The moment I was promoted to Squadron Leader, the sky felt wider. The promotion letter was still warm from the printer, my name gleaming under the new rank.
The first person I called was my father. He picked up on the second ring.
"Aaru?"
"I got it, Appa," I whispered.
Silence. Then a sharp intake of breath.
"Of course you did," he said, pride thick in his voice.
Appa had always been my rock. Every medal, every mission, every glass ceiling—it was his faith that made them possible. He shielded me from critics, from society's "shoulds," from relatives who whispered, "Why is their daughter flying sorties when ours are shopping for sarees?" He never let anyone clip my wings.
And for that, I could never say no to him.
So, when he began hinting about marriage, I tried to laugh it off.
"Appa, who has time for a husband when I'm already married to the cockpit?"
But one evening, I caught him at the dining table, glasses slipping down his nose, flipping through a folder of biodata profiles. The overhead light caught the grey in his hair. His hands trembled, just slightly. And I knew. The fighter pilot in me wanted to launch a counter-offensive, to argue for her independence. But the daughter in me... the daughter saw a lifetime of selfless love, and she couldn't say no. He had given me everything I'd ever asked for. This was the one thing he was asking in return.
So I told him, "I don't have anyone in my life, Appa. You pick someone-I'll marry whoever you choose."
In truth, I wasn't sure marriage fit into my life. My focus was training, missions, and earning every stripe with sweat. I had no patience for roses and candlelight. Any man who flinched at my uniform or my hours wasn't worth my time. Still, I said yes.
The next morning, my phone overflowed with profiles-names, heights, blood groups, service records, even family trees. Between sortie prep and mission briefs, I had no time to sift through them. Luckily, my unofficial screening committee took over.
Flight Lieutenant Aaliyah Sadiq and Group Captain Jack D'Souza—my 2 a.m. lifelines—grabbed my phone like it was classified intelligence. We were in the ready room, sipping watery coffee when they launched Operation: Aarohi's Arranged Marriage. For the Falcons, the ready room was more than just a place to wait; it was where we de-briefed, planned, and talked nonsense to keep sane.
"Okay," Aaliyah said, scrolling. "This one writes poetry about mangoes. You'd rather eject mid-flight."
"This one's a logistics officer posted in Delhi," Jack squinted, rejecting another. "You'd be bored in a week."
"Ooh, this one's an engineer," Aaliyah countered. "But his file says he requested a 'peace posting.' Twice. Not your type."
"Who uses Comic Sans on a biodata?" Jack muttered, dismissing the last one.
They rejected candidates faster than I cleared restricted airspace.
A few days later, I told Appa, "Shortlist three. Final set. Then we're done."
One evening, his voice crackled down the line, unusually excited.
"I found someone. Major Vikranth Khanna. Para Special Forces. I think you'll like him. At least look at the photo."
But duty called.
A high-priority rescue op came in-a kidnapped child in a political crossfire. Mission briefings. Call signs. Target coordinates. Phones off-limits.
Jack, being the nosy older brother I never asked for, still had access to my phone.
When I returned days later, smelling of jet fuel and exhaustion, he tossed me a protein bar.
"By the way, you're marrying this Khanna guy," he said, not looking up from a flight plan. "Already ran an unofficial background check. He's a legend. Medals, regimental history, scores... the real deal."
He paused. "But the file also mentions an incident three years ago-a mission that went sideways. After that, it's like a switch flipped. His record is flawless, but he's all work, no play. A ghost in the machine."
I shrugged, too tired to care. "If Appa's convinced, I'm convinced."
I didn't even look at the photo. I didn't need to. My father trusted him. That was enough.
Within weeks, the engagement date was set.
A few days before it, another classified mission landed on my desk. Long-duration. High-risk. I had no choice but to accept.
I called Appa. "Looks like I won't make it to my engagement," I said, half-apologetic, half-amused.
There was a long pause.
"Funny," he said, his voice dry. "Your groom just called and said the same thing."
And that's how our engagement happened-without either of us present.