were entirely gone, replaced by a deep quiet she hadn't seen since the day they first met in the cells of Tihar Jail.
"Is it safe here, Sushant?" she whispered, the very last echo of her heavy past fading away into the clear mountain air.
Sushant leaned down, his lips pressing gently against hers—a long, slow promise that washed away the thirty days in the highway basement, the mud of the training camps, and the blood of the Lyari shipyards.
"It's completely quiet, Oin," he whispered back, looking out at the snowy garden where Laiba was laughing at a small mountain sparrow hopping near her stones. "The noise is over."
Later that evening, the fierce chill of the afternoon softened into a warm, amber twilight. The jagged mountain peaks were painted in deep shades of gold and violet, and a gentle snow began to drift down from the quiet sky. Rizwan had taken Laiba inside the cottage to stoke the fireplace and show her how to sketch the cedar trees they could see out the back window, leaving the clearing completely empty.
Sushant gently took Oindrila’s hand and led her down the wooden porch steps, walking out into the quiet clearing where the soft, fresh snow crunched gently under their boots.
Sushant stopped walking and turned to face her. The golden light of the setting sun caught the sharp angles of his face, making him look younger, completely stripped of the heavy burdens of the Intelligence Bureau. He reached into his pocket with his uninjured hand, his fingers slipping past the fabric to pull out a small, dark velvet box.
Oindrila’s breath caught in her throat.
"I went to the small market town down the valley while you were resting this afternoon," Sushant said, his voice dropping into that deep, gentle baritone that always acted as her anchor. His fingers trembled slightly as he opened the box, revealing a beautiful, elegant gold band inset with a small, brilliant diamond. "I told you once that I wanted that future with the woman who wanted a house in Chandigarh, but it died when I handed you that manila folder. I know the scars we carry are deep, Oin. I know we can never fully go back to who we were before the safehouses and the shootouts."
He stepped closer, closing the final inch of distance between them, his eyes locked onto hers with a fierce, unwavering devotion.
"But the man standing in front of you isn't a Deputy Director anymore. I have no more files, no more operations, and no more secrets. I am just a man who has loved you since the night I pulled a heavy iron water bucket from your hands in the freezing rain," he whispered, a soft, genuine smile touching his lips. "I don't want to give you a placeholder ring or a temporary identity anymore. I want to give you a real home. I want to give you my name, my life, and every quiet morning we have left."
He took the ring out of the box, holding it up between them, his hand completely steady now.
"Oindrila Banerjee, will you marry me? Kya tum hamesha ke liye meri banogi?"
Tears of pure, unadulterated happiness finally spilled over Oindrila’s lashes, tracking down her cheeks in the warm twilight. The heavy, protective walls she had built around her heart vanished completely, leaving behind nothing but a profound sense of peace. She looked past his shoulder at the small wooden cottage, then looked back at his beautiful, clear eyes.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she stepped into his space, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. "Yes, Sushant. Main hamesha ke liye tumhari hoon."
Sushant let out a long, ragged breath of pure relief and slid the gold band securely onto her left ring finger. It fit perfectly, warm and bright against the cold white backdrop of the mountains. He pulled her flush against his chest, his uninjured arm wrapping tightly around her waist as he held her close, shielding her from the falling snow.
As his lips met hers in a deep, slow, and passionate kiss, the distant sound of Laiba’s soft laughter drifted out from the open windows of the cottage.
The storm had passed, the files were burned, and in the quiet sanctuary of the mountains, they had finally found their home.
