The call came on a Tuesday.

"Your dad wants to talk to you," Ma said, her voice as brisk as ever.

In my family, the military wasn't a profession — it was our bloodline. Bade Papa, a retired Brigadier General. My father, a chief consultant to the Army and the head of a thriving defense consultancy. My elder brother in the Navy, his wife a trauma surgeon in the Army. Every one of us in uniform.

I told Ma I couldn't come home immediately — I was leading an advanced jumpmaster course for my Para SF unit. You don't walk away from that.

"Finish it fast and come home," she ordered. She didn't ask. She ordered.

A week later, I stepped through my parents' front door for the first time in almost three years. The last time I'd been here, I'd walked out after a fight with my father... over Anshu — the woman I'd loved, and lost, in ways that had nothing to do with the battlefield. And now I was back. Alone.

My father's gaze shifted to the wall as I entered the room, a silent reminder of the distance between us. After dumping my bags, I collapsed on the bed, letting the fatigue and the ghosts of old arguments press me into the mattress.

When I finally went downstairs, the family was gathered — Ma, Papa, Bade Papa, and Badi Ma. We exchanged polite smiles. Mine felt like a mask.

Halfway through catching up with Ma, Bade Papa called me aside. "We've started looking for marriage proposals," he said matter-of-factly. "It's high time. You're nearly thirty."

Papa didn't wait for my answer. "This time you don't get to hide behind missions. And there's no Anshu in the picture now, is there?"

I stayed quiet. Maybe he was right — I had no fight left in me. "Whoever you think is right," I told Bade Papa, "I'll agree."

Two days later, as I was packing to leave, Badi Ma entered my room with a smile. "Your Bade Papa has someone in mind," she said. "She's a Squadron Leader in the Air Force. Perfect match." She handed me an envelope with the girl's photo.

It felt like a mission file — cold, impersonal, and with a life-changing directive inside. I didn't open it. I touched her feet, picked up my bag, and left.

Back at camp, Maddy and Rey pounced on me the moment I dropped my bag.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Major," Rey said, already digging through my pack for any hidden snacks.

"Or worse, his family," Maddy, our 'Chaos Engine,' countered. His hand found the envelope first. "What's this? Love letters from a secret admirer?"

Before I could object, Rey snatched it. "It's a photo! Bhabhi's photo!"

Weeks passed. Missions came and went. Ma called to fix an engagement date, but I told her I couldn't come — we were being deployed. By the time I returned, it was Sakshi Bhabhi, my sister-in-law, who told me over the phone: "Congratulations on your engagement."

I didn't even know it had happened.

And so life rolled on. I buried myself in drills, combat prep, and operations. The engagement was just... a word. I didn't visit. I didn't call her. I didn't even know her name.

But the guilt lingered. She was innocent in this. She deserved a husband who wanted her, not someone carrying around the ruins of another love. I couldn't promise love — not anymore. But I could promise respect. Loyalty. Protection.

And maybe... just maybe... there was a part of me curious about the kind of woman who became a Squadron Leader in the IAF. That took grit. Resilience. Fire.

I didn't know if she had any idea who I really was. And I wasn't sure I was ready to find out who she was.