Naveen and his parents stared at the video, unblinking, as though mesmerized. The sheer intensity of their silence tugged at Nandini’s curiosity. What was it about this man that had everyone so captivated? Even Naveen—he wasn’t the type to be easily swayed. Her brother, who rarely placed anyone on a pedestal, seemed to worship this one.

From the video, the announcer’s voice rang out with pride, accompanied by the thunderous sound of applause. And curiosity—well, that’s a bug. Once it bites, there's no real cure. Nandini had been bitten.

Casually wandering toward the veranda where the three were seated, Nandini tried to appear indifferent. Perhaps at Rani Devi's urging, Naveen had replayed the video once again.

As she walked behind the sofa on the pretense of heading to her room, the screen suddenly went dark. Naveen turned his head just in time to catch her awkwardly freezing mid-step—guilt practically painted across her face.

"You said you didn’t want to watch it," he teased, eyebrows raised and a knowing grin tugging at his lips. "Then why are you lurking back there like a thief? Want to take a peek at my 'Lord' after all?"

"I—n-no! I was just going to my room... happened to glance at it, that’s all. I haven’t seen your revered godman, nor do I care to,” she retorted, pulling a face and preparing to walk away.

But Naveen caught her wrist and stopped her.

"Ah, see! Whenever you stammer like that, it’s obvious you’re lying. Go on, get 'darshan' of my guru too. You should at least know the man you've been sending death threats to, right?"

"I said no, and I mean it. Spare me," Nandini said firmly.

"And if someday he stands in front of you? How will you even recognize him?"

"Why would he ever come before me?" she protested. But even before she could finish, Naveen gently pulled her down onto the sofa beside him and restarted the video.

She continued to pretend disinterest, arms crossed and lips pursed—but her eyes, betraying her, glanced toward the screen.

She wanted to see. She had to. Who was this man who had so swiftly conquered the heart and mind of the brother she’d practically raised? A brother who had sung nothing but her praises since childhood?

Finally, her gaze landed on the man in question—Sangram.

He was marching in full military uniform, looking devastatingly formidable. His face was stern, emotionless, but alive with fire. An aura of fearlessness clung to him like a second skin—enough to freeze the blood of any enemy. His presence wasn’t just commanding—it was imperial.

The announcer’s voice rang out, crisp and clear:

"Major Sangram Singh Sanger, 9th Battalion, The Parachute Regiment, Special Forces."

Sangram halted in front of the stage, snapping into a precise ‘attention’ stance.

Then the speaker recounted the bravery for which he was being awarded.

“On May 10th, 2018, in the Kulgam district of Jammu and Kashmir, Major Sangram Singh Sanger received intelligence of hidden militants. Without delay, he led a cordon and search operation. Displaying extraordinary combat prowess, he neutralized two terrorists under extreme fire. For his unmatched courage and exemplary valor, he is awarded the Sena Medal for Gallantry. Major Sangram Singh Sanger!”

Thunderous applause erupted as Sangram marched onto the stage and saluted the Northern Command Chief, who pinned the medal to his chest.

“See?! That’s Sangram Sir! Major Sangram Singh Sanger!” Naveen shouted, thrilled to see Nandini frozen—gaze fixed, unblinking, on the phone screen.

“Okay, okay! No need to add background music,” she snapped, quickly getting up and walking off, clearly affected.

“Well done, son. Stick close to your ‘Sir,’ and keep learning from him. He seems like a man of great experience,” Mohanji said, removing his glasses, visibly impressed.

“He’s a counter-terrorism specialist. Loads of experience,” Naveen added, proud and boastful.

“Fantastic! If fate allows, I’d love to meet him someday.”

“You might not have to wait that long,” Naveen grinned. “I’ve already invited him to Di’s wedding.”

“Really?” Mohanji chuckled.

“What? Why would he come here?” Nandini stormed out of the room, visibly ruffled.

“To attend the wedding, obviously,” Naveen replied with a dramatic flick of his hair. “He doesn’t care about status. Trust me—when the wedding date’s fixed, it’ll be a full army takeover. All my military buddies are coming!”

“Well, then we better book a grand venue,” Mohanji muttered, clearly now re-evaluating all his plans. Everything already in motion suddenly felt... inadequate.

“Don’t worry, Baba,” Nandini said coldly. “No need for extra arrangements. He won’t be coming.”

“Oh really? Want to bet?” Naveen’s pride stung at her sharp dismissal.

“Sure, let’s bet.”

“If I win, I get six months of your salary. If you win, you get one month of mine.”

“Excuse me?! Shouldn’t I get six months of yours too? What kind of bet is this?”

As the sibling rivalry heated up, Mohanji threw them a look full of weary indifference and buried himself in his ledger.

---

The next day, Nandini, Naveen, and Raman went out to explore the city. Nandini took the back seat of the car, ignoring Naveen’s persistent insistence to sit in the front beside Raman. Raman didn’t say much, but his quiet smile said plenty. Still, Nandini’s hesitation killed the moment for both of them.

She remained mostly silent throughout the ride. The two men, meanwhile, immersed themselves in army stories. Naveen, of course, couldn't resist launching into his beloved Sangram Chronicles, preaching with fervor. Nandini tried to shut him up with exaggerated gestures from the backseat, but Naveen was undeterred, gloriously unaware of any social cues.

Finally, defeated, Nandini gave up and cradled her forehead like a war-weary soldier conceding defeat. Victory—Naveen Kumar Pandey.

They stopped outside a large, upscale restaurant when Raman suggested lunch. A table in the corner opened up and the trio settled in. As they browsed the menu, Raman—ever the gentleman—slid it toward Nandini with a polite smile.

Naveen, of course, began silently teasing her with facial expressions and playful nudges. Raman noticed and chuckled, understanding more than he let on.

Then, suddenly, a group of girls burst into the restaurant—chattering, laughing, full of energy. They claimed a large table across the room, their mirth echoing off the walls.

Raman’s eyes, almost by instinct, were drawn to one particular girl in the group. She stood out—beautiful, yes, but also strangely familiar. His brow furrowed. Where had he seen her before?

And then—like a flash of lightning—it hit him.

She was the girl in the photo.

The one his mother had once shown him.