AND THAT'S A WRAP GUYSSS
Sooooo-what do you guys think of this?? This is legit my first time writing a series on tumblr to pehle se hu maafi mang rahi hu if something goes wrong or anyone gets offended. Plsss do vote and comment if you like it. Thank you for reading XOXO
(once again idk who else to tag-so I'm just going to tag the people whom I have known to write and read dhurandhar fanfics and also the people who liked my previous chapters)
The air in Pathankot had a specific weight to it, a blend of diesel fumes from passing military trucks, the sweet scent of ripening mangoes, and the restless energy of a border town. For Jaskirat Singh Rangi, the first day of college wasn't just a transition; it was the prologue to the life he’d mapped out since he was ten. He stood by the gate of the Government College, his hair neatly combed back, wearing a crisp button-down tucked into his trousers. He looked every bit the aspiring army officer: shoulders squared, chest out, and a gaze that was supposed to be scanning for tactical advantages but was currently stuck on a pothole.
"Oye Jassi! Kithe reh gaya? Chal hun, attendance shuru hon wali hai," Gurbaaz shouted, leaning off his bicycle. Gurbaaz was the kind of friend who moved through life with a permanent smirk.
Jaskirat snapped out of his trance. "Aa gaya, ruk te sahi. Badi jaldi hai tenu roll call di."
"Bhai, pehla din hai. Impression jamaana painda hai," Gurbaaz grinned, slapping Jassi on the back as they marched toward the main block.
They navigated the crowded corridors, the walls plastered with faded posters and student union slogans. They settled into the lecture hall for their first common session. The room was a buzz of scraping wooden benches and the rhythmic clicking of the ceiling fans.
Then, she walked in.
She wasn't loud. She didn't need to be. She wore a simple lavender salwar kameez, the dupatta draped neatly, and her hair tied in a long, thick plait that swayed as she moved. To Jaskirat, it felt as if the ambient noise of the classroom had suddenly been put on mute. He didn't gasp or stare with his mouth open; he simply forgot to breathe for a three-second window.
"Oye, Jassi, dekh. Maal hai na?" one of the boys whispered, nudging him.
Jaskirat felt a sudden, sharp spike of irritation. "Zuban sambhaal ke baat kar, Happy. Sab tameez bhool gaya hai kya?"
"Arre, gussa kyun ho raha hai? Main toh bas keh raha thha..." Happy muttered, confused by Jaskirat’s uncharacteristic bite.
Jaskirat didn't answer. He turned his gaze toward the front of the room, though his peripheral vision remained locked on the girl in lavender. She sat three rows ahead, talking softly to a friend, her laughter a low, musical sound that barely reached him.
The professor walked in, a stern man with a thick register. The room fell into a semblance of order as he began the roll call. Jaskirat waited, his heart thumping against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"Prabhjot Kaur?"
"Present, sir."
"Rajinder Singh?"
"Present, sir."
"Reet Ahluwalia?"
"Present, sir," she said, her voice clear and steady.
Reet. The name settled in Jaskirat’s mind like a permanent fixture. He repeated it silently, matching the syllables to the way the sunlight hit the small gold studs in her ears. When his own name was called—"Jaskirat Singh Rangi"—he answered with his usual military crispness, but his eyes never left the back of her head. She didn't turn around. She didn't even flinch. To her, he was just another voice in a room of sixty.
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One afternoon, while the boys were loitering near the cycle stand, Reet walked past. Gurbaaz, ever the instigator, decided it was time to help his friend, even though Jaskirat had never uttered a word about her.
"Bhaaji, lagta hai mausam badalne wala hai," Gurbaaz said loudly as Reet approached. "Kyun Jassi? Pathankot ki hawa mein aaj kal badi khushboo hai, haina?"
Jaskirat felt his face heat up. He stared intensely at the handlebar of his bicycle. "Gurbaaz, chup kar ja. Bakwaas na kar."
Reet walked right past them, her eyes fixed on the gate, her expression one of mild preoccupation. She hadn't heard them, or if she had, she didn't care.
"Oye, tenu ki ho gaya hai? Tu te jawan munda hai, thoda rob dikha!" Gurbaaz hissed in Punjabi once she was out of earshot. "Tu te ainve darda rehna ae jivein kudi tenu kha jayegi."
Jaskirat finally looked up, his expression serious. "Darr nahi hai, Gurbaaz. Bas... zaroori nahi hai ki har cheez bol ke hi batayi jaye. Waise bhi, woh apni padhai pe dhyan de rahi hai. Mujhe bhi apne physical test ki tayaari karni hai."
"Physical tayaari te thik hai, par dil da ki karoge?" Gurbaaz laughed, shaking his head. "Tu te sach mein pyar mein pagal banta ja raha hai, bas dube-dube lehze mein."
"Main koi pagal-wagal nahi hoon," Jaskirat muttered, though he knew it was a lie.
As they walked away, Jaskirat looked back at the empty spot where she had stood. He knew he was being a fool. He knew that while he was planning his life around her presence, he was nothing more than a background character in hers. But suddenly, he felt a strange sort of resolve.
"Oye Gurbaaz," Jassi said suddenly, as they neared the canteen.
"Haan?"
"Kal thoda jaldi aavange. Library vich seat nahi mildi."
Gurbaaz sighed, knowing exactly which seat Jassi was talking about—the one with the perfect, unobstructed view of the third row in the lecture hall. "Thik hai, majnu sahab. Jo teri marzi."
Jaskirat didn't reply. He just adjusted his collar and walked into the steam and noise of the canteen.
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The next morning, Pathankot was draped in a thick, low-hanging mist that clung to the eucalyptus trees lining the college road. Jaskirat had spent the previous night staring at his ceiling fan, rehearsing lines that sounded heroic in his head but felt like lead on his tongue. By the time he reached the library, the cool morning air hadn't chilled his nerves; if anything, his palms were sweating.
The college library was a sanctuary of dust and silence, governed by a librarian who viewed whispering as a personal insult. Jaskirat and Gurbaaz found their usual spot, but Jassi’s textbook remained open to the same page for twenty minutes. His eyes kept darting toward the "History & Geography" section.
"Oye, kittha kho gaya? Tu te keh reha si ki aj bohot padhai karni hai," Gurbaaz whispered, leaning across the mahogany table.
Jaskirat straightened his back, looking intensely at a map of the 1971 war. "Kar te reha haan. Tu apna kam kar."
"Acha? Map pucha phadeya hoya hai tu," Gurbaaz smirked, pointing at the upside-down book. Before Jaskirat could snap back, Gurbaaz’s eyes widened. He tilted his head toward the far aisle. Reet had just walked in.
She looked tired, a stray ink stain on her finger and her hair tied in a slightly lopsided braid. She headed straight for the heavy oak shelves at the back. Jaskirat watched her as she stood on her tiptoes, reaching for a thick, leather-bound volume on the highest shelf. She jumped slightly, her fingertips just brushing the spine, but the book didn't budge.
Gurbaaz kicked Jaskirat under the table. Hard.
"Ah! Ki kar reha hai?" Jassi hissed.
"Mauka hai, khote! Ja madad kar," Gurbaaz urged, his voice a frantic, low-frequency vibration. "Ja hunne, varna koi hor chala jayega."
"Nahi yaar, aje nahi," Jaskirat pleaded, his courage evaporating.
"Jassi, je tu fauj vich jana hai te dushman de sahmne vi inj hi darega? Move!" With a final, forceful shove, Gurbaaz practically launched Jaskirat out of his chair.
Jaskirat stumbled, caught his balance, and realized he was already halfway to the aisle. Retreating now would look even more suspicious. He took a breath, smoothed his shirt, and walked forward. Every step felt like he was marching through deep mud.
He reached the shelf just as Reet was about to try one more desperate jump. Because of his height and his athletic build, he didn't even need to stand on his toes. He reached up, his arm passing just inches above her head, and easily hooked the book.
"Eh chahida si?" he asked. His voice cracked slightly on the last syllable, but he hoped the library’s acoustics would hide it.
Reet jumped, startled by the sudden presence. She turned around, looking up at him. Close up, the "unobvious pining" became a lot harder to maintain. Her eyes were a deep, clear brown, and she looked at him with a mix of surprise and relief.
"Haan... thank you," she whispered, her voice a soft contrast to the heavy silence of the room. "Main bohot der ton koshish kar rahi si."
Jaskirat handed her the book,The Geography of the Punjab Plains. He felt like he should say something profound, something that would make her remember Jaskirat Singh Rangi forever. Instead, he said, "Kafi bhari hai. Thalle rakh davan?"
She smiled then. It wasn't a big, dramatic movie smile, but a small, tired one that made Jaskirat’s knees feel like jelly. "Nahi, main fadh lavaangi. Shukriya."
She didn't turn away immediately. She looked at the book, then back at him. "Tu sadi class vich hi hai na? Jaskirat?"
The fact that she knew his name, even just from the roll call felt like winning a gallantry medal. "Haan. Jaskirat Singh Rangi. Te tu Reet."
"Hanjii," she nodded. "Tu hamesha piche baithda hai. Gurbaaz de naal."
"Oh, tenu yaad hai?" Jassi asked, his chest swelling with a tiny bit of genuine confidence.
"Yaad te rehna hi si. Gurbaaz poori class vich gallan karda rehnda hai, te tu hamesha edda baithda hai jive border te pehra de reha hovein," she teased gently.
Jaskirat rubbed the back of his neck, a bashful grin breaking through his stoic exterior. "Fauj mein join karni hai na, te bas... aadat pai gayi hai."
"Sachi? Fauj vich jana hai?" Her eyes lit up with genuine interest. "Kafi mushkil kam hai, par bohot izzat wala."
"Bas koshish hai," Jassi said, his voice finally steadying. "Bachpan ton hi shauk si. Desh layi kujh karna hai."
"Bohot vadiya gal hai," she said warmly. She shifted the heavy book in her arms. "Wese, eh geography bohot boring hai. Je tenu samajh na aaye te puch lavi."
Jaskirat felt like he could fly. "Bilkul. Zaroor puchanga. Wese... tenu baithne layi jagah chahidi hai? Sadi table te space hai."
Reet looked over at Gurbaaz, who was currently pretending to be deeply engrossed in a dictionary while giving them a massive thumbs-up from behind the bookshelf. She giggled. "Nahi, meri friend wait kar rahi hai canteen vich. Par kal milde han class ton pehla?"
"Kal? Haan, bilkul! Main utthe hi hovanga," Jassi promised.
"Thik hai. Bye, Jaskirat."
"Sat Sri Akal, Reet."
He watched her walk away, his heart hammering a rhythm that felt like a victory drum. He stood in the aisle for a long moment, staring at the empty space where she had been, until a sharp "Shhh!" from the librarian snapped him back to reality.
He floated back to the table. Gurbaaz didn't even wait for him to sit down.
"Oye hoye! Jassi te shaa gaya!" Gurbaaz grinned, slapping the table so hard a stack of papers flew off. "Ki keha ohne? Menu lagga tu behosh ho jayenga."
Jaskirat sat down, a slow, dorky smile spreading across his face. He picked up his book, correct side up this time. "Kuch nahi yaar. Bas keha ki geography sikhayegi mainu."
"Geography?" Gurbaaz snorted. "Bhai, tenu poore Punjab da map zubani yaad hai! Tu te geography da topper hai."
Jaskirat shrugged, looking out the library window at the bright Pathankot sun. "Pata hai. Par hun dobara sikhne vich ki buraai hai?"
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Ok guys.....so I am just starting this series....which i hope i will be able to end given that i will be having online classes for a few days due to elections.....and i hope you guys like it. And yes i did get inspired by the fics i read here and the hugeeeee nubmer of bollywood films i have been watching.....and there might be similar scenes. Lastly, I hope you guys like it.....Byeeeeeeeeee